Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  One of the men tossed a rope over the edge, and a second later, we heard it splash. He sidled over the edge and slipped down the rope. I grimaced. My rope-burned hands were already split, bleeding and aching. Would they even hold me?

  “Go on,” said a man, lifting me up and over the side of the well. “Make haste.” I didn’t wait for them to shove me. I slid down. And at the bottom, I immediately bent and put my hands in the water slowly washing by us, as deep as our ankles. I closed my eyes in relief, but then I was roughly lifted upright again, rushed through a narrow tunnel, newly and roughly hewn, then into the big, barrel-vaulted ceiling of the bottini—the city’s aqueduct. Dad had told me about it—how it connected all the fonte, or fountains, of the contrade. How it was an engineering marvel, yada, yada. Dad could yammer on for a good hour over such things. But one big factoid stuck out to me. The bottini was twenty-five kilometers long. A labyrinth webbing underneath the city.

  Twenty-five kilometers.

  About fourteen or fifteen miles of tunnel.

  The water was deeper here, up to our knees, but the men rushed onward, following another with a torch. I heard the splash of the other men running behind me.

  At the juncture of two tunnels, I saw her. Gabriella, between two men.

  And I was both relieved and heartbroken.

  Because they were doing it. Succeeding in the impossible.

  Kidnapping the She-Wolves from their very own city.

  ***

  Marcello and Luca cried out to the guards at the wall. “’Tis Lord Marcello Forelli and Luca Forelli! Open the gates at once! Make haste!”

  A guard opened a small window and peered out at them. They lifted their faces to the torchlight, so that he might make a more ready identification.

  “Open the gates!” the guard called tiredly. “’Tis indeed Lord Forelli!”

  Despite their fears, they could not sound an alarm—not until their suspicions were confirmed. And as he paced, Luca prayed to God that their fears were unfounded. That they were merely two fools in love, desperate to protect the women they loved most. That this was simply a mad dash they’d all laugh about, come Christmastide. He almost smiled, thinking of Evangelia laughing. She was so beautiful when she smiled. And when she laughed…it was magical. He’d gladly spend the rest of his life trying to make her laugh, just for the sheer joy of it.

  At last the gates opened, and Luca and Marcello quickly mounted, urging their tired steeds up the winding, cobblestone streets to the center of the city.

  They knew as soon as they reached the palazzo that something was wrong. The guards were not at their posts, as Marcello had personally dictated. None answered his whistle. Luca unsheathed his sword and jumped to the ground even before his horse came to a full stop, Marcello beside him. Marcello went to the massive doors and rammed the metal knocker down, over and over. They could hear men inside, already shouting to one another. Were there intruders inside? Luca edged along the wall, sword lifted, looking for the men who would be stationed outside. They would never have willingly left their posts. Not for any reason. Especially after they’d heard Marcello’s impassioned speech before they left.

  He saw the dim form of a boot across an alley and groaned. He rushed past a wagon and saw the sprawled body of a Forelli knight, his head at such an angle that he was clearly dead. He swallowed hard and whistled an alarm to Marcello.

  Marcello paused then shouted. “Siena to arms! Enemies among us! Siena to arms!”

  A guard opened the palazzo door as Luca rejoined him, and they both brushed past, charging up the steps to the main floor, two at a time, then beyond it to the guest rooms. Clearly, the men inside were in an uproar. Four were running down the hall, swords drawn, opening doors without awaiting an invitation, shouting accounts to the others. “Lord and Lady Betarrini, accounted for!”

  Luca drew up when he saw the guard at Lia’s door, in the corner as if sleeping. But by the dark stain at his chest, he knew the truth. He moved toward him, lifted his head by the hair, and saw the deep red blood seeping across his tunic and neck. With a growl, he kicked in the door and saw nothing but the open shutters on the far side, a rope dangling at the center. “Impossible,” he muttered. “Impossible!”

  Marcello joined him, panting, sword in hand. “Gabriella, too,” he growled.

  Outside, bells were beginning to ring, the alarm spreading.

