The River of Time Series

by Lisa T. Bergren

  I smiled. “While I would love to stay and get to know you further, I must make haste. Would you be so kind as to tell me how I might escape to safety?”

  “I’ll do much better than that,” he said. “I shall see to it myself.”

  Seeing to it himself meant instructing a trusted manservant, Carsius, who was about fifty years old, to do it for him. Lord Zinicola tottered over to me, placed his finely embroidered wool cape over my arm, and reached for his sword and scabbard, which he handed over to me too.

  “Nay, m’lord. I couldn’t.”

  He waved me off and pushed the sword into my hands. “From what I hear, you wield it with far more skill than I ever hoped to.” He gave in to a coughing fit. Then, “Put it to good use, girl. Find your freedom.”

  I bent and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, feeling more hope with a sword in my hands than I had in days, and then I was rushed down a back staircase that ended in the stables. Carsius clearly wasn’t as keen on this misadventure as Lord Zinicola was, but he did his duty with regal, methodical movements.

  “Here, m’lady,” he said, gesturing to a shallow cart already hitched to a horse. “Lie down in the middle. I shall surround you with sacks of grain and drive you to safety. We must make haste. Already they search for you.”

  “All right,” I said, climbing into the cart’s bed and lying down, already glad for the protective, warm layer of the cape. It would protect me from the cold and help disguise my toga once I was on my own.

  Carsius was halfway through the process of packing me in when we heard a shout near the stable doors. We shared a long look, and he picked up the pace. He’d just placed the last sack atop me, leaving me in a sort of grain-coffin, when someone arrived. “Oh, Carsius, ’tis you,” said a man. “I fear my lord has a favorite guest missing.”

  “Missing, you say? Most unfortunate.” I was surprised at how calm he sounded. “I’d assist you in your search, but I am about my own lord’s business, hauling this grain to the poorhouse before sundown.”

  “Very well. If you see a woman in a long toga as you travel, will you kindly inform us?”

  “Surely every woman in a toga is already at your lord’s palazzo.”

  “Not this one.” The man apparently left, and I heard the creak of leather as Carsius took his seat in the saddle. I dared to take a dusty breath. It was good I wasn’t an allergic sort of girl, because this kind of setup would’ve sent me into a major fit. I felt the cart lurch and heard the wheels crunch as we turned and headed out the stable gates. Carsius paused outside, presumably to shut them again, and I listened so hard I could hear my heart pound in my ears.

  That was when they neared. Rodolfo. Lord Barbato. And Lord Vivaro.

  “You’ve allowed her to escape, you fool,” Barbato said in a hiss.

  “I did nothing of the sort. She was under guard at every moment,” Vivaro protested.

  “There must have been one moment in which she was not,” Rodolfo said.

  “There is simply no way she could have escaped the palazzo,” Vivaro said, “unless she sprouted wings and flew away. Besides, she is a girl alone, without funds—how far can she get?”

  “You do not know the legends of the She-Wolves of Siena very well, do you?” Rodolfo ground out, sounding every bit the frustrated groom with a runaway bride. “We trusted you, m’lord. Trusted you to ensure that this would be a safe place to bring her, to see the deed done.”

  The wagon lurched forward again, and I strained to hear the rest.

  “I shall make it right and find her. I am as distraught as you are, m’lord. This was to be the feast of the year at the palazzo…”

  Their voices faded into the crunch of gravel and stone beneath the wooden wheels of the cart. They had not even bothered to stop us. Were we one of many still on this street? How long until they stopped everyone to search for contraband, like toga-attired brides?

  I shifted, gingerly rolling my right shoulder, which had taken the brunt of my fall into Lord Zinicola’s quarters. I was going to have a nasty bruise across it, but it didn’t feel broken or dislocated. Still, it was my right, and that was my sword arm…and my crazy leap had strained my hamstring again, this time in the opposite leg. I could feel it tensing up. Not good for a girl on the move, I thought. A girl alone.

  A girl who, if she were discovered, would need to fight her way out.

