1636- the Flight of the Nightingale

by David Carrico

  “Yes, Donna,” Davit replied. “Again, barring bad weather or more problems with the carriage or new horses. And I will have everything checked over again tonight while we rest.”

  “Good,” Francesca said as she shifted position on her cushions, trying to find a position that eased the ache in her back and hips.

  “Nearly there,” Davit said, obviously trying to reassure her.

  “Good.” Francesca pulled a rosary out of her pocket, and went through a decade, murmuring the prayers. As she completed it, she looked up to see Davit staring at her, face expressionless. “Sorry,” she said as she slipped the rosary back into its place, “I needed some comfort.”

  Davit nodded, but said nothing more. She realized she had offended him, but she was so weary that she had no strength left to discuss it with him.

  The carriage rolled down the cobbled street. The rumble of the wheels on the stones seemed to resonate in Francesca’s bones.

  * * *

  Giuseppe and Ercole brought their mugs and came to stand in front of the table where Roberto and Paolo were sitting back in the corner, away from the other people in the common room of the Mantovan taverna where they were stopped for the night.

  “What do you two want?” Paolo growled.

  “Capitano,” Ercole said to Roberto, giving a bob of his head as he said it. He and Giuseppe had picked up that address from Gagliardi. “You told Bastiano and Donato today that we were headed next to Cremona. Where are we headed after that?”

  “Why do you want to know?” Roberto said after taking a sip of his wine.

  The two guards looked at each other, then back at the leaders.

  “My name is Giuseppe Landa,” Giuseppe began, then jerked a thumb at his partner, “and his is Ercole Brenzona. We’re from Mantova, Messere…” which explained their accents, “…or actually, a couple of little villages north of here. We know the land around here well. If you’ll tell us where we’re going, we may be able to get you there faster.”

  Roberto heard Paolo expel a breath with some force, and he felt like doing the same. He restrained the urge to curse, and focused on the two guards standing before them.

  “Sit.” He pointed at the chairs on the other side of the table. The guards sat with some alacrity. They had the good sense to keep their mouths shut as he thought through everything, all the while staring at them with a stony gaze.

  “It’s no great secret,” Roberto finally said. “Our goal is Brescia. That is where we think Maestra Caccini is going.”

  “Brescia? Why Brescia?” Giuseppe looked and sounded confused.

  “It doesn’t matter. We have information that indicates that’s where she is headed, and she started out about three days ahead of us. We’re following the path she laid out.”

  “Brescia?” Ercole said. “Capitano, if your goal is Brescia, you have no need to go to Cremona. We can get you there from here much quicker.”

  “How much quicker?” Paolo interjected, placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

  The two guards looked at each other, and Giuseppe shrugged. Ercole looked back at the leaders.

  “From here, on horseback, if it doesn’t rain, maybe two, two and a half days. It will take four if you go through Cremona.”

  “Then why is she going through Cremona?” Paolo demanded.

  “Don’t know,” Giuseppe said. “It is a wider road, better, more well-known. It would take a carriage or wagon better than some of the backwoods trails we would use, too. But it is definitely longer.”

  Roberto turned his mug in his hands while he thought. When it stopped turning, he frowned at them. “Are you certain of this?”

  “Yes, Capitano,” Ercole said. Giuseppe gave a firm nod.

  “How certain?”

  “Very certain,” Ercole said. “We know the lands around here.” Roberto stared at them. The two guards looked back at him steadily. If they were shading the truth, they were doing a very good job of it, he decided, and he wasn’t at all certain they were capable of that. “Gagliardi?” he asked.

  “Your decision to make, Capitano,” Paolo growled. “But if they’re not lying, it could really save us some time. Not to mention wear on the horses.”

  Roberto tapped one fingertip on the table, thinking. The finger stilled as he made a decision. “If you two can deliver me to the gates of Brescia in two and a half days from tomorrow morning, I’ll give you each a florin, above what your pay usually is. But if I’m not under the gates of Brescia at noon on that day, you won’t get a florin, you’ll lose all your pay since Capitano Falconieri took you off duty. And,” he lifted a finger, “I’ll have you beaten with rods.”

