The River of Time Series

by Lisa T. Bergren

  I nodded and tried not to scream as he dug his thumbs in and ran them down the length of my thigh, apparently feeling for a tear. He took hold of my ankle and slowly made me flex my knee, and I cried out. I gripped the post so hard I thought I might leave dents in the wood. Lord Greco was before me in an instant, covering my hands with his, frowning in concern. Confused by the empathy I saw on his face, I studied him, but then the doctor’s hands were examining my hurt leg again. I bit my lip as I screamed, trying to keep it to myself. And failing.

  The doctor rose. “I am done,” he said to me. He looked to Lord Greco. “Injured muscle,” he said. “It shall take some time to heal, but I do not believe it is torn. We must bandage it tightly, and she must rest.”

  “No dancing,” Lord Greco said to me, his furrowed brow lifting in the center.

  “Oh, and there was that ball I had hoped to attend,” I returned.

  Lord Greco gave me a small smile. He admired me. I felt it. It ignited a tiny hope in my heart.

  “Please, m’lord, turn away again as I examine the lady’s ribs.”

  Lord Greco immediately did as he was told. I studied his broad back as the doctor methodically unwound the strips from my torso, trying to ignore the humiliation of the moment. Rodolfo Greco. He and Marcello had been friends as boys. He was taller than Marcello by a couple of inches. But they had similar backs, strength through the shoulders, arms.

  I covered my breasts as the last of the bandage slipped away. The doctor turned me toward the light and gently ran his cold fingers along one rib and then another, then still another. “Broken, two of them,” he muttered. “With more severely bruised.” He looked into my eyes and let Lord Greco’s shirt fall to cover my torso like a nightshirt again. “The Lord kept you from death. Had those ribs moved much more, they might have punctured a lung.”

  “God be praised,” I said numbly.

  “Along with his saints,” said the doctor, nodding. “I shall wash your scrapes and cuts, and bind them. Then I shall bind your ribs and thigh. Give you something for the pain”—he arched an admiring brow—“which must be considerable. That should keep you until morn.” He took me by the elbow and ushered me over to Lord Greco’s narrow bed. There he did as he had said, seeing to all my needs in a max of twenty minutes. At the end, he slipped some powder from a parchment packet and leaves from a small box into a cup of hot water. He let it steep for a minute, then strained out the leaves and handed it to me. “Drink it down. It shall help you sleep.”

  I hesitated. The last time I’d taken medicine a doctor had given me, I’d very nearly lost my life.

  He straightened and looked over to Lord Greco.

  “Drink it,” Lord Greco said, staring at me, hard.

  Reluctantly, I brought it to my lips and smelled. It didn’t have any of the cut-grass smell the poison had held. It smelled of spearmint and flowers. I sipped, rolling it over my tongue.

  “It is what he says it is, m’lady,” Lord Greco said with a sigh.

  “I shall return come daybreak,” said the doctor.

  “’Tis but hours away,” Greco said.

  The doctor nodded. “Once the battle begins, I shall not have time to see to her.”

  “’Tis well. We shall be away on the morrow, en route to Firenze.” He glanced back at me, as I drained the cup, and then to the doctor. “No signs of the plague on her?”

  The tall, thin man’s eyes narrowed, and then he shook his head. “Nay. You should have warned me, m’lord, that you suspected it.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” he said, ignoring the man’s complaint. They walked to the tent flap, and Lord Greco paused to speak to the knights outside.

  Tomorrow. He meant to take me to the city tomorrow. My eyes drifted to the southern wall of the tent. Marcello…

  Greco was before me, then. How’d he do that? He moved as swiftly and stealthily as a cat! My head felt groggy, like I’d had too much wine. The medicine…

  “Lie down,” he said gently.

  I frowned. Did he mean to—

  “Nay, m’lady,” he said, reading the fear in my eyes. “We are both in need of rest. Trust me. Lie down. On your back.”

