DELUGE (5 page)

She nodded tentatively, a hint of worry at the edges of her eyes.

It surprised me, at first, that Vivaro, a Roman with ties to the Fiorentini, had hosted them. But then, the dude was a total salesman, eager to make friends with
anyone
in high places, and Greco was scoring big in a different sector these days...

“Are not Lord Vivaro’s baths the most miraculous thing you’ve ever experienced?” I said, seizing on a common factor we could talk easily about.

“
Yes
,” she said, the tension immediately lifting from her face. “They were glorious! Do you think I might convince Rodolfo to install a small version of them here?”

“Of course!” I said. “He’d do anything for you.”

“Ahh,” Lia said dreamily. “And we’d have to come by and join you in them from time to time. You’d become the most popular stop in all of Toscana, being the only castello with a proper Roman bath. Our own neighborhood spa!” she said, adding the last bit in English and looking to Mom and me.

I returned my gaze to Alessandra, and after a puzzled glance at Lia over this foreign exchange, she told us of touring the ruins of Roma, of venturing south, to Tivoli, and of its amazing gardens with fountain after fountain. “Surely the best in all of Italia,” she said.

“Oh, now that’s a place I simply must convince Benedetto to take me,” Mom said. “And then?”

“Then we went to Ostia and boarded a ship that Rodolfo hired to do nothing but take us from port to port, south and around to the east coast, all the way up to Venezia.” She shook her head, her brown eyes wide and wistful, as if she wished she could return to those long, languid days upon the sea.

“That sounds utterly wonderful,” I sighed. Marcello and I had never taken a honeymoon. It wasn’t a thing in this era. As soon as we were married, we’d been embroiled in battle; and then with the demands on him in both Siena and here at home, it seemed we never had the time for me to convince him to go away with me for a while. Lia shot me a meaningful glance, and I knew she was once again thinking of a trip to Venezia. And more and more, I was warming to the idea…

“Ladies, would you join us?” Rodolfo called, gesturing toward the long table at the other end, now set with dishes that steamed in the chilled air, far from the fireplace. We all rose and went over to where the men waited, standing beside each of our chairs. I felt Lia hesitate when she saw Luca, looking almost sick as he waited for her to approach.
Maybe a trip would help them get past their troubles.
Any idea of them ending up as anything other than Happily-Ever-After was impossible for me to digest. The two were born to love each other. My silly sister just had to accept it…and the risks. Once and for all.

She nodded briefly at Luca, silently thanking him as he pulled out the chair and assisted her to move closer to the table. With the long, heavy skirts we wore, I was always grateful for the help, too. When all the ladies were seated, the men took their chairs beside them.

Servants passed the steaming pots and food on trays and we served ourselves, sliding portions onto our own wooden trenchers. Roast capons, pasta tossed with olive oil and tart, grated pecorino cheese, roasted vegetables. It all looked fabulous.

“Did you secure a new cook along your travels?” I asked Alessandra.

“Yes,” she said with a triumphant grin. “He is from Sicily and, if he continues to cook this well, I shall weigh as much as a boulder!”

“Nonsense,” Rodolfo said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “We shall just ride longer in the afternoons, and we can continue eating all we wish.” They shared an intimate smile and Alessandra blushed prettily. How long would it be before she was pregnant, too? As much as I lamented any other children brought into a world before the plague was upon us, I couldn’t deny that it would be cool to have a little playmate for my munchkin.

I resisted the urge to slap myself upside the head and instead furiously shoved down a big bite of poultry. Was I really plotting my girlfriends’ pregnancies just to score a decent play date?
Sometimes I don’t recognize you any longer, Gabs, I swear.

Leave it to time travel to seriously screw up your mojo.

“Did you run into any trouble on your journey?” Marcello asked carefully.
From the Fiorentini,
he meant.

“Nay. Two men served as scouts for us and made certain the way was clear everywhere we went in Roma. And once we made port and were at sea…” He paused to share a tender smile with Alessandra before stabbing a bit of squash with the end of his knife. “Once we were at sea, it was as if we left every trouble behind. We simply chose our ports carefully.”

“May it be so for all of us, forevermore,” Luca said, lifting his wine goblet in a toast.

