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Amoro lay upon the straw like an animal, with chains on his wrists and ankles. In the darkness, his hand passed over the crusted blood on his over-tunic. A ray of light from the small window glinted down upon the bloodstone pendant he held in his palm. It looked ethereal. Just like the woman it had belonged to.
Amoro scrutinized the stone. Reflected in its gleam, he saw his frustration, his desperation to salvage the catastrophe that trapped him.
More than anything, he thought about Morena. He valued her more than riches, more than honour, pride, or even the truth. He tried to find a comfortable spot against the wall. He wrapped his shackled wrists over his knees and clung to them for warmth. The cold of the moisture-laden floor seeped through the straw. Aches crept into his bones. When would this nightmare end?
Without Morena, he was lost. She melted away the emptiness of his life and exchanged it with warm-heartedness and joy. Torrid thoughts of her filled him. Only in the pleasure of her body could he find refuge. Her mind intrigued him – the way she thought, her outspokenness, not coquettish but straightforward and genuine with her opinions. He even adored her impetuous behaviour.
Despite her circumstances, she catered to him, stood up to him with humour and bravado. It was all lost to him. He brought only misfortune to Morena. Perhaps she would fare better without him. He must resign himself to his fate - death, no doubt. Without Morena in his life, he didn’t care. Amoro prayed that his involvement with Morena would not cause her further harm. If it took his death to appease Ernesto and spare Morena, then so be it.
He clenched the bloodstone in his hand, Morena’s most prized possession. He opened his right fist and gazed down upon it, the beautiful chain and the speckled gem nestled between the golden filigree. A trinket instead of a wife. How did things go so wrong? Failure was foreign to him. How could Morena think this piece of jewellery would satisfy him? He had offered her all he possessed in the world and she walked away from a future filled with promise.
Blind frustration surged through him. He flung the jewel against the wall. It broke and the bloodstone fell away from its filigreed backing. In the dimness, he noticed a small parchment fell from it. Amoro crawled to it. As he began to unfold it, sounds of commotion beyond his cell door stopped him. He looked up and held his breath. “Who’s there?” he called out. He stuffed the parchment and broken pendant into the pocket of his stained tunic. Amoro rose to his feet, restricted by the unwieldy chains.
His eyes strained in the darkness.
The latch lifted. His heart hammered in his chest. He pressed back against the wall and clasped his hands before him to keep the chains from clanking. He hated the weight of the iron that dragged down his wrists. It put him at a disadvantage. Were they coming for him again?
Would they torture or kill him? The sweat poured down his back in spite of the bitter cold in the chamber. His skin felt clammy and his entire body shook with anticipation. This might be his last chance. He would fight with every bit of strength that remained.
The heavy wooden bar rose and the soft squeak of wood against metal broke the silence. The groan of hinges followed as the door creaked open. He saw nothing through the gloominess of his cell. Amoro prepared to pounce. In the doorway, he saw the outline of a figure, but the person didn’t speak.
Amoro raised his arms, ready to attack.
The figure stepped inside. For a moment, the silhouette blocked the doorway and advanced towards him. A twinge of doubt sprang to life in his mind and it forced him to lower his arms.
“Amoro?” Morena whispered as she advanced into the cell.
Amoro closed his eyes against the sight of her. The dim torchlight behind her managed to make her look ethereal. “Morena?” he asked breathlessly.
A breath of relief and then he heard her voice. “Yes, my love. It is I.”
With every fibre of his being, he hungered for her. Not only her body - he needed her true-heartedness, her laughter, her love. He released his hands from the fists he formed. Morena gazed at him with love, her sensuous eyes soft and gentle.
Relief surged through him. “What are you doing here?” He hobbled forward and pulled her to him.
“There is no time for explanations.” Her hands shook. Morena pushed away from him and searched for the ring of keys to unlock his wrist manacles. She tried one, then another, and then another before she heard a click. The lock sprang open. “Hurry, I have to get you out of here. Ernesto means to kill you.”
Free of the heavy irons, Amoro rubbed his wrists as Morena knelt to unlock the shackles around his ankles.
“My men?”
Morena interrupted him. “Your men are in the other cells. Laria is freeing them as we speak.” She unlocked his ankle irons.
Amoro kicked them aside. “Laria? How in the devil...”
“I’ll explain later.”
Morena clenched Amoro’s hand and together, they fled from the cell.
***
“WHAT IS TAKING THEM so long?” Ernesto paced the length of the tiny chapel. He kept staring at the doors, hoping to spot his guardsmen enter with Morena and Laria.
“You must have patience, my lord,” the priest reassured. “I have presided over many a marriage and it is a rare circumstance indeed when a bride is not late.” The priest sucked in a mucus-filled breath and swallowed it.
A most disgusting habit, thought Ernesto. He glared at the fat priest who smelled as bad as a devil’s fart. He needed a priest who would waive the reading of the bans and close an eye to the bride’s unwillingness. This particular priest acquiesced after the promise of a cask of wine and a piece of silver.
Ernesto rested on a bench beside a group of noblemen gathered to witness the event. He spoke little to them. Even their joviality could not dispel the foulness of his mood. What is taking Morena so long?
