DELUGE (43 page)

“’Twas I,” said a burly man just an inch taller than I, but twice as big across the shoulders. His eyes narrowed in challenge. A Sienese knight.

“You are dismissed,” I said. “Go back to the city with your lies. You shall not remain here.”

“You have not the authority to send me to the wall, let alone Siena,” he said with a scoff. “I do not answer to you.”

I acted without thinking. I grabbed his wrist, turned and flipped him to his back, knocking the wind from him. Kneeling on his shoulder and bringing a dagger to his throat to keep him still, I leaned close. “You
shall
answer to me. We have much to contend with in this castello. Death, disease! Lies, we have no time for. Now get out, or I shall tell my husband, who most assuredly has
authority
over you. But believe me, if he learns of this, he shall not be as merciful as I.”

A crowd was gathering around us, some loyal Forelli knights among them, all poised to aid me.

I rose, shoulders back, head high, and sheathed my dagger, waiting for him to get to his feet. He lumbered upward, still struggling to get his breath, face red with rage. Forelli knights took hold of his arms. He tried to shake them off, but they held firm.

“M’lady?” Captain Pezzati asked, at my elbow. “What is this?”

“This is a traitor among us,” I said, making certain my words sunk in for his compatriots too. “Spreading lies about me. I have told him to return to Siena. He is not welcome here.”

“Indeed, he is not,” the captain said, edging in to face the man, chest to chest, and stare him down. “Escort him to the gates. Give him a horse. We shall leave it to God to see if he makes it or not.”

“But, Captain,” the man sputtered. “I was only joining in with the others!”

“Is that true?” Captain Pezzati turned to eye his companions, dressed in rather ragged remnants of what once were fine uniforms. “Are there others who would dare to utter anything but praise for Lady Forelli?”

The others looked away to the wall or to the ground, all shaking their heads. They reminded me of chastened schoolboys.

“Lady Evangelia has risked her life, time and again, to protect this castello and beyond it, the city. If any of you dare to speak against her again, I shall personally see to it that you are banished from the Republic. Understood?”

They all nodded.

“You Sienese shall remain here. I need another group to assist in carrying the dead to the pits and feeding the fires.”

I could feel the stifled groans among them, but they remained outwardly silent.

Captain Pezzati turned to the Forelli knights. “See it done.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

~EVANGELIA~

The men turned to drag the Sienese knight toward the gates. “Nay, please! Please!” he cried, clearly terrified. There must be more Fiorentini between us and Siena, I decided.

“M’lady!” he cried. “Forgive me!”

“Halt!” I called. I walked over to the three of them and again faced my adversary. “What is your name?”

“Zanobi Viridis, m’lady,” he said, sweat streaming down his forehead.

“Do you understand now that I have any authority I need within these walls?” I asked.

“Yes, m’lady,” he said, all quick contrition.

“Is it the way of a witch,” I whispered, leaning closer, “to be merciful, Zanobi?”

His eyes widened, as if he was caught. “Nay, m’lady,” he whispered back.

“Do you give me your word that from here on, you shall do nothing but defend my name and my reputation if I show you mercy?”

“Yes, m’lady. Yes.”

I stared at him for a long moment. “Release him.”

Captain Pezzati was again by my side, listening to it all. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

The men looked to him, and seeing he had no argument, did as I asked.

“Thank you, m’lady. Thank you,” he said, bowing repeatedly as he left us and returned to the others.

My eyes moved to Captain Pezzati. “How many Fiorentini are between us and Siena?”

His lips moved into a grim line. “More than five hundred.”

“All of them ill?”

“Nay. But a higher portion than in our cities. Half, mayhap.”

“How did these Sienese troops get through?”

“They divided when they arrived. Half retreated north, to the border. Half southward. There are five hundred men prepared to attack that southern contingent today.”

This made Luca’s comments all the more clear to me. His desperation to keep me inside the castello. His need for me to be at the ready, to come to the wall, should we be attacked again. And his overarching desire to keep me and our baby safe. But now, even within these walls, I knew that we weren’t entirely safe. “Thank you, Captain,” I murmured, leaving them.

