CHAPTER 7

He scared me so badly I jumped.

It was only Marcello, but I’d been so lost in my swirling thoughts about the future, about Mom and Lia, that I totally missed his crawling through the entrance. I jumped away and tried to put my head in gear. What had he asked?

“Lady Betarrini,” he said, and I realized that he’d been saying it repeatedly. “Are you quite all right?”

“I—I am. Forgive me. It is only that…I was certain Evangelia would be here, asleep in a corner. I had so hoped…”

I sensed more than saw him take a step forward in the dark. “You have been through a great deal. Please. Luca and I shall escort you back to the safety of the castello. In the light of day, it will feel far less overwhelming.”

“I do not think so,” I said, shaking my head. “Somehow, I think it will feel far more difficult.”

“You could do far worse than come under the protection of Castello Forelli.”

I could almost see him tensing, lifting his chin, pulling back his shoulders.

“Yes, of course,” I said. “But—please try to understand…I am most grateful for your family’s friendship. But Evangelia…she might be the only member of my family within reach. If she is still here at all.” My voice cracked, saying that last bit.

“I do understand,” he said, his voice gentling. “If it were Fortino who was lost, I’d do anything I could. I know it is difficult, but we will not accomplish anything more here, this night. And Evangelia—she’d want you to be safe, would she not? You’ve seen for yourself what transpires on these lands. Let us return to the castello and pursue a new search for your sister come morn.”

“Yes,” I said, sniffling, trying to hold back full-fledged sobs. That was all the guy needed…me, a total mess. I had to hold it together. At least until I was back in my room.

“Please,” he said, stepping aside, apparently waiting for me to exit first. He probably wondered if I was flippin’ insane, coming in here, hanging out like it was my best friend’s living room. It was a tomb, I reminded myself as I crawled out, yanking on my skirts in agitation when they got in the way. A tomb. Place of the dead. As familiar as these places were to me, they probably creeped the guys out in a big way.

If I was to return, I’d have to find a way to do it on my own. But there was really no point now that I knew the prints wouldn’t get me home. So what was I to do? Was there a way home at all?

I could see Luca, about fifteen feet away. He spotted us and pushed off his perch on a tall boulder.

“It’s terribly dark, m’lady,” Marcello said, so close a shiver ran down my neck. “Please, take my arm.”

“Yes, of course,” I said, as if I did it all the time. I was digging the gallantry of medieval men, even if it did make them chauvinistic at times. Even in modern times, the Italian guys seemed to echo their ancestors.

We’d just taken a step toward the path when Luca paused in front of us and held up a hand. A half second later, he waved it and dived to the left, between two trees. Marcello grabbed my hand and yanked me to the right.

“In there,” he whispered, motioning toward a low cave. I could hear it then. Hoofbeats approaching. A Paratore patrol.

Crouched, I hurried inward and then turned. Marcello drew his sword, crouched, and came in too, turning to face the entrance. Our quarters were so cramped, he was right in front of me. To keep from tipping over, I laid a hand on his back, taking comfort in the steady rise and fall of his breath, even as four horses walked by. The guards were talking, distracted, obviously not entirely on task. But were they to discover us, Marcello and Luca would be outnumbered. But only by one. I had my broadsword too.

Happily, they kept moving, and when we could no longer hear them, Marcello glanced over his shoulder and whispered, “Come.” We crawled out of the cave and brushed ourselves off.

They didn’t have to say what I knew—it would’ve been very bad for me if the Paratore patrol had come across me at the tomb. We resumed our walk back to the castle.

“M’lady, what of your kin in Normandy? Your father?”

“My father died six months ago,” I said dully. No matter how many times I said it, it never seemed quite real.

“God rest his soul,” Marcello said. The news didn’t seem to throw him like it did most other people. But then, most other people didn’t live in the fourteenth century, where the life expectancy probably topped out at about forty. “And the others? Uncles? Cousins?”