  A moment of silence was allowed to extend. Ercole finally spoke. “Is it true that we’re chasing Maestra Caccini?”

  Roberto nodded.

  Ercole snorted. “Good. I’d like to get a bit of my own back after what she did to us.” Giuseppe nodded strenuously in agreement.

  “You’ll have to settle for capturing her,” Roberto said severely. “The grand duke specifically ordered that she be treated with care and consideration and not harmed.”

  The two guards definitely appeared disgruntled, but they nodded in recognition of the orders.

  Roberto finally spoke again. “Do you understand what I want? Get me to Brescia in that time, and you’ll be rewarded. Fail me, and you will be punished, harshly.”

  They didn’t flinch. Roberto was somewhat pleased by that.

  “We can do that,” Ercole said in a firm tone. Giuseppe nodded.

  “See that you do.”

  Chapter 17

  “What is that?” Davit said as they crested a rise near to Brescia.

  Francesca stuck her head out the other window of the carriage, blinking to settle her eyes in the wind of their passage. She immediately saw what her companion was remarking on, and her heart gave a jump. “That is—must be—the airship.” The great lumpy thing in the sky was slowly sinking toward a location outside but near the city walls.

  “The…airship…” Davit said in tones of wonder. He gave a sharp shake to his head, then turned narrowed eyes upon Francesca. “This…this is why you come to Brescia, not other places.”

  “Yes,” Francesca admitted with a smile. “If I can buy us passage, in four days we will be on the other side of the Alps, and two days later either in Magdeburg or Grantville.”

  “Four days.” Davit turned his gaze on the airship. “That would put you so far ahead of the pursuit that you could disappear before they would catch you up.”

  “Exactly.”

  Marco scrambled to stick his head out the other window so he could see the airship. After a few moments, he pulled his head back inside, and turned widened eyes on Francesca. She nodded at him, still smiling. He swallowed, then returned a shaky smile of his own.

  “The airship,” Davit muttered, eyebrows lowered as he stared at the floor, thinking. “This will change many things. Papa must hear of this.”

  “Oh, I suspect Maestro Jachobe already knows of the airship,” Francesca said, remembering the conclusion of the conversation she’d had with the old money changer.

  “Ah,” Davit said. “I see. That must be something he learned from the Cavrianis.”

  “The who?” Francesca was confused.

  “The Cavrianis. A goy merchant family that has become very intertwined with some of the affairs of or surrounding the Grantvillers. Papa has had dealings with them before, and speaks well of them. I know that one of them had approached Papa recently.”

  “I thought the papal rulings…”

  “Very quiet dealings,” Davit said dryly. “There are only so many ducats and florins available, so sometimes even Jewish money is useful. That is why even though most of the Jews of Bologna have been expelled, our family and a few others remain. The ghetto is almost empty, but we remain, we few, because without us the business life of Bologna would collapse.”

  “I didn’t see that in Firenze,” Francesca obser
ved.

  “Because the grand dukes of Tuscany, despite their attachment to the popes, have also done a better job of protecting the interests of their Jewish residents than most of the rulers in Italy. Maestro Mosè operates more freely than any of the rest of us.”

  “I am sorry.” Francesca’s tone was quiet and sad.

  “It is the way of the world,” Davit said in a resigned tone.

  “Not all the world,” Francesca said. “Not in Grantville. Not in the USE. Or at least, so it is said.”

  Davit shrugged. “Perhaps. But there have been times—even generations—of tolerance and encouragement here, and in Spain, and in other lands, but always it changes. Always the face of the leaders turns against us. Always the persecutions begin.”

  “So move to Grantville and support the change. Lead the change. Make yourselves so useful that they cannot turn against you.”