He studied the shabby chapel with disdain. Some of the stones in the wall crumbled. The altar at the front bore a cloth no longer crisp and white. The entire space smelled of mould. He never envisioned this for his wedding, but in such haste, this must suffice. Once Morena became his wife, he would have plenty of money to repair not only the chapel, but also the entire castle.
Ernesto glanced back at the chapel doors, still no sign of his bride.
The last shred of patience left him. He hurled his goblet against the altar and rose to his feet. The priest crossed himself. The nobles gasped at the act of sacrilege.
“Go and see what is taking them so long.” Ernesto bellowed to the guardsmen who stood at either side of the doors. “Bring my bride to me. I care not what state of dress she is in. Do you understand?”
The men nodded and rushed to his command.
Time passed at an unbearable pace. Just as he decided to fetch Morena himself, the guardsmen ran into the chapel, breathless. The lankiest stepped forward. “My lord, she is gone. The maidservants too.”
“Gone? By the curse of Satan, how did it happen?”
The guardsmen shook his head. “We do not know. We are searching the castle for them. They could not have gone far.”
Ernesto’s confusion soon turned to suspicion. “And Laria?”
“Her chamber is also empty.”
“And the dungeon?”
“The dungeon, my lord?”
“Yes, you mottled piece of rat dropping - the dungeon. Duke Amoro.
Has anyone checked to see that he and his men are still in custody?”
The guardsman paled.
Ernesto had his answer.
“Testa di cazzo,” he cursed. “Gather the men. They must be found.”
Ernesto ran down the corridors of the castle with diabolical urgency, his guardsmen at his heels. He always found women burdensome. By their actions, both Laria and Morena proved this true. He would wager that putana lorda, that dirty whore, Laria, was behind all of this. He must find them both to punish Laria for her treachery and capture Morena to reverse his fortunes. He had much to lose.
***
LIKE A LION READY TO pounce, Ernesto entered the corridor of cells. The sight of his men asleep on the floor and all cell doors wide open caused his rage to overflow. With a mighty thrust of his arm, he overturned the table. Then he turned his attention to the nearest guardsman sprawled on the floor. He kicked the first man in the ribs and the other in the leg.
“Rouse yourself, you slimy clutch of dog bile. What happened here?”
Groggy, the men came to consciousness.
Ernesto grew angry at the delay. He grabbed the carafe of wine, pitched its contents at the first guardsmen’s face and flung the carafe at the other.
The first man stirred. “Serving maids brought the meal.”
“We ate and then fell asleep,” the second muttered.
“What did the maids look like?” Ernesto asked.
“A comely wench with hair the colour of burnished copper.”
“A vixen with stunning jugs.”
The description fit Laria exactly. “Do you know where they went?”
Both men shook their heads.
“Search the entire castle and the grounds,” Ernesto bellowed. “I want them found.”
***
MORENA FOLLOWED AMORO, the men, and Laria through the maze of passageways that led to the small door of the castle dungeon. The reek of the cesspool greeted them. The smell of human waste from the drains in the wall overwhelmed their senses. The sgabello di tortura remained suspended above the cesspool. The memory of what Amoro endured flooded back and caused her to shiver.
Laria led them past the pool and sluice gate to the far end of the room, to the small door carved in the wall. The promise of freedom existed just beyond that door. Morena glanced back over her shoulder.
Their escape might prove easier than she dared hope. She prayed their escape was undetected. They were a large group. The sound of their feet as they fled might have alerted Ernesto’s men to their escape. She hoped not.
Amoro reached back with one hand as if to ensure she stood behind him.
Morena smiled in response to the gesture.
“There is a padlock on the latch,” Laria announced. “We need something to break the lock.”
The men scoured the dungeon.
“Here.” One of the men stood in a corner before a small trunk. He lifted a variety of tools from within and brought them to Amoro.
“These are torture devices!” Amoro held up a large tile-shaped bronze cautery with ridged ends used to break through skin. He discarded the bone forceps, scalpellus, and pair of bronze shears. “I think the cautery will serve our purpose.”
Amoro raised the device and crashed it down on the lock. The sound echoed throughout the cavernous dungeon, but remained intact. He struck it repeatedly until it broke. He thrust aside the lock and chain and lifted the latch. After a mighty shove, the door flung open. A small tunnel, dark and flooded, lay beyond.
“Are you certain this is the way out?” Amoro asked Laria.
“I cannot be sure, but Ernesto did tell me of a door in the dungeon that would lead outside of the castle walls to the moat. I can see no other door. This must be the one.”
“I’ll lead the way, my lord.” The tallest of the men came forward. “If I can make it through to the end, the rest of you can.”
Amoro nodded and addressed the others. “Take all the torches from the wall sconces. Leave nothing behind.”
He took Morena by the hand and followed the burly guard into the tunnel. Morena pulled back and stopped him. She turned to Laria and extended her own hand to her.
Laria smiled in gratitude and accepted.
The group followed Amoro into the tunnel.
They heard shouting in the corridors outside the dungeon. The last of Amoro’s men quickly closed the door behind them.