  We traveled for a time, and I fought not to groan in pain every time the cart bumped, an effort that after a while sent tears streaming down the sides of my face. Maybe my shoulder was hurt worse than I thought and the adrenaline of my escape had masked it a bit. I ran through various potential diagnoses I’d find on WebMD.com. Dislocation? I might be able to snap it back into place by slamming it against a wall or tree. Hadn’t I seen that in the movies before? Broken collarbone? A friend had one of those once. She’d just had to wear her arm in sling for six weeks. But it’d be tough to do that and handle a sword. The worst-case scenario would be if I’d actually broken the shoulder at the joint. I pictured myself in a year or two, with an arm frozen in place. There just was no way to heal an injury like that in this day and age.

  C’mon, Gabi, it’s not that bad. You’re giving in to hypochondria. Feeling sorry for yourself! You’re free! Concentrate on that!

  For the moment, returned my Negative Voice.

  Until I’m back with Marcello, I thought, pushing back Miss Negatori.

  With a bump we finally left the wretched stones and I heard the crunch of gravel and dirt. While there was an occasional wrenching on this road too, at least it wasn’t as often as it had been on the old Roman roads.

  We’re getting farther away, exiting the city. I smiled, wondering when I might be able to sit up and where Carsius was thinking of cutting me loose. It was driving me crazy, not knowing where we were, not being able to see. I heard horses coming then. Six? Eight?

  “Aho! Tirare su le redini!” shouted a man behind us. You there! Pull up!

  I braced as Carsius gradually brought his horse to a stop.

  The horses rode up alongside us. Two on either side, I thought. If Carsius was up for taking on one, could I possibly bring down three? I had some serious doubts.

  “Lord Vivaro has offered a king’s bounty for the capture and return of a woman.”

  “Oh?” said Carsius drily. “I have not known Lord Vivaro to be all that interested in women.”

  The men laughed at that. “Even so, this was a treasured guest, due to marry another this very night. He would pay dearly for her return. Have you seen her? She is reportedly quite beautiful, with dark hair wound about her head. And dressed in a toga?”

  “A toga,” repeated Carsius, all deadpan in his voice. “She should not be difficult to find.”

  The man paused. “She is fairly adept in the arts of escape and war. ’Tis Lady Gabriella Betarrini.”

  “The She-Wolf of Siena?”

  “One and the same. Have you seen her?”

  “Nay. But I shall be looking for her now. Mayhap with the ransom, I could purchase a small cottage and take my old age in ease. What is the She-Wolf doing here, in Roma?”

  The newcomer paused. “Would you mind if we search your cargo?”

  Carsius let out a scoffing laugh. “You think a woman such as Lady Betarrini would be huddled beneath my bags of grain? Nay, she is on a fine, white steed, making her way toward Siena as we speak. It shall be the latest story they tell of her. But if you wish to tarry, by all means, dig through my cargo.”

  I almost gasped at his audacious words, although they were perfectly delivered. I tensed, clenching the hilt of my sword, thinking through each move that would bring me fastest to my feet, given the encumbrances of a skirt and the heavy bags of grain—

  “Where are you headed, old man?” said the man, gruffly.

  “
North. Delivering these to the poorhouse.”

  “If you spot the lady, and come to us with word, we shall capture her and cut you in for the reward. Agreed? Come to us rather than any of the others. Understood?”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  They set off, and I sighed in relief. But his words, rather than any others, echoed in my mind. There would be a number of men out looking for me tonight, intent on capturing the elusive bride of Lord Greco.

  Fan-freakin’-tastic. Just what I needed—a bunch of mercenaries, plus Rodolfo and crew, out on the hunt for me.

  CHAPTER 15

  We pulled up about twenty minutes later. I helped Carsius shove the last bag from me and sat up. He glanced around warily, in all directions. “This is as far as I can take you, m’lady, and still get back before the dark becomes too deep.” He offered a hand to help me rise and then climb down.