  “Marcello, what is it?” the girls’ mother asked. Ben wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

  “They’ve infiltrated the palazzo and kidnapped your daughters. We’re going after them.”

  “We’ll go with you—”

  “Nay, please,” he said, going to them. “Let us do this. We’ll move faster on our own.”

  Biting her lip, Adri agreed and Ben nodded. “Bar the doors again!” Marcello screamed to his men as he turned. “Three knights to each of the Betarrinis and Father Tomas! Better yet, all of you guard them together, in the Great Hall. The rest of you, with us.”

  “Yes, m’lord!” called one, clearly miserable they’d failed him.

  “Come,” Marcello said to Luca, and they ran down the stairs. Outside, they took a torch from the wall and ran down the street and into il Campo, to where they’d apparently brought Evangelia down by rope.

  “Here,” Luca said, bending. Blood. Was Evangelia wounded? Fury and fear warred within his chest. He’d kill every one of them— “And here,” he said, pointing to the next stain on the cobblestones. They ran, following the trail, one drip of blood after another. Soldiers ran to them, and Marcello barely looked up as he commanded their captain.

  “Look for men, all dressed in black. Small men. But beware—they are likely the fiercest enemies your men have ever encountered. They do not fight as honorable knights. They use any method at their disposal. And allow no one to depart the city gates. No one. Understood?”

  “Yes, m’lord. I shall send others to your aid and you can direct them as you wish.”

  “Good,” Marcello grunted. He looked up, and turned, running down a road, then looked about, the torchlight dancing across the stones in maddening splashes of light and shadow. “Do you see anything?”

  “Nay,” Luca said, searching the ground for any more blood, any clue as to where they’d gone.

  “Here! Over here, m’lord!” cried a boy beside another, a hundred yards away.

  Marcello and Luca shared a look and then ran to them. It was the little squires Ben had insisted on bringing with them, Pio and Sandro, small daggers in each of their hands. “We followed them,” Pio said proudly, pulling at Marcello’s sleeve.

  “Well done, little man,” Marcello said, relief in every word. “Which way?”

  “This way!” Sandro cried, running ahead of them.

  Luca’s heart hammered in his chest, as they ran, eventually emerging into a small piazzetta.

  “Piazzetta del Pozzo Secco,” Marcello said, lifting his torch and looking around at the two-story buildings that surrounded it. All were dark and silent. As he turned, Luca saw it, on the wall of the well. A handprint of blood.

  “Marcello…” He ran over to the well, touching the spot of blood, rubbing it between his fingers. Still wet. He peered down into the silent darkness below. She’d been there, moments before them. He cried out in frustration. They’d been so close!

  But by the saints…if the Fiorentini had taken the women down into the maze of the bottini, how were they to find them?

  ***

  ~EVANGELIA~

  We ran down the bottini as best we could, our soggy skirts clinging and slowing us down, to say nothing of the gags in our mouths, making it hard to breathe. But I didn’t want them to carry us. If by some miracle Luca and Marcello could find us down here, it’d be best if they couldn’t use us as human shields. At least, not immediately. Gabs and I were decent swimmers. We could disappear under the water for a moment, add to the confusion. But the thought of going under, my mouth gagged, my hands tied, made me choke with panic even befor
e I’d tried it.

  Six men ran in front of us, six behind. I didn’t know if our guys had succeeded in killing any of them, but the bad guys weren’t carrying any bodies. We paused at another juncture and as the two streams of water collided, Gabi stumbled against me, and I reached up to balance us against the curved ceiling. I gave her a questioning Are you all right? look before a man roughly pulled her away, setting off again. They were like spiders, I decided. Tarantulas. Scurrying. Eerie in their movements.

  She looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes shifting to the ceiling, trying to tell me something, and I glanced up as two men dragged me forward, too.

  I’d left a bloody streak on the ceiling.

  And if my mouth hadn’t been deformed by the gag, the spiders would’ve seen me grinning.

