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Morena plunged into the tunnel. Their torches cast light into the shaft, almost too bright for her eyes. Putrid moss covered the tunnel’s circular stone walls. Her heart thumped so tumultuously she thought all could hear it echoing throughout the shaft. Bent over and uncomfortable, Morena shivered as she slogged her way through the filthy cold water.
The weight of her kirtle and tunic made it difficult to wade. The rank smell caused her stomach to heave. Fearful of any delay, she forced back the need to vomit.
Amoro kept a tight grip on her. In return, she grasped Laria’s hand with an equal amount of pressure. The cramped, rank tunnel made it difficult to breathe. A faint sound of the sea rang in the distance. The promise of a lifetime with Amoro drove her onward. She must bear this horrible smell and discomfort only for a short time. Even as a child, she hated confined spaces. Without Amoro, she doubted she could maintain any self-control.
Morena managed to keep her fear under control until the tunnel swung to the left and became smaller. Dio mio, what if the tunnel narrowed further ahead?
Amoro turned around and cast a look of reassurance at her. He released her hand and dropped to his knees. Morena released Laria’s hand. She hiked up her kirtle and tunic, tied them around her hips, and knelt. Bile rose in her throat as the muck slithered through her fingers.
She forced her mind on their deliverance to keep her panic at bay.
The group moved much slower than before, yet somehow they made progress. The black water smelled of urine, feces, and rot.
Morena winced. Did her mind play tricks on her? The water deepened. Her heart raced. They could not turn back. Could they drown in this desperate place?
Morena held her head high. She refused to look at the vile water. The skin of her knees was raw. Her legs ached because of the bone-cold sludge. The palms of her hands bled and her arms throbbed. She kept her horror to herself and fixed her eyes on Amoro’s firm bottom for lack of anywhere else to look at.
Up ahead, the tunnel seemed to slant gradually upward.
“I see light beyond,” the guardsmen in the lead declared.
Her heart flamed with hope. She inhaled a restorative breath and crawled with renewed ambition. When they reached the end of the shaft, they found themselves at the entrance of a stone chamber. No grill blocked their way.
The leader turned around and held his finger against his lips to warn the others to remain silent. He raised his hand to signal them to wait and passed a torch to Amoro. Then he entered the chamber and disappeared.
Anxious moments passed during which Morena swore she could hear their fear. Amoro glanced back to check on her. She nodded to reassure him. She remained as controlled as possible while she battled the panic of confinement.
Just as it became unbearable, the man returned. He waved Amoro forward. Amoro stepped out of the tunnel and turned back to help Morena and Laria. Waste and debris dripped from her clothes and ran down her legs. Relief spread through her body.
At the opposite end of the chamber, sunlight shone through a large window. The shutters were open and a fresh breeze blew into the room.
She filled her lungs with the clean air and expelled it to emit the foulness trapped within.
The guardsman urged her to approach the window. He climbed onto the ledge. Cautiously, he stuck out his head to peer left and right and down. “It is a short drop to the ground, easily made. A forest is paces away. The woods are dense and untamed and once within, Ernesto and his men will be hard pressed to find us.” The guardsman looked back at Amoro. “I’ll jump first and then help catch the women.” With that, the man hurled himself to the ground.
“Hurry, Morena, you’re next.” Amoro gestured for her to step forward. He lifted her onto the ledge.
She looked down. It was a short drop. The guardsman raised his arms to urge her to jump. She sat upon the sill and made the sign of the cross.
Her legs dangled. Then she let go. The guardsman caught her. Laria jumped next followed by Amoro and the rest of the men.
As they scrambled into the woods, they heard shouts again. Morena glanced back. The first of Ernesto’s men had reached the window and were preparing to jump.
“Run!” Amoro gripped Morena’s hand and dragged her down a small path. Morena stumbled. Amoro stopped to help her up. Behind them, the shouts of Ernesto’s men drew closer.
The sound of hoof beats came from all directions. Her heart pounded as she gasped for breath. She tried to keep up with Amoro’s strides.
Laria and the others followed behind.
A group of men on horses broke through the brush to their right and left and blocked their path. Some of the men led horses. The leader of the group pulled off his helmet.