  We were on a hill, in a small grove of Roman pines, and the rubble beneath my feet told me this was once a villa, although precious little remained. The sunset, a deep, rich mix of peach and gold, filtered through the trees to us.

  “I am most indebted to you, Carsius,” I said. “You honored me by hiding me and foregoing the bounty hunter’s reward. I shall see you rewarded when I reach Siena.”

  He gave me a small smile and nodded once. “’Tis my honor to serve my master, m’lady. No further compensation is needed.” He bent to unhitch the brown gelding from the wagon and brought the animal around toward me. “Besides, Lord Vivaro perturbs me as much as he does my master. It pleases us both to toy with him this night.”

  I grinned with him, but his smile faded fast as his eyebrows lowered and his tone intensified. “You must keep off the main road to Siena,” he said. “I saw four more groups of mercenaries about. Cover as much ground as you can at night. Sleep during the day. In two or three days you’ll reach Siena. You can find your way?”

  “I can find it,” I said. I felt like a homing pigeon about to be set free. There was no way I couldn’t find it. I strapped on the sword and scabbard.

  Carsius held out the reins of the gelding to me, and I frowned. “Oh, friend,” I said, “you must take him back.”

  “Nay, on the highway I can say I was robbed of my mount, and once inside the city walls, it will be easier for me to steal back to the palazzo on foot. ’Tis m’lord’s wishes for you to be on this fine mount and given this,” he said, reaching into the back of the wagon. He handed me a sack filled with supplies and a skin full of liquid.

  “You have been most gracious,” I said, blinking back grateful tears.

  He shrugged and gave me one last nod. “Go with God, m’lady. ’Tis an honor to have met the woman behind the legend.”

  “Go with God,” I returned. “And do not believe all you hear.”

  He lifted a brow, glancing at the sword at my side, and I laughed, caught acting the part of She-Wolf even as I denied it. And then he headed off, down the small road. Rome was several miles distant, and I knew he did not wish to be caught outside the walls come nightfall. Protect him, God. Keep my protector safe.

  I pulled the gelding deeper into the trees and watched as the sun continued to sink, even as I scoured the horizon in all directions for the men of which Carsius had spoken. I could see a small merchant train ahead of Carsius on the main road to Roma, and to the west a group of four men on horses who could very well be one of the mercenary groups. Italia seemed to be filled with men out to make an extra buck or two. With wealthy lords who employed their own forces of knights, men came from as far as Germany to fight for them. Germania, I’d heard them call it.

  As the sun disappeared, so did any trace of heat, and I pulled Lord Zinicola’s cape closer. It was a dark brown with black embroidery so thick, it made the fabric stiff. I pulled the hood up and over my hair, still miraculously atop my head. And then I looked northward, to where I knew Marcello must be. Had he laid claim to the castello? Or was he on his way south, toward me, even now?

  Never had I wanted to see him more. Why was that? Because I feared he thought I had married Rodolfo? Because I’d let Rodolfo kiss me? Or because the whole thing had just confirmed, more than ever, that I was crazy about Marcello?

  I shivered, longing for the warmth of his arms around me. Was it only a week ago that we had stood on the portico of San Galgano and watched the sunset? I closed my eyes and remembered him kissing my hair, the heat of his body as he held me, the feeling of never wanting to be apart. He’d been so freaked when he thought I might be in danger the night of the dance in Siena. How was he coping right now?

  When the birds ceased their song and the insects of the night began their tune, I cautiously moved out and down the other side of the hill, along a small path I’d picked out as the sun set. From there, by the light of a quarter moon, I made it to a smaller road heading north, a good few miles west of the old Roman road that connected Roma to Siena. It was sound advice for me to steer clear of it, but my only hesitation was that if Marcello and company were heading south to free me, I’d likely miss them.

  I wished I knew this country as well as I knew Toscana. Unfortunately most of my experience had been on the A1, the major highway of my own day. That didn’t exactly offer me any great clues as to where I was, other than major landmarks. But I knew enough to hope I might make Orvieto by sunrise, or close to it. If I could do that, I’d be halfway there.