  Davit looked at her with hooded eyes. After a long moment, he said, “Would that it were that simple.”

  There was a long moment of silence, then Davit clapped his hands together and changed the subject. “Well, what would you do now? We near Brescia.”

  “First, take us to where the airship is coming down,” Francesca said. “I would talk to the people who make that happen.”

  Davit nodded. “Strike while the iron is hot, yes. By all means.” He leaned out of his window and shouted at the driver, and got a shout back. Pulling back inside the window, he said, “Antonio will try to find a way there without going through the city. If there is a road or a path, it would be more direct.”

  “Good.”

  Francesca settled back against her cushions, but still kept her eyes directed out the window toward the airship, which had now settled to the ground. She attempted to suppress her excitement. Her deliverance was visible. She was almost free, and she trembled at the thought.

  * * *

  Marco looked at Davit, tilted his head a bit, and made a motion with his left hand down beside his left thigh, so that it was hidden from Francesca. When Davit saw it, he thought for a moment, then showed his right hand beside his right thigh and rubbed his thumb along his fingertips. Marco slipped his hand inside a jacket pocket and pulled something out of his pocket which he displayed to Davit for just a moment, then slipped it back inside his pocket.

  Davit looked at the youth for a long moment. Marco stared back at him, stony-faced. After a moment, Davit nodded. Marco returned the nod, then crossed his arms across his chest and looked out the window.

  * * *

  “We won’t make Brescia today, Messere,” Ercole said. “We are two, maybe as much as three hours from the city, no more, but we cannot get there before they close the gates. It would be better that we stop in one of the village inns that we will see soon and give the horses some rest tonight, then push on at first light. We will be there early in the morning.”

  “Two hours, you say?” Roberto queried.

  “No more than three hours, Messere,” Ercole replied. “On my mother’s grave and the Madonna’s throne, I swear it.”

  Roberto looked to Paolo and raised his eyebrows. “Let us ride until we run out of daylight,” came the growled response. “Every foot we travel now is a foot we don’t have to travel tomorrow.”

  “Agreed,” Roberto said. “But tomorrow…be ready.”

  * * *

  The carriage came to a stop. Davit dismounted immediately, even before Antonio or Benvenuto could come back and open the doors. He turned and helped Francesca descend, her feet carefully fitting into the steps that hung down from the opening.

  “Are you sure about this, Donna?” he murmured as they walked toward several men who were clustered at what appeared to be the nose of the airship, Marco following behind them.

  “Never more so,” Francesca replied just as quietly. “Besides, what choice do I have?”

  The men they were approaching looked their direction as they neared. “Yes?” said the one who was holding one of the new up-time inspired clipboards. “Do you need something?”

  “I need to speak to whoever is in charge of your operation,” Francesca said boldly.

  “You’re talking to him,” the same man responded with a pronounced Venetian accent. “Marcello Bonaro, from Venezia originally, now from Grantville and Magdeburg. Do you have business with us?”

  “I would like to have business with you,” Francesca said with a wide smile.

  Bonaro’s eyebrows rose, and he handed off the clipboard to one of his companions with an aside of “Finish the checklist.” He faced Francesca directly, and nodded to her. “What are you seeking, Donna…” he tilted his head in inquiry.

  “Call me Donna Negri,” she responded. “I have a pressing need to be in Magdeburg as soon as possible. I am willing to pay quite well for the carriage of myself and my attendant Marco,” she gestured toward the youth, “over the Alps.”

  Bonaro eyed the two of them, and pursed his lips. After a long moment, he said, “We don’t ordinarily accept passengers who are not from the USE…” Francesca pulled a florin out of her pocket, and let the golden edge of it show. Bonaro’s lips curled up just a bit as he caught sight of that, and he continued with, “…But there were a couple of men that were supposed to go back with us that we’ve been informed won’t be making this trip. And since you and your…attendant…are not large people, we can accommodate you. The trip will not be luxurious, mind you.”