“Nay, there is no one else. Only my mother and sister and me, now.”

“I see. And what brought your mother to Toscana?”

I hesitated. I couldn’t tell him she was an archeologist. “She…she has a business selling Etruscan artifacts.”

“Etruscan?” Marcello said. I could almost see his big eyelashes blinking in surprise. But it was only my imagination.

“The Normans…they apparently will buy anything,” Luca said over his shoulder.

“Mayhap I should aid you in searching those other tombs,” Marcello said, his voice thick with laughter. “I might earn enough to fund our next assault on the Paratores.”

“Etruscan art is of no value here?” I asked, irked at their teasing.

“Very little,” Marcello returned. His tone softened. “But most of what we find are potsherds. Who cares for broken vessels?”

“More than you might believe,” I muttered. I thought of my parents, working in sanitized conditions, humidity levels carefully set, piecing together potsherds, rebuilding vessels. I thought of their elation when they discovered unbroken pots, and the one I had destroyed.

“Her business…she makes enough to keep you and your sister in your home, with ample food?”

“With that and what remains of my father’s estate.” That was pretty true. Archeology was never the big moneymaker. Mom and Dad had earned their living with the occasional summer university gig, writing books on the Etruscans and picking up some speaking engagements and articles. But it was Dad’s life-insurance money that was keeping us afloat now. There was no way Mom could afford rent and food and airline tickets to and from Roma without it. Not if she wanted to keep the house in Boulder, which Lia and I pushed her to do. It was one thing to spend summers here, another to give up on American life entirely.

“Then you are three uncommon women,” Marcello said softly, looking my way. “It is difficult for the fairer sex, without a protector.”

I tensed, then forced myself to relax. I needed him and his family. And he was right. In this day and age, especially, it was better for women if there was a man by their side. It just was the plain truth. “My father taught us well,” I said, pushing my shoulders back. “We three Betarrini women will be all right.”

I thought I saw a flash of a smile. “I believe you.”

 

I’d pleaded a headache, needing time and space to sort out my thoughts, but even spending all day in my room had left me with nothing more than a real one. Headaches were no fun in modern times, but at least at home, I could pop a couple of Advil and feel loads better. People in these times relied on herbs and tonics. I wondered what they were treating poor, sickly Fortino with. Did they believe that leeches were a viable treatment in this era? I shivered at the thought. Best not to really get sick here, now. I tried to think back; Mom had been studying natural remedies the last few years, interested to know how the Etruscans might’ve once healed their own. She’d subjected me and Lia to long lectures on the subject, as well as a few tries at field medicine. But I didn’t remember anything in regard to headaches.

I moved over to the basin of water and splashed my face, again and again, then dried it off with the rough cloth. I picked up a wide-toothed comb—carved out of what looked like ivory—and shivered at the thought of some walrus somewhere giving up his life for the tusk it came from. I ran its short spokes through the tangles of my hair anyway, then retied it with the leather band Marcello had given me, wound it into a crude knot, then pinned it with one pin. I felt it, testing it to see if it might stay for half a minute. Then, blowing my cheeks out, I decided it was good enough. It was soon dark. No one was out at this hour, most having retired after supper. That appeared to be the castle’s routine: to bed with the sun, and up with it too.

It was crazy. Who back home would ever willingly adopt that schedule?

Sunset was well past us, judging from the bit of sky I could see in my window. I edged open my door and peeked down the hallway, half expecting Marcello to have posted a sentry at my door, given my behavior the night before. But no one was there. Only the flickering, dancing torchlight moved.

I edged out the door and closed it softly behind me. I’d heard others moving in and out of rooms down this hall, but not in the last day or so. Was I alone now? I moved down the corridor on tiptoes, past the door that led to the courtyard, to one of the turrets that climbed up to the allure, the wall walk at the top. Cautiously, I eased open the wooden door, pleased to see that it was not locked.