  Once I was fairly confident that the road was pretty well maintained, I urged my gelding into a trot, moving along at a quick pace. My eyes were drawn by every movement in the nearby forest, creatures of the night. Now and again, I passed a country villa or cottage, or caught the scent of wood smoke, letting me know that I wasn’t entirely alone. After a while I allowed my horse to ease his pace, and opened my sack of food from Lord Zinicola. I couldn’t see the contents, so I merely reached in and took whatever I touched first. Dipping for dinner, I thought to myself.

  Dried apricots were first. Beneath them was a layer of almonds. I ate only six of those, reserving the rest for the next day, considering them quick protein. Beneath that was an oatcake. I bit into it, and smiled in pleasure. It was more cookie than bread, with dried berries and nuts embedded in the rich, moist dough. I forced myself to only eat half, saving the rest, and then tied the bag back up and reached for my skin of water, pulling my horse to a stop.

  I uncorked the top and tipped the dried skin back. The water, fresh and clean and obviously drawn from the old Roman spring, tasted sweet in my mouth. Apparently Lord Zinicola had better access to drinking skins than Marcello. I’d have to send for a few of these, too, along with the tooth-cleaning supplies, once I’m outta here. I took another long gulp, recorked the top, and tied it back onto my saddle.

  That was when I noticed the gelding’s ears. They were pricked forward, alert.

  I was not alone.

  I grabbed the reins and wheeled the horse in a small circle, searching the hills for any sign of company. My eyes hurt, I was looking so hard. Nothing.

  But just as I was about to head out, I saw the dim outline of a man astride a horse, ahead of me on the road. I froze.

  “Be at peace, m’lady,” he called. “’Tis I, Tomas.”

  Tomas? Father Tomas? As in Rodolfo’s priest?

  Was this a trick?

  “Do not flee. I mean you no harm.”

  “Come ahead,” I said, wagering he could see me no better than I could see him. I reached for my dagger and clenched it between my teeth so I could quietly pull out the sword. While I doubted Tomas would do me harm, he had traveled in dangerous company. I scanned the horizon to my right and then my left, wondering if Rodolfo’s men would surround me.

  If they did, they’d have to kill me.

  Because I was becoming no man’s bride this night.

  Tomas neared, riding at an easy pace, and when he got closer, I saw that he
rode bareback. “You are a difficult woman to find,” he said.

  I slipped the dagger back into my waistband. “That is by design.”

  “Lord Greco has released me. He said he’d had a vision and thought there might be a pilgrim on the road in need of care.”

  I grinned. “He did, did he?”

  “Far be it from me to not abide by a vision,” Tomas said, obviously in on the stretch-of-truth too. “I set off immediately. But when I had gone a fair piece, I knew I must have missed you, that you must be taking a route more difficult than the Roman road. The arduous route. The pilgrim’s route.”

  I smiled again. “Indeed. I seem to frequently take the most difficult path possible, whether I want to or not. Does that make me a pilgrim?”

  We moved off, riding side by side. “Some would say it is so,” Tomas said. “That suffering brings one closer to God. That He allows us to suffer until we’ve learned what we must.”

  I thought about that a moment. “Do you believe it?”

  “I believe it is always possible to draw closer to our Lord, whether it be during times of suffering or during times of celebration. It is all life, and all of life comes from God.” He paused. “You can sheathe your sword, m’lady. I mean you no harm.”

  I wished I could see him clearly. “You are not the bait, the means to lull me into a sense of peace so I do not keep watch for others?”

  “Oh, you should fear others, but not Rodolfo’s men. They remain in the city, scouring every corner for a potential hiding place.”

  “And the mercenaries about?”

  “Sent by Lords Barbato and Vivaro. They were most distraught with your departure. We must outrun them.”

  I smiled, feeling pretty proud of myself for my escape, even if I had wrenched my shoulder. I sheathed my sword. “So, Tomas—tell me of what transpired when it became known I was gone.”