  I hardly had a choice, with him hovering over me. I lowered myself, suspiciously staring up at him. Crazily there were three of him now. All three Lord Grecos moved to the bottom of the cot and unfolded the heavy blanket, pulling it up and over me. They really weren’t looking at me with anything more than the eyes of a friend. Maybe they’re gay…

  I closed my eyes, knowing it was the drug making me think there were three when there was only one. I was so terribly tired. So terribly, horribly, mind-blowingly weary.

  I peeked just in time to see him—thankfully back to one person—throw out a second blanket beside the cot, sit down on it, and then put out his hand. “Your right hand, please.”

  Frowning sleepily, I reached out my hand. He took it and tied a thin rope around my wrist, tight enough that there was no way I’d get it off without a knife, and yet still with enough room to give my fingers circulation. “This way,” he said, tying the other end of the three-foot rope to his right wrist, “I shall know if you even try to roll over in your sleep.”

  “Excellent. I always wanted a watchdog.”

  “Every She-Wolf deserves one,” he returned evenly. He finished his task and stretched out beside me.

  I thought of trying to wait him out, wait until he was snoring to work on the knots that held my wrist. But as I listened to his slow, rhythmic breathing, watched the rise and fall of his shoulder in the candlelight, I knew that this night, there was no fight left in me.

  CHAPTER 20

  It was my throbbing head and ribs that woke me first, as dawn lit the outside, changing the color of the tent from plum to lavender. Kind of a girly color for a knight, I thought. Maybe he really is gay.

  As if he sensed me looking at him, Lord Greco’s eyes squinted shut and then opened wide, staring directly at me. Our gaze held for a long moment.

  It was then I knew he was no ally. No friend. He tended to me, did not harm me, because I was worth something. The fatted calf on my way to slaughter.

  “What shall be your reward for delivering me to Firenze?”

  “Far more than you can imagine,” he said, sitting and untying his end of the small rope that bound us together.

  “The Forellis,” I began. “You know them. They have significant means. I could—”

  He lifted a finger to his lips, gently shushing me. He shook his head and rose to untie my wrist. “This is a matter of honor. Though I once considered Marcello Forelli a friend, my loyalties will forever be with Firenze.” He finished and turned from me, walking to the basin and pouring water into it.

  Outside, I could hear the commanders calling their troops into order, the clop, clop of horses, passing by. Today they would attack Siena.

  Had Lia reached Castello Forelli in time? Would they have chance to send for reinforcements? Would the castello be taken, and my mother with it? Paratore would probably be there, if Castello Forelli fell. He would not be kind to the prisoners he took. I’d seen what he did with prisoners, myself, when he had Lia in his dungeon, when he very nearly had me. And if he got Mom…I shook my head. I had to stop it—

  “’Tis out of your hands, m’lady. You are a mighty and worthy adversary,” Lord Greco said with a nod of deference, “but you are one woman. You cannot save a city. Not this day.”

  I stared back at him, wanting to scream at him, convince him he was wrong. But inside I felt hollow, empty. Marcello and Luca were gone, perhaps prisoners themselves. Today, Siena might fall. Had I done this? Set into motion a course of action that would change history?

  No way through but through, my father’s voice said to me. Do the next thing, Gabriella, and then the next, and then the next. I swallowed an
d said, “So what is to become of me?”

  “That is for the elders to decide,” he said, staring back into my eyes. “You are the sworn enemy of Firenze. Your way shall not be easy.” He went to the trunk of clothes and began rummaging through them, then paused. “Unless…”

  I waited a second, letting his word hang in the air. “Unless?”

  “Unless you have something they want.”

  “Such as?” I asked with a frown.

  “Access.” He dragged his fingers casually across the metal edge of the fine red mahogany trunk.

  I stared back at him. What kind of access were they after?

  “Not into Castello Forelli,” he said gently. “As formidable as she is, she cannot withstand the attack to come, not without others to come to her aid. And they shall not. We’ve seen to it that she shall be cut off from any reinforcements.”

  I didn’t flinch. I was proud of myself for that.

  He found a shirt and rose, slowly meeting my gaze. “I speak of Siena,” he said.

  “Siena,” I repeated.

  “Yes. You are very nearly kin to Lady Rossi,” he said. “You’ve been in their palazzo several times.”