“I shall drink to that,” said my dad, and the rest agreed, raising their glasses.

But the good vibe ended minutes later as the boys got into some heated debate. The Nine had just voted to back the woolen guild’s claim to more grazing land for their sheep, and every lord within the Republic was to allow a hundred sheep on their land, free of charge.

“I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous,” Rodolfo said, leaning back in his chair, his capon bones picked clean. He lifted his goblet and took a drink. “Did these shepherds buy this land? Do they pay to maintain it? Protect it?”

“Nay, but land is difficult to come by for most men, and more and more, it’s parsed up into bits for the peasants that feed few sheep. They need a lot of land, freedom to graze. If we want a constant supply of both wool and cloth, and even mutton,” Marcello said, leaning back in his own chair, “it’s the only way.”

“So we’re to have a hundred sheep here?” Rodolfo said. “Eating every blade of grass I’d rather feed my cattle?”

“A hundred for me, a hundred for you,” Marcello returned easily. “Is it truly so much to ask?”

“’Tis for a man who prefers a fat
bistecca
to a leg of lamb,” Rodolfo grumbled.

Marcello raised a brow. “So serve the lamb to your servants. They won’t complain. You’ll be getting it at a good price. And the wool and resulting cloth as well. Trust me, in time this agreement will prove to be wise for all of us. Siena will gain strength from it.”

Rodolfo moved his head back and forth, as if weighing that thought. Castles took a lot of people to run them; the Grecos would likely employ nearly as many as we did in time. And that meant a great deal of food and clothing were needed as well. Already a hundred or more sheep roamed our hills, and fifty head of cattle. Nearly the same wandered Rodolfo’s hills now, too.

His dark eyes moved to my parents as a servant refilled his goblet of wine and our empty trenchers were removed. “I am told that you have been at work in the tombs below us, Lady Betarrini,” he said, casually sipping.

But I knew that look.

There was far more intent behind it than his tone belied.

“As you gave me permission to do,” she said carefully. “I am most grateful, m’lord, as it helps further my…studies.”

“What is it about the Etruscans that so fascinates you?” This, he directed toward my father. He knew Dad was there as often as Mom.

Dad leaned on the table and lifted his goblet. “How can they not fascinate us? Here they ruled much of Italia for centuries, and then disappeared. We wish to know what drove them away, what destroyed their villages, and where they went. Those tombs are valuable clues.”

“You are scholars, through and through. Which is respectable in a man and…
notable
in a woman.”

Marcello cocked his head and gave our host a long look. Alessandra looked down to her lap, as if anxious, then to him.

“Rodolfo, what is this about?” Marcello asked.

Lord Greco gave him a long, appraising look, and then turned to the steward and two maids.
“Lascia, per favore.”

I stilled as the servants scurried out. What was this?

Had Rodolfo discovered something…about us?

When the servants were gone, the door shut quietly behind them, Rodolfo rose and gestured toward the fireplace. “Please. Join me.”

He wanted to be even farther from the door and listening ears. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled in fear. Trying to act casual, we all rose and walked to the fireplace, where the men brought other chairs to close in our circle. When we were all sitting, the Grecos at the center, Rodolfo leaned forward, elbows on knees, steepling his fingertips.

“Alessandra and I have much to tell you. Much that puzzles and concerns us.”

“If this is about our excavations in the tombs…” Mom began.

“It is that and more,” he said gently. His keen eyes searched her. “You must know that the tales of the She-Wolves of Siena are rather wild in Firenze. At first, I dismissed them all, but there are some that have stuck. And some that my wife has verified the villagers hold as truth more than story.”

Alessandra met his gaze and then looked to us, nodding once. “Some say,” she began, “that the Ladies Betarrini did not come from Normandy, but rather from the tombs themselves. That you are witches who have put a hex on Firenze and hold great power. Over men, in particular.”

“Witches?” I said with a scoff. “That is laughable.”

“Obviously,” Rodolfo said, leaning back in his chair and crossing one foot over his other knee. “But the tombs…One of Paratore’s knights swore that you three emerged from the tomb with Lord Betarrini. And that Lord Betarrini was in odd clothing. That day, you killed all but that man. An entire patrol of Paratore knights. It’s memorable. And before then, Lord Betarrini was never seen in Toscana. He just seemed to…appear.” Rodolfo’s fingers made a “poof” gesture.