“Massimo!” Morena called out.
“Hurry,” Massimo exclaimed at first sight of their filthy, battered condition.
Without hesitation, Amoro leaped atop one of the horses and lifted Morena up in front of him. His men also mounted. Some doubled with Massimo’s men. One of the men pulled Laria up behind him.
“Follow me!” Massimo reined his horse around to canter down the path.
Morena felt Amoro’s hands tighten around her, his breath hot and anxious on her neck. Amoro urged the horse forward behind Massimo’s mount.
Before the others could follow, Ernesto’s men burst upon them and poured into the wood. Swords drawn, they hacked at the legs of the men and horses.
“Keep riding, Morena,” Amoro urged.
Before Morena could stop him, Amoro jumped off his horse to join the mêlée. She watched in shock, unable to move.
A man raised his sword to cut the hock of one of their horses. Amoro leapt on the man’s back. His weight felled the man to the ground. Amoro wrestled the sword away, raised it into the air, and thrust it hard into the man’s chest.
Morena turned away.
Ernesto arrived, spotted Amoro who faced in the other direction, and ran towards him.
“Amoro! Behind you!” Morena screamed.
Amoro turned just in time to see Ernesto run at him like a wild animal, sword drawn.
Amoro raised his bloodied sword and clanked it against that of Ernesto. Amoro struck Ernesto hard in the mouth with his free hand.
Ernesto fell back, but regained his balance and came in fast. His sword flashed.
Amoro ducked under the whistling blade, parried the blow, and held it. He lashed a kick that struck Ernesto full on the knee.
Ernesto whipped the sword past Amoro’s cheek. It tore through his skin. Blood ran from the wound. Ernesto trod crookedly, slipped on the damp earth, and fell. His elbow struck a stone. The sword flew from his hand.
Morena saw it shimmer as it whistled through the air and landed on the ground.
Both men scrambled for it, but Ernesto grabbed it first.
Ernesto rolled, bunched to his feet and flung himself at Amoro.
The point of the sword caught Amoro in the shoulder and threw him back.
Ernesto grinned and drove his booted foot in Amoro’s side, repeatedly driving him to the ground. Sticky warmth clogged his nose.
He spit blood. He gritted his teeth and pushed against the cold stones.
Searing pain blinded him. He braced for the next kick. Darkness covered his eyes as blood filled his mouth.
He let himself sag. Morena breached the darkness. His mind returned to the softness of her skin. He surrendered to her soft caress. Her nakedness warm against his body. His mind slipped further into the memory of the one time they made love. Her face turned to him, brow furrowed. He reached for her but their hands didn’t touch. Her eyes pierced him. Her mouth opened. She cried to him but he couldn’t hear her words. The pain ebbed from his body as he reached for her again. He choked on a mouthful of blood. The image in his mind cleared. Morena held up her hands – bruises. He looked closer. Blood. His mind raced trying to understand. Who hurt her? He struggled to understand.
The battle raged in the distance, a dull noise, muted pain. He looked into his love’s eyes once more and realized why she wouldn’t let him die. Ernesto. Her words echoed in his mind. Her heartfelt tears. Ernesto.
Ernesto’s words repeated themselves over and over in his mind. Each taunting word burned his soul. His body surged. He re-awoke to the beating. Ernesto’s heel kept driving into his back, but Amoro never felt the blows. He felt nothing except the rage that built in his stomach.
Against all his training as a gentleman he let the rage build. He let his mind play on his love’s cries, her pleas for mercy. Each one drove his rage into pure, primal hate.
In one swift move, Amoro struck out with his foot catching Ernesto behind the knee. The man crumpled in surprise, regaining his stance quickly and backing away. Amoro used the advantage to reach his feet.
Pain pierced his one leg. He rebalanced and faced Ernesto, his countenance purple, crazed with fury.
He raised his sword high, then lowered it. With the ease of a cat he leaned back.
Ernesto’s sneer widened. “Unable to seek revenge?” He flipped the tip of his sword and lunged.
Amoro feigned sideways and pierced Ernesto in the thigh then stepped back. His enemy’s scream of pain fed the anger raging within.