  Because while we weren’t much of a fighting duo at this point, there were others coming after us who were. God willing…

  ***

  “God in heaven…Help us,” Luca muttered, already over the side and lowering himself down the rope. It was slick with blood. So it was her hands…Her beautiful, elegant hands…

  “They’ll likely attempt to escape out the aqueduct,” Marcello barked to a Forelli knight, above him, his voice echoing off the well walls. “They must have overcome the aqueduct guard, breached the wall, and with the low summer water, entered that way. Alert the city guard. Send several contingents there. Expect enemies when you arrive, even before these emerge. And take these boys back to Palazzo Forelli!”

  “Yes, m’lord!”

  Marcello came down, and after him, twelve knights—a few of the remaining Forelli guards, the rest Sienese in their red tunics, with white crosses. Four held torches and all drew their swords. Two archers led the way.

  They ran down the slick-bottomed bottini, pausing at the first juncture. Marcello closed his eyes, as if trying to remember where they might be beneath the city, where their adversaries were likely to go.

  We should split up, Luca thought. But then thought better of it. If the Fiorentini had been able to silently murder nine Forelli knights and take off with Gabriella and Evangelia, they’d need to stick together if they were to get the women back. But what if they went the other way? He wondered, as they splashed down a tunnel after Marcello. His heart hammered at the thought. Of losing Evangelia. Of failing her.

  They reached the next juncture and Marcello lifted his torch and stared at a bloody streak on the wall. He reached up and touched it, rubbing the blood between his fingers. “Fresh,” he said, looking to the channel to his right. “They intend to try to move upstream, out the aqueduct.”

  “That’s madness. They’ll drown!” Luca said.

  “We have to gamble on something. We must double-back. Make our way to the next fonte entrance and come in above them. They’ve gone wider than necessary. And they have the women with them—which is likely slowing them down. If we can enter in front of them…”

  Luca nodded. It was their only opportunity to surprise them.

  As one, they turned and ran, praying they weren’t already too late.

  ~EVANGELIA~

  The water was up to our thighs, the current stronger as we neared what had to be the walls of the city. Gabi fell again, and I struggled to haul her up, her head just clearing the rush of water. A Fiorentini spider took hold of her other arm and we got her to her feet, her breath coming fast and panicked through her nose.

  “Their skirts threaten to sweep them away!” a man beside us called forward, to the leader.

  “Take care of it, then,” the leader returned, sounding irritated that they couldn’t think of this for themselves. We were immediately surrounded, and separated, the men laughing. Memories of being tied up in the woods, swept over me, and I breathed fast and hard, fighting panic.

  Two men took out long daggers and began cutting away at the fabric of my skirts, as I assumed they did to Gabi’s, too. They laughed over the idea of the She-Wolves of Siena looking like nothing more than half-drowned harlots.

  “If their people could see them now!” crowed one, reaching out for a handful of my long, wet hair. The other finished his task, his dagger carelessly jabbing me. I winced and sidled away, into another, who wrapped his arms around me.

  “Mayhap later, girl,” he said, as if I’d been throwing myself at him.

  He shoved me away, and the others laughed. Ahead of us, I saw that Gabi suffered similar mockery. But as I stumbled and righted myself, I realized I was glad my skirts were gone. The water mostly covered my legs. And now it was far easier to move, as well as to remain stable. It left me less panicked about falling, since I had the use of my legs to kick and right myself.

  Their leader awaited us, hands on hips. “Keep your hands to yourselves,” he hissed. “We’ll earn enough in reward for delivering these two to keep us in gold—and women—to the end of our days. But we must escape these cursed walls and deliver them to the Grandi. Only they can decide if the She-Wolves suffer our sister’s fate. Not us.”

  I frowned at his obvious reference to Alessandra and the accusations that she’d been abused at our men’s hands. Was that what they intended? Retribution in kind? I glanced over my shoulder, hoping against hope that I’d see a flicker of torchlight, know that Luca and Marcello trailed us…but there was nothing.

  ***

  The man’s voice easily carried to them, even over the rush of the water.