Mom smiled benignly. “Well, no wonder the Fiorentini talk, if stories like that fuel their fires. And our scholarly fascination does nothing to quell it, does it?”

“Nay,” Alessandra said, shaking her head. She glanced toward her husband. “Rodolfo gave you permission to dig them out and study them, knowing the Fiorentini were well across the border and few would know. But, Lady Betarrini, people talk.” She reached over and took Mom’s hand. “We fear for you. Superstition…” She shook her head in frustration. “It’s aggravating. But it’s present nonetheless. And superstition can drive a mob to do foolish things.”

“Indeed,” Rodolfo said.

I eyed Marcello. He wasn’t offended. Just worried. I didn’t dare look at my family.

“In the battle, before you were married,” Rodolfo said carefully, “when you ladies left Toscana, you were last seen in this vicinity. And when you returned, you were first seen within Toscana. As if you’d simply appeared again, rather than made the journey in from the coast.”

“You of all people have to understand why they had to move as covertly as possible,” Marcello said, flicking his hand out.

It wasn’t an attack. Just a statement of the obvious. At the time he spoke of, Rodolfo had been working mostly for the Fiorentini, hoping to somehow broker a peace between the republics. Until they made him the scapegoat…

“Had Gabriella and Evangelia been recognized,” Marcello continued, “they would have been in extreme danger. And when they returned last, I didn’t even hold Castello Forelli.”

Greco took a long breath through his nostrils and looked at me and my sister and mother.

We all waited in silence.

“So you are saying,” he said slowly, fiddling with the stem of his goblet, “that the three most recognizable women in all of Toscana left and
returned
without anyone else seeing them? From the very heart of Toscana? Gabriella, she could pass as one of our own. But the blond hair of Evangelia, and Lady Adri…” His eyebrows knit as if it was a puzzle he couldn’t yet decipher, and his brown eyes flicked over each of us in turn.

“Yes,” Marcello said, setting his goblet down on a side table with exaggerated care. “That’s what we’re saying, Rodolfo. They are the She-Wolves,” he added with a smile, barely covering his rising agitation. I doubted Rodolfo missed it either. “You have seen them in battle. You have witnessed them slip from captivity and cross borders unseen.”

“True,” Rodolfo allowed.

“They are uncommon women. Uncommon people leave
commoners
to weave tall tales behind them, trying to explain them in a way that makes everyone comfortable. Surely you have not succumbed to the fables of the simple?”

Rodolfo gave him a thin-lipped smile. He wasn’t an idiot. He wanted to believe us—his friends, and now compatriots and neighbors—but he wasn’t a fool. “There is more,” he said slowly.

We watched as he rose, went to the hearth, and poked at a log with an iron tool, sending a drift of sparks up the chimney. And we all waited.

He turned to face us, one hand on the mantle, but his eyes were on me. “We were in Venezia, at court, when we first heard of them.”

“Rodolfo…” Luca said, an edge of warning in his voice. None of us liked that he was dragging this out.

“We learned of some of your kin. Betarrinis.”

I froze, wondering if I’d heard him right.

“Two young men found wandering outside of Ravenna. In odd clothing. Telling tales of arriving from a tomb. Of setting their hands on handprints and being reborn into a different…age.”

My eyes widened, and I saw his pupils dilate, well aware that he’d hit a nerve. Silence, heavy as death, weighted the air between us.

And then the room erupted, everyone talking at once.

CHAPTER FOUR

~GABRIELLA~

Into the din Dad shouted at us all to be quiet.
“Fermare! Chetarsi!”

When everyone stopped and looked at him he said, “
Betarrini
. You’re certain their name is Betarrini? Or is it simply a rumor because it makes for a more titillating tale?”

“We were introduced,” Rodolfo said, turning his measuring gaze on Dad, watching him carefully, clearly using each of our reactions as further pieces for his mental puzzling.

“Met them? Where?” Marcello said.

“At court in Venezia. The doge brings them in to show off to dinner guests, much as he might an elephant or tiger.” He turned to Dad. “When they found out we were of Toscana, they asked after you and your family, beseeched me, in fact, to bring them to you.”