The stairs, carved out of the stone tower, circled upward on the edge, like the coil of a DNA double helix I’d seen in my biology textbook. I placed a foot on the bottom step and stared upward, wishing I could see better in the deep shadows. Would they take issue with my being up there again? Surely, Marcello had warned them all by now to watch out for his mad houseguest, willing to scale the castle walls to escape.

What did it matter? I moved upward, gaining confidence as I did so, barely hesitating at the top. I ducked and pushed through a short door suitable for a hobbit and emerged atop the allure of the castle.

Nobody was in front of me, the guard having turned the corner, so I took a deep breath, appreciating the cool of the evening breeze on my hot face. Oh, Toscana, I thought, closing my eyes and breathing in the familiar scents of spicy sage and sweet forest loam and warm, dusty oak. How can you smell so right, so much like home, and yet be so wrong?

I blinked my eyes open, fearful that I might have company, but still found myself alone. Where were the guards? Simply in different areas of the castle? I strode forward, able to fully appreciate the view from here for the first time. I was at level with most of the forest canopy, able to see for miles, to the parapets of the Paratore castle, flying her crimson flag, and beyond her, the hills that I knew led to Siena. Might Lia have traveled through time and gone there, looking for me?

I thought of our favorite spot in the city—the fountain in the central plaza, Il Campo—and wondered if she might have managed to make it there. It would have been a logical meeting place. Every time we visited a new town, ever since we were kids, Mom and Dad had drilled it into us: If you’re lost, find a policeman and tell him you’re to meet your family at the fountain. In Rome, it had been the Trevi, in Siena, the Fonte Gaia, and so on.

Lia and I loved the Fonte Gaia above all others. It had nothing on the Trevi for sure. That one was grandiose, overwhelming. But the Fonte Gaia of Siena, a simple rectangle, ornately carved of marble, did not demand undue attention. It allowed the public square itself to sing, like a box seat in the best part of a stadium. Siena’s piazza was one of the best in all of Italia—a grand shell, with nine rays in the brick cobblestones that represented “the Nine,” the name for the dudes that ran Siena—and all the little towns that reported to her. Grand palazzos lined the plaza’s rim, forming a kind of castle wall, and on the bottom edge, the public building and her pristine tower, the campanile, rose like a flag of declaration.

I was glad that Castello Forelli stood for the Sienese. It seemed wrong, vaguely menacing, that Castello Paratore stood so close to her, no more than a couple miles to the north.

My hair was pulling loose from its lone pin, a heavy coil falling to either side of my face. I touched it and could feel the leather band giving way. Looking right and then left and seeing no one, I untied the string and let my hair fall around my shoulders. I leaned forward, elbows on the wall, massaging my scalp, trying to ease away the tension there. Again, I picked up the scents of oak and sage, but now I could smell ripening grain. It was no wonder that Fortino, Marcello’s older brother, suffered so from “lung ailments,” as Cook called them—the air was thick with life here. Why had I never noticed it in my own time?

After a moment, I sensed I wasn’t alone. I slowly opened my eyes and saw Marcello, five feet away from me, hands on the castle wall, staring outward as I was. I straightened and touched my hair.

“Nay, do not,” he said kindly, lifting a hand in my direction. “It suits you,” he said, studying me with those warm, penetrating eyes. “Your hair about your shoulders. Is that how you wear it in Normandy?”

“If it is not in a braid,” I said. “Or pulled back.”

“Ahh.” He looked at me from the corners of his eyes until I felt the heat of a flush climb my neck and jaw.

I hurriedly looked back to the forest, hoping he couldn’t see my blush in the waning light. What was it about him that made me feel more…awake, somehow? Alive? I’d never felt anything like it.

“M-m’lord,” I said, deciding to focus on the practical rather than some mad, romantic fantasy. “I wondered if I might borrow a horse tomorrow, er, on the morrow, and visit Siena.”