Ernesto slowed and moved carefully, choosing his next mark more carefully.
Amoro felt the chill of cold steel as it passed by his throat in a useless jab. He waited until Ernesto felt safe and lunged forward piercing the man’s other thigh.
Ribbons of blood flowed down Ernesto’s thigh. He looked around for his men, but they were all held at bay by Amoro’s. He limped slightly.
His finesse gone he lunged again. This time Amoro pierced his cheek, pulling the sword back carefully to prevent a death blow.
“Blood curse.” Ernesto spit blood. The slash split his grin into a grotesque death mask. “Fight like a man.”
“Why?” Amoro smiled. “Why fight like a man when I battle a demon.”
Ernesto’s eyes narrowed. He lunged forward and slashed wildly.
Amoro pierced Ernesto through the eye. The scream of pain stopped the battle. Everyone turned to see their master’s fight.
Ernesto fell to his knees, blood poured through the fingers he clasped over the wound. He gasped for air, filling his lungs with blood. “I am ready to die,” he whimpered.
“I am not ready to kill,” Amoro said coolly.
Ernesto spit a mouthful of blood. “Have you no mercy?”
“Mercy?” Amoro hissed. “I do have mercy, the same type you showed my Morena.”
Ernesto’s good eye flew wide in understanding. He choked on blood and cried to his men for help.
Amoro dropped his sword and pulled his dagger. Ernesto’s head tilted slightly. “Do you not find a dagger a more...personal weapon? I find that it lets me feel my enemy’s life as it slips from him.
Amoro’s foot kicked out. A spray of blood arched through the air as Ernesto fell into a pile of horse manure. Amoro stepped behind Ernesto and lifted him to his knees by the hair.
He looked at the ladies, their eyes wide in fear.
Most of Ernesto’s men lay in bloodied heaps. Amoro’s men stood over them, watching their master. He looked from one man to the other, the truth reflected in their eyes. They knew what he meant to do.
“Roberto.”
“Master.”
“Take the ladies. Take the others.”
“I will not leave you.”
“My friend. What I am about to do is for God and the Devil’s eyes alone.”
Roberto moved forward a few feet. His eyes pleaded. “Do not risk your soul.”
“This fiend has already robbed me of my soul. There is nothing more for me to lose.”
Morena rushed forward a few feet. “No.”
Amoro lowered his head. “I must quench the thirst of revenge or live with it forever.”
“Not for me,” she pleaded.
“For you. For our fathers. For our families.” Amoro said. “Just north of here is the Sanctuary of Nostra Signora della Misericordia. The abbess there is my mother’s sister. She will give you refuge. The rest of us will follow.”
“You’re hurt. Come with me,” Morena pleaded.
He turned to Roberto and Massimo who just finished dispatching an assailant with a dagger. “Take the women to the Sanctuary. We will meet up with you later.”
“How much later, my lord?” Roberto asked.
Amoro looked to the sky. The sun still hung high in the blue blanketed sky. His jaw set in a hard line as he looked at his men, “Do not expect me before sunset.”
***
MASSIMO RODE UP BESIDE Morena and pulled her from her horse onto his. He reached down and grabbed the reins from Laria and kicked his horse into a canter. He led them down a winding path through the wood.
Morena glanced back. An arrow struck Laria in the back with a thud.
Morena uttered a small cry. Laria fell forward, but managed to cling to the mane as they rode. Only when certain they reached a safe distance did they stop.
Massimo dismounted and Morena slid from the horse’s back.
Together they ran to Laria. With great care, they helped her down and laid her on the soft ground beneath a large tree. As pale as milk, Laria’s breaths grew shallow and laboured. Morena knelt beside her and lifted her head onto her lap while Massimo examined the injury. He looked up at Morena, sat back on his haunches, and shook his head.
The air grew still. No one moved. Laria trembled. Breathing became difficult. “Please, tell Amoro...”
“Hush, save your strength.” Morena soothed.
“Forgive me.” Laria coughed and fought to regain a breath. Blood seeped from her mouth and stained her teeth. “It’s for the best.” She lifted her hand to her stomach. “The babe is, was, Ernesto’s.” Pain etched her face as her lifeblood poured from the wound in her back. “Love each other.” Blood from her body spread into a pool. She choked again and convulsed. Laria’s eyes closed. She exhaled one long, deep breath, never to inhale again.