I turned the corner and leaned against the wall, thinking. So Barbato’s mad claims had taken hold, even among our own. Everyone was going a little crazy… I rubbed my temples. What would happen if our own turned against us? It had never occurred to me before now. Not when so many had shown us such devotion for so long. But the plague, the plague threatened to change everything.

Gradually, I became aware of the groans and cries from a window high above me. The Great Hall. It was time to go and assist my parents. Steeling myself, I turned and went in, stopping at a basin near the front door to wash my hands.

The entire hall was filled, the scent of decaying flesh making me gag. Men carried those exhibiting signs of the plague out, to the lean-to infirmary that had been erected outside our walls. There, they were given water, blankets, and could linger by fires, to see if they’d die or survive the dread disease. If we were attacked, they’d be certainly killed. But there was no way around it; we couldn’t keep them within. It was only due to Mom and Dad’s provisioning over the last two years that we had the resources to take care of them at all.

And within, we still had more than enough to handle. From the weeping and amount of blood, I could see that several men had endured amputations of arms and legs. The scent of burned flesh rose above the others too—the cauterization that might mean they lived. Maids moved back and forth with more linens, carrying away others so soaked in blood that they left a trail of drips down their skirts and on the stones behind them as they moved. Every table in the hall held men, most of them two abreast. Others lined the edges and the dais, leaving only space for maids and knights and my parents to move. The doctor, Sandro Menaggio, had returned to us, thankfully, and the thin man moved wearily down the line, seeking out his next patient. I knew he didn’t seek out the worst hurt—they were least likely to survive. He sought those that might survive if they only obtained a little help.

He paused when he saw me, and his eyes darted to the corner.

For the first time, I noted that Mom and Dad weren’t moving among the wounded. Mom was with Dad.

And Dad looked sick.

Mom was grasping at his tunic, and Dad was pulling away, shaking his head, as if arguing.

My heart beat painfully in my chest, stealing my breath.

On leaden feet, I moved toward them, wanting to know, but not.

Dad saw me first and stilled.

I saw it then, as he turned to look at Mom.

The swellings under his neck, right under the jaw. Those that in a few days would become dark, black buboes.

No. No, no, no, no…

“I have to go outside, Lia,” he said to me, in English. “Tell your mom. I cannot live by separate rules and—”

“All I want for him is to go to our quarters,” Mom interrupted. “Where we can keep him properly comfortable and warm. Where he has his best chance.”

“Where I have the greatest chance of infecting others,” he said, swallowing audibly. “Please, Adri. I must. Even now I might infect you, Lia.”

Mom set her mouth in a grim line. “This is not going to kill you, Ben. We have immunities. Somehow, some way—”

Dad took her arms and shook her a little. “
No
. No,” he said, his tone softening the second time. “Think, Adri. Even at home, people come down with it.”

“I’ll go then. To the tomb. And get what we need.”

“No, Mom,” I said in confusion. “You can’t go out there. There are still Fiorentini about. And if anyone sees you going to the tomb right now…”

“I must,” she said, gathering her skirts and already turning away.

It was my turn to grab her arm. “No, Mom. No. What could you need from there?”

She stared back at me. “There are medicines, I hope. Antibiotics,” she whispered.

“What? How?”

She looked around us and then pulled me toward a corner where two men had just been removed. “Orazio and Galileo…they promised to bring back antibiotics and leave them for us.”

“They did what?” I turned partway from her and took a deep breath. If anyone were to find those in the tomb…

“They promised. I’m not certain, obviously, they were successful. But if they were…” She grabbed my hand. “If they were, they’re in the back right urn. I must see. If we get some meds in him right away, he’ll have a better chance. Do you understand me?”

I looked into my beautiful mother’s eyes, remembering her anguish, her grief at losing my dad the first time, and how it made my own grief nearly unbearable. Any time Gabi or I started to feel halfway decent, halfway normal, her grief unraveled us again, taking us back to the beginning, in a way. What a terrible, wretched mess…

Dad was moving toward the door, taking a blanket from the pile there. We intercepted him. “Wait here,” Mom said. Her voice was tight, high. She was fighting to not lose it. “Just for a moment, Ben. I’ll get your longer boots, an extra pair of socks and a woolen tunic and cloak. It will help, out there.”