  “Twice, in the traitors’ palazzo,” I said, testing out my theory.

  My heart pounded as he came over and looked down at me, like a patronizing older brother. “I prefer to see them as people capitalizing on uncommon opportunity. Siena’s days are short. The wise shall side with us, aid us. Lord Rossi is one of them. We shall breach Siena’s walls within a week, two at the most. But she is well fortified. You know this. You’ve been there.”

  Fortified, yes. But there were ways…I thought of the secret tunnel. The one that ran from Palazzo Pubblico to the apartment inside Palazzo Rossi.

  He squatted before me and brushed my hair over my shoulder. I edged away from his touch. He smiled and then nodded. “Yes. You’re seeing it now, again, in your mind. You’re a clever woman. A warrior. You know the way from the Palazzo Rossi into Palazzo Pubblico.”

  “I know no such thing,” I said.

  “You are a decent liar,” he said evenly, unperturbed. “But you’d need to be excellent, m’lady, to fool me.”

  I waited him out. For as much as he claimed to know me, to have me figured out, I knew, deep down, that it was just a part of his game.

  “There is another tunnel, leading from Palazzo Pubblico, to the outer walls. An escape route that might be of some use.” He shook his head. “The door cannot be opened from the outside, but those who wish to do so could open it from within.” He rose and paced for a bit. “I know it is a great deal to ask,” he said, his chin in his hand. “But in Firenze, to avoid death, you shall have to convince our people that you are our heroine, not Siena’s.”

  “And how would I do that?”

  “Gather the Nine, under the guise of giving them information you’ve gained while in enemy territory. They shall come—for you. Once we have the Nine in one room, we shall relieve eight—those not following the path of greatest wisdom—of their duties.”

  I took a breath. “You mean kill them.”

  He stared back into my eyes.

  “Why me?” I whispered. “Lord Rossi has many men. Why not have him do this? If all you’re after is mutiny—”

  “Lord Rossi’s allegiances must be hidden. If he is found to be a traitor, it shall only make the Sienese more furious. But if the She-Wolf kills all of the Nine but him, and urges submission to Firenze, and Lord Rossi stands behind her, the Sienese shall stumble.” He paused. “To them, m’lady, you are Siena. Their hope. Their future. It is a kindness, in a way. Lead them to submission, and a great many shall be saved.”

  A kindness. He was smooth. Deadly smooth.

  “And…and if I do not choose to lure the Nine to their deaths? If I do not wish to betray my people?”

  “Then you shall die, after a prolonged period of agony.” He turned, threw some clothes into the trunk, and gazed over at me. “Either path shall be difficult. The choice is yours,” he said, shaking his head, “and yours alone. You can consider it on the road today.”

  He walked to the edge of the tent. “The doctor shall be here in a moment to see to you. After that, you shall have a bath.”

  Whatever, I thought dismissively. I had much bigger things to worry about than whether or not I smelled good.

  Someone blew a horn outside, making me jump. Men were on the march.

  Lord Greco gave me a sad smile. “Today, Siena begins to crumble. She may fall fast or she may fall slowly, but she shall fall.”

  Says you. I kept my lips clamped shut.

  “’Tis time to rethink your loyalties, consider your future.” He waved about the tent. “All swords and knives and anything sharp have been removed. All sides are guarded by knights. Do not attempt escape.”

  He left, then. I paced for a time, in my lame, limping fashion, trying to figure a way out, a plan. But came up with nothing. His men had literally stripped the tent of everything but the bed. I was just considering breaking it apart, to use a piece of wood as some sort of weapon, when the doctor arrived.

  He studied me, reading too many of my thoughts, judging from his raised brow. Without a word, he gestured for me to show him my palms. He studied every scratch and cut, apparently looking for infection. Satisfied, he unwound my thigh and chest bandages.

  There was a new green hue to my bruises today. Hadn’t seen that before. The one at the back of my leg now stretched all the way down to my calf. “I cannot do anything more for you but rebind you,” he said. “I shall return after you see to your bath.”