***
DARKNESS FELL BY THE time Morena and Massimo rode through the large square in front of the Sanctuary of Nostra Signora della Misericordia. They shared one horse and led the one that carried Laria’s body. Massimo dismounted and handed the reins of both horses to Morena. At first, Morena thought all within the monastery’s walls slept, but a dim light that glowed through the closed shutters of a second story window told her otherwise.
Massimo pounded on the double front doors and bided his time for a response. He paced back and forth before the entrance, but no one responded.
With his fist, he tried again. This time he banged much harder. Still no one came. He walked out toward the square, reached down to the ground, and grabbed a handful of pebbles. He looked up at the window and hurled the small stones against the upstairs shutters. The rocks clouted with a clamour impossible to ignore. Nevertheless, he returned to the entryway to resume his loud rapping.
The door opened. A nun who held a taper stood on the other side.
“Please, sister, we seek refuge.”
The nun hesitated then peered out into the darkness at them.
“We have one woman dead. The woman with me is Morena, Contessa of Portovenere, the betrothed of Duke Amoro Dragone. He bade us come here.”
Amoro’s betrothed. Although the words caught Morena by surprise, they sounded heaven-sent. Her heart skipped with joy.
“Bring the women inside first. Behind the sanctuary, you will find a small stable for your horses. Then come around to the back door.
Someone will let you in.”
Massimo helped Morena dismount. While Massimo untied Laria’s body and lifted it from the horse, Morena tied the reins of both horses onto an iron ring near the front door. The nun opened the door wider to admit them.
Morena advanced with relief. The sister’s taper provided the feeblest illumination, but shed enough light for her to see marble floors and tapestry-lined walls. The sister led them into a reception chamber with a carved mantel above a hearth at one end and a large table below a high grated window at the other.
Arranged against the wall at regular intervals were plain, straight chairs. A crucifix of inferior workmanship, but realistically painted, hung opposite the door.
“You may lay the woman atop the table.” The nun gestured.
With utmost care, Massimo cradled Laria’s head and laid her down.
The nun lit a fire in the hearth and turned to face them. “Please make yourselves comfortable.” She gestured to the two armchairs near the fire.
“I must leave for a few moments to awake the sisters and inform Mother Abbess. You will need clean clothes.”
“Thank you,” Morena breathed.
“I have to see to the horses.” Massimo looked at her with concern.
Compassion and admiration reflected from his gaze. “Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. Please, don’t worry.”
“I’ll not be long.” Massimo departed and left Morena in utter silence.
She sank into the chair. Fatigue oozed from every pore. Against her beaten, weary body, the old, timeworn chair felt as luxurious as a down-filled mattress. Memories of the past few days ruffled through her mind like wind on water. I have lived through a nightmare beyond anything I have ever encountered, but it is not over yet. When she could lay her eyes firmly on Amoro, and see him safe and alive, she could relax. Reluctantly, she had left him in the throes of a bloody skirmish. After all he had endured, did he possess the strength to fend off a killing blow? Fear of the unknown writhed in her stomach.
She rose and walked to the table. Morena brushed a curl from Laria’s forehead and gazed down at the once vibrant woman now white and still in death. A gamut of perplexing emotions raced through her, the most profound of which was respect. The woman she once loathed sacrificed her life for her and Amoro. “Thank you,” Morena whispered as she reached out and trailed her fingers down Laria’s cheek.
The sound of footsteps roused her from her thoughts. She turned and inhaled a breath of utter astonishment. A woman who resembled the Duchess Caterina made her way through the doorway. She carried a large blanket. The same slim stature and aquiline face with the rich olive complexion and dark brown eyes stared back at her. This woman, however, wore the white habit of an abbess instead of the rich garments of a duchess. Morena stared, tongue-tied. The woman took in Laria’s body and shifted her gaze back to her. Her soft, watchful eyes missed nothing.