  Francesca chuckled. “After eleven days in ox carts and carriages, I doubt that your airship will be any worse.”

  Bonaro smiled at that. “I will concede that. Six florins. Each. One way.”

  “One way?” Francesca was confused by that.

  “Six florins buys you carriage from here to Nürnberg only. No ticket or provision for a return trip.”

  “Ah. That will not be an issue. I will not be returning soon. But too much. Four florins each.”

  The resulting round of bargaining was almost desultory, as if they were going through the motions because they were expected to. There were no other airship services yet to offer competing prices, and Francesca had already admitted she had a serious need to get across the Alps fast, so she really had little leverage to affect the prices. Bonaro was actually being generous when he settled for five florins apiece.

  “And here is one to bind the agreement,” Francesca said as she handed Bonaro the florin in her hand.

  “Witnessed,” Davit said.

  “And you are?” Bonaro said as he took the coin.

  “Davit ben Jachobe from Bologna.”

  “Are you now?” Bonaro said. “I’ve heard of you…or at least your family.” He stuck the florin in his pocket, and held out his hand.

  Davit looked a bit surprised, but took the offered clasp and shook hands firmly. “I would have been a bit surprised if you hadn’t,” he said.

  “When do you leave?” Francesca asked.

  “Tomorrow early,” Bonaro said. “As close to dawn as possible. We’re waiting on one shipment, and we’ll leave as soon as both it and you are on board.”

  “Good. We will be here.” She turned to leave, only to turn back when Bonaro spoke.

  “You can’t bring anything large with you, Donna. No large cases or lockers, nothing heavy. And you’ll need to bring your own food and wine.”

  “A couple of small bags of clothes and one of papers,” Francesca said. “We have been traveling light. And we’ll take care of provisions.”

  “Then be here at first light tomorrow with your nine florins,” Bonaro said with a grin.

  “We will be.”

  Chapter 18

  It was cool for a late September morning. It was barely light out, and there was a brisk wind blowing down out of the mountain. Roberto was glad for his buff coat. It cut the chill—for where it covered, anyway. His fingers and ears were cold, but he was able to ignore that.

  His little company had gotten an early start that morning. Paolo had pointed out to Roberto the previous evening that the
moon was going to be up and visible late in the night into the dawn light, and with the cloudless days they had been having, they could probably make their way along the roads pretty well.

  And so it had proved. The moonlight was good enough to light the way along any established road, as long as they moved at a walk so that the riders could see ahead and guide the horses around obstacles or holes.

  No one spoke. Roberto suspected that most of the guards, all of whom had some experience in the wars, were asleep in their saddles, trusting their horses to follow the lead of the horses before them. An occasional raspy sound from beside him indicated that Paolo, that most experienced of troopers, certainly was.

  Giuseppe and Ercole led the way. Roberto could make out their outlines in the dim light ahead of him. He watched as the light grew from the east and the way ahead became clearer and clearer. All thoughts of drowsiness fled his mind the moment that both the advance riders stiffened and shaded their eyes. He felt Paolo snap to full awareness at that same moment.

  “Messere,” Ercole turned and called out, pointing ahead, “what is that?”

  Amid the jingles and clanks of all the riders rousing and focusing on what lay ahead, Roberto peered in the direction Ercole was pointing. At first all he saw was the bulk of the city, but then off to the side a bit…what was that lump, swelling up into the sky…

  Roberto realized that he had pulled to a halt, and everyone else was gathering around him while he considered what he was seeing. “What is it, Capitano?” Paolo breathed from where he had drawn up beside Roberto. “Some kind of fortalice? Some kind of device or engine?”

  Device…engine…those words resonated through Roberto’s mind and pulled a thought from his memory. He swore, bitterly and viciously, then said, “The airship! That is the airship everyone has been passing rumors and stories about. She has planned this.” More swearing. “La Cecchina is the equal of every general of the age! Ercole! Giuseppe! Get me there now! Now, do you hear me!”