“Siena?” asked a feminine voice.

I turned, knowing who was behind me already. Lady Rossi paraded down the allure, one of her ladies-in-waiting following behind.

“Goodness, Lady Betarrini, your hair does battle any semblance of rule, does it not?” she asked with a giggle. “Of course, this summer wind does nothing to aid any of us,” she added.

That’s right, I thought. Soften that dig. Neither of us missed it, did we?

“I, too, am eager to be off for Siena.” Lady Rossi sniffed. She glanced up at Marcello, searching his face for some reaction, but he merely nodded, almost imperceptibly. “It’s been weeks since I’ve been home, and I simply must get back to see to the details of our wedding ceremony.”

I smiled, wanting to appear conciliatory, hoping to set her at ease a little so maybe she’d stop constantly trying to provoke me. Life was tough enough without any unnecessary enemies. “I can only imagine,” I said. “How much longer until your nuptials?”

“The fifteenth of September. Generations of my family have married on that day, and all have been blessed by good fortune and many children.”

“Sounds like the right day, for certain,” I said.

“Why are you eager to get to Siena?” Marcello said, eyeing me suspiciously.

“I wonder if perhaps my mother and sister might be there. It is the next, closest city.…”

“I will send a messenger on the morrow, Lady Betarrini,” Marcello said. “There is no need for you to further endanger yourself.”

“Marcello,” Lady Rossi said, setting a small, delicate hand on his forearm, “you know the pull of family ties for a woman. You must allow Lady Betarrini her search. What if she misses her reunion by a day or two? That would be tragic.”

Tragic in that I wouldn’t be out of your way for good. Whatever. Don’t worry. I’ll be gone before you know it.

“Unfortunately,” Marcello said, “word reached me this evening that there are renegade armies all about us. Mercenaries. Until the Nine vote next week on whether or not to open their banks again to Firenze, I’m afraid we are in a state of unrest. I cannot allow anyone to leave.”

“M’lord, I am neither a member of this household nor bound to your care,” I said carefully, pulling my shoulders back and lifting my head. “I am most grateful for your aid, but I remain free to choose when and where I go.”

His mouth dropped open a bit, and then he clamped it shut. “Be that as it may,” he said, waving a dismissive hand through the air, “you are an unaccompanied female, and it is my duty to look after you.”

I couldn’t help but smile. What a wacky thing this chivalry deal was.… There would be no arguing with him. I could see it in his face. I’d seen it in person, last night. Best just to disappear when I decided the time was right. This time without my shadows.

My eagerness to leave seemed to soften Lady Rossi a bit. She studied me a moment and then said, “Won’t you come and join us, Lady Betarrini, for the evening reading?”

Evening reading? Maybe this place didn’t roll up with the daylight as I thought. But listening to medieval poetry or whatever they read wasn’t my idea of kickin’ back and relaxing. “I thank you for your kind invitation, m’lady, but I am still attempting to dislodge this headache. Mayhap I could join you at the next?”

“As you wish,” she said coolly, turning and then pausing at the turret doorway. “Will you be so kind as to accompany me, m’lord?” she said to Marcello.

He pulled his warm, brown eyes from me and turned to follow her. Mollified, she disappeared, her lady-in-waiting behind her, but Marcello hovered in the doorway. “There are no coils of rope hidden among your skirts this night,” he said lowly.

I let a smile spread across my face and gave a little shake of my head. “Not this night.”

“I have your word? You shall not step outside the castle?”

A guard came around the tower then. Caught, obviously delinquent in his duties, he mumbled a “m’lord” at Marcello with a tucked head and hurried past me. Where’d he been? Sneaking a snack out of the kitchen or something?

“This is not a night to be lackadaisical in our duties,” Marcello called after him. But his eyes remained on me, waiting.

Man, he was stubborn. “Not before sunup,” I said.

With that, he turned and followed his bride-to-be.