“By your reaction, I see you have met my sister,” said the woman in the same, wonderful low voice, clear and soft as that of her sibling. She approached and took Morena’s hand. She wrapped Morena with the blanket. Her expression turned serious. “I’m Maria, the abbess and Amoro’s aunt. You must be my nephew’s betrothed.”
Morena flushed miserably. “Please forgive me, Abbess. I didn’t mean to stare, ah, I didn’t expect...”
“Please, there is no need to apologize. Come and sit by the fire and warm yourself. I have ordered soup and bread for you and the young man. There is plenty of time later for explanations.” With those words, the abbess touched Morena’s elbow and protectively urged her back to the chair.
Weeks of pent up emotions broke through her self-control. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Release burst forth like a sudden rainstorm.
Morena yielded to the compulsive sobs that shook her. She wept aloud, rocking back and forth with Mother Abbess’ loving arms around her.
Her breasts rose and fell under laboured breathing. Her teeth chattered and her body trembled as she vented the torments of the recent past. All the while, Mother Abbess let her cry.
Little by little, the warmth of relief crept back into Morena’s body.
She took deep breaths until she felt strong enough to raise her head and look back up at Mother Abbess.
Maria’s face shone with strength and steadfast serenity. She leaned forward and kissed Morena on the forehead. “Hush, bambina, all will be well. You shall see. You are safe here. Love will tend your wounds.”
“I cannot rest until Amoro is out of danger’s way and here with us,”
Morena protested. “He has been hurt and I know not how he fares.”
“I understand, cara, but there is nothing to do but wait and pray.”
At that moment, a nun appeared with a tray laden with two cups and two steaming bowls of soup. The sister poured warm wine into the cups and handed it to Morena.
“Drink child. It is late and the hot soup will restore you. The promise of a new day renews strength.” Mother Abbess embraced her once again.
Soon Massimo joined them. The warmth of the food, the crackle of the fire, and the serenity of the sanctuary brought respite. Little by little, Morena revealed the tale of her ordeal to the abbess. Throughout, Maria listened. She offered words of support whenever possible, but never judged. For that, Morena was grateful. Once again, tears rained upon Morena’s cheeks. This time, however, they were not tears of anguish, but tears that purged.
After Morena cried herself dry, the abbess offered to escort them to their bedchambers.
She led them down one passageway that led to another and then to a strong oak door with a lock and a solid bolt. She opened it with a key that hung from a chain from her waist. Behind it, another door presented itself, unlocked and of a lighter material, but well padded in an obvious effort to exclude sound as well as currents of cold air.
Mother Abbess opened this second door and they found themselves within a broad, vaulted passage. The walls were thick, not easily penetrated by any sounds from without. A single lamp suspended in the middle by a strong iron chain shed the only light. Broad stones paved this passage. Once smooth and even, now worn and made irregular by long use. The abbess stopped before one of many doors.
“You may occupy this room,” she said to Massimo as she lifted the latch, opened the door, and gestured for him to enter. “Fresh water and clean drying cloths are within.”
“Thank you, Abbess,” Massimo responded. “When Duke Amoro and the others arrive, please summon me.”
“Of course,” Mother Abbess returned with a warm smile. “Until then, please try to sleep. The morning meal is at prime. Someone will escort you to the dining hall.”
After Massimo retreated, Mother Abbess led Morena to the next room. She opened another door and allowed Morena to enter first. The chamber was small in dimension but relatively high. It contained a table, two chairs, a small shelf, and a praying stool with a hard and well-worn cushion for the knees. Over this, a brown wooden crucifix hung upon the grey wall. A fire burned in a small stone stove in the corner.
Morena strode to the window. It looked out upon a small square of land. A high wall cut off the view of the road beyond.
“Please try not to worry,” Mother Abbess said as she took Morena’s hand and led her from the window to the bed. “He will come soon, you shall see.”
Maria handed Morena some bedclothes, helped her to bed, and covered her with furs.
The warmth of the room and the serene kindness of Amoro’s aunt enveloped Morena in sheer comfort. “Thank you for your kindness, Mother Abbess.”
“Rest,” Maria whispered. “All will be better in the morning.” She crept from the room and left Morena alone in the dim light of the fire.
Within moments, sleep overtook her.