  The Fiorentini were right around the corner, not twenty paces away. They could see the reflection of their torches on the wall. Marcello looked over at Luca, his face half-submerged. In his hands were two daggers, just as there were in Luca’s. Three other knights who could swim were with them in the water, the others waiting in the other tunnel, awaiting sounds of battle.

  The light drew closer on the wall, and Marcello lifted his chin, took a deep breath, then went under, as did Luca, a second later. They dived deep, not wanting a kicking foot or rising hand to alert the men that they approached. They’d gambled that the Fiorentini traveled up the center of the bottini, where it was least slick, and went to either side, leaving the men at the front for the knights behind them. Luca counted to thirty, hoping they had passed the leader, and then rose, just as Marcello did. They each took down their first man within seconds, then another, and Luca dived for Evangelia, dragging her underneath the water with him. But a man was immediately upon him, and then another, and Luca shoved her away, hoping he could stay between them.

  He felt the pierce of an enemy’s dagger in his thigh and rose, infuriated, intent on taking this one down, drowning him as a crocodile took his prey. As he went under, he glimpsed Evangelia in the torchlight, pulling the gag from her mouth, screaming for Gabriella.

  When he rose, his enemy drifting away from him, dead, and, turning to take on the next, he saw Evangelia wade out into the bottini for a drifting bow, then run downstream after the drifting, dead body of an archer, intent on the quiver of arrows. “Evangelia! Stay with—”

  He grunted and ripped the sword from his back, just barely stopping his adversary’s strike at his neck. He roared and pushed the man back, but the man was quick, twisting, going under the water, and rising where he didn’t expect him. He couldn’t go after Evangelia…not if he wanted to stay alive to help her.

  Luca growled in frustration, renewing his attack and then glimpsed where she was headed. Two men had Gabriella, and were dragging her with them, away. Marcello cried out, obviously injured, then roared as he attacked his adversary anew. Luca finally dispatched his attacker with a feint and plunged a knife into his belly, then turned and ran after Evangelia, Gabriella, and the other two Fiorentini. He glanced over his shoulder at his cousin, pushing a Fiorentini underwater. Two Forelli knights hovered nearby.

  Marcello would want me to go after his wife. His baby.

  He turned back, chagrined that they were all out of sight again, and ran, as fast as he could, against the waters that seemed to fight him. By the saints, Lord, don’t let me have tarried too long. Pl
ease don’t let me have tarried too long!

  Luca turned the corner and splashed to a stop, just shy of running into Evangelia, aiming down her bowstring at the running figures thirty feet away.

  He held his breath. She’d shot nothing but a few targets a couple days ago. Over the course of a year. And he knew her hands were bloody, likely trembling, weakened. If her arrow went wide—

  She let it loose, and it struck the man at Gabriella’s left in the center of his neck. His hands went up, as if surrendering, just before he splashed face-first into the water. The other immediately turned, dagger to Gabriella’s throat, dragging her backward, even as Evangelia strode forward through the water, nocking another arrow as she went.

  “Stay where you are, or I’ll kill her now!” cried the man.

  “Nay. You shall not leave with her,” Evangelia said, not stopping for another ten paces. Behind Gabriella and her captor, another assassin held a torch, leaving them in perfect silhouette.

  For the first time, Luca smiled. “So…you only set aside your bow and arrow so that you could pick them up again in a way that would heighten your legend?”

  A smile edged her beautiful face, but her eyes remained only on her prey. “I do adore a good dramatic moment.”

  Luca sucked in his breath. “You know that he’ll likely kill her and then try and escape,” he whispered. “Take the glory of the kill rather than be captured.”

  “I am aware,” she said, aiming again.

  “Cease your aim!” cried the man, panic edging his tone, taking a few more steps backward. “Put down your bow!”

  “You did not hear what transpired for your brothers at the villa in Aquila last year?” Luca called.

  The man paused, and Luca could almost see him frowning.

  “Nay?” Luca called. “Ah well. It went something like this…”