  Two men brought in a heavy round wooden tub, like the bottom half of a wine cask. They set it behind the screen, brought in several buckets of water, and then ducked out, never looking my direction. Favoring my left leg, I knelt in the cold water, bending to wet down my hair. I found a cake of soap in a net to the side and lathered up, rinsed, and rose, shivering. There was no towel. I hurriedly slipped on Lord Greco’s big shirt and yanked on the leggings. They came to my chest, so I rolled them down and tied them with the rope.

  I turned around the corner of the screen and gasped. Once again, he’d crept in without me knowing. Lord Greco stared at me, his eyes falling from my wet curls to the damp shirt…for the first time letting me know he thought I was something more than a sack of potatoes to deliver. Not gay.

  I crossed my arms and stared back at him, tensing in defense.

  He turned and spoke over his shoulder. “The doctor shall be back in moments. As soon as your wounds are bound, we shall set off.”

  “Oh. Good?” Was that the required response?

  He nodded to a trencher, a wooden platter, near the entrance. “Break your fast,” he directed. “We shall not eat again until we enter the city.”

  I went over to the makeshift table and picked up the bread, still warm. I ate it and then the wedge of cheese. Last, I drank down the cup of cold water, just as the doctor returned.

  He did his number on me and gave me a bit more pain powder for the road. I accepted it but was determined not to take any of it. I preferred the knifelike pain at my ribs and thigh to feeling like I was a drugged up and out of control. When he finished binding my chest and leg, he straightened and looked at me with sad eyes. I frowned, knowing that him feeling sorry for me could not be a good thing.

  “Will they kill me in Firenze?”

  “I don’t believe so,” he said with a slow shake of his head, and his eyes become more sorrowful still. “But you might wish they had. You must rethink your loyalties, m’lady. ’Tis the only way.”

  “Loyalty is not loyalty unless one clings to it in the face of adversity. No?”

  He stared back into my eyes and, seeing he wasn’t going to sway me, gathered his things and left the tent without another word. The fl
ap was open, and I could see him talking to his tracker.

  I came out, and a knight grabbed my arm.

  I shook him off. Man, relax, dude. “I shall go no farther.”

  “See that you don’t,” he growled.

  Lord Greco was frowning, making angry gestures as he berated the helpless-looking tracker.

  I smiled, feeling a twinge of hope, the first of the day.

  They hadn’t found Lia. She had made it. Please, Lord, I prayed silently. See her all the way to safety. Help her warn Siena. Save Siena. Please.

  Lord Greco glanced in our direction, caught sight of me, and then shouted at the knights, “Get her inside! She is not to be out here.”

  We set off an hour later, four knights in Greco purple leading the way, Lord Greco on a dark brown gelding, me on another gelding—flanked by two knights—and six more behind us. The journey was made longer by the sickeningly huge number of men who still journeyed south to the front lines, streaming past us on either side. With each group that arrived, Lord Greco called out, “I present to you, Lady Gabriella Betarrini! Tell everyone that if one She-Wolf of Siena can be captured, then so can the other! They are mortal after all.”

  The men laughed and jeered. Greco’s knights kept them from grabbing me, or stoning me, as some tried to do. He was using me as some kind of crazy inspiration, a symbol of Siena’s impending defeat. Was that what I would do for all of Firenze? Stir them up, get them ready to take on Siena?

  There was no way that Siena could fend off such numbers, not when she was so ill-prepared.

  Not that these were the finest specimens of warriors. Many carried nothing but a pitchfork or axe over their shoulders. But I knew that victory often was claimed by the side with the most men willing to die. At least that was what my world history teacher had said to us. And so they went, why? For land? Honor? Glory? Spoils of war? What?

  What could be worth it? I doubted the women they left behind would consider it worthwhile, should they be left widowed, alone, struggling to feed themselves and their children. Sure, men got the glory and honor. But women were abandoned to try and pull the pieces together. I thought of Mom, carrying on without Dad. But that was different, a different time. Still hard, for sure. But at least she had education, a way to make a living. These women…my eyes trailed up the hills, toward a vineyard much like that of the old woman who’d helped us.