Rose Red (4 page)

“I was right,” she said aloud. “From the
direction in which I was coming, I could not have seen the rock
fall until I was on top of it. Until it was too late for me to
stop. That bear saved my life. It’s a good thing I told Bartolomeo
about the break in the path, so he could warn the men-at-arms,
though I don’t think any of them is likely to come this way.”

Clutching her horse’s reins more firmly and
still on foot, she led the animal from the dangerous spot. Soon the
path widened again and Rosalinda remounted, springing onto the
horse’s back with ease. A little farther on she paused, listening
intently and peering into the wilderness of gray rocks and almost
leafless trees.

“I thought I heard something,” she told the
horse. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now. Perhaps it was only the
wind, or the sound of running water from a nearby stream.”

A short distance farther down the path, she
stopped for a third time.

“What was that I saw, moving through the
trees? Could it be my friend the bear again? If only I knew where
his cave is, I think I might take