He nodded, wearily, but still insisted on waiting outside the Great Hall. I took him to the side wall, away from most of the other traffic. He coughed, and I could hear the terrifying, heavy muck within his chest, then.

“Man, Dad, how long have you been feeling so bad?”

“It comes, fast. Just like we’ve seen in others. Yesterday, I felt weak. Last night, worse, but I just thought I was tired. The cough began this morning, but I hoped…”

His voice cracked, and that threatened to send me into sobs myself.

“I-I thought it was just a cold,” he said. “But this afternoon, I noticed the swelling in my lymph nodes. It just took me a couple hours to come to terms with it. And to tell your mother.”

I nodded, a ball of pain forming in my own throat.

“We’re not going to lose you, Dad. Not again,” I said, my voice strangled. I sniffed and blinked rapidly. He didn’t need to see me cry. He needed only my strength right now. My confidence. “Luca survived it,” I said. “You can, too.”

“Yes, yes,” he nodded, but I knew it was as much an effort to reassure me than any clear belief.

Mom returned and together, we escorted him to the castello gates. People grew silent as we passed, Dad clearly dressed to go outside, but just as clearly weak and ailing. Men and women crossed themselves and prayed under their breath, as if watching a man heading to the gallows. I wanted to shout at them to stop it, to not do that, but knew I couldn’t. They meant well. It was commiseration, in a way. Shared grief. Only I wasn’t ready to grieve my dad again.

Not again.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

~EVANGELIA~

A Forelli guard stood in my way. “Forgive me, m’lady, but it’s the captain’s orders that you are not to leave without his knowledge.”

“My father is sick. I’ll be just outside the gate.”

He hesitated, and Mom and Dad and I pressed past him. I knew it wouldn’t be long until Luca was out and with us. We found a place near the fire for Dad, and I tried to ignore the fact that the wide space available was likely due to others dying, their bodies removed. I flung out a blanket and Mom helped Dad to the ground. We quickly stretched his cloak around him and then covered him with another blanket.

I looked around for a squire or maid with a water bucket, then thought better of it. I’d bring Dad his own supply, with a clean cup to dip in. Who knew what else the common pail was now carrying.

The bigger issue was getting Mom to the tombs. If she was right—if the Betarrini brothers had been successful in bringing us a supply of antibiotics—it just might prove to be the edge Dad needed to beat the monster back. But with people whispering of me and Gabi being witches, and their suspicion about us and the tombs, and my promise to Luca to stay in the castello—had I really promised?—oh, and the fact that there might be Fiorentini still about…I had some serious obstacles.

Two patrols came in then, and Marcello was at the lead. He caught sight of us as he passed, circled around and pulled up right beside us, his face a mask of concern. “Ben,” he said, leaning down and taking Dad’s hand. Forgetting he should steer clear in his desire to get to Dad, in his need.

“Marcello, I’m glad to see you, Son.”

I had to turn away. Something about seeing Dad with Gabi’s husband, their true devotion—the same love he shared with Luca now, threatened to break me.

Marcello appeared at my elbow. “Does Gabriella know?”

“No. We just discovered it ourselves.”

“We should not tell her. She’ll want to come to him.”

“Oh, Marcello, I can’t do that. You’ve seen it yourself. Dad has a battle ahead, and if he loses, he only has two or three days.”

“Tomorrow. Leave it until tomorrow. She needs another day of rest.”

I took a deep breath and shook my head. “I do not know if I can. She’ll be furious.”

“She shall insist we bring her to him. And in her weakened state,” he whispered, “I fear she might be more susceptible to the plague. Do you not fear the same?”

I bit my lip, thinking. “On the morrow, then, and if he gets much worse, I shall tell her immediately.”

He nodded, knowing it was my best offer. Luca arrived then, and as Marcello had, knelt by Dad’s side and took his hand. “Ben, nay, nay,” he murmured. Tears welled in his eyes and fell down his face, which did me in. He caught sight of me and rose, coming to take me in his arms. “It will be all right,” he whispered. “Your father is strong. He will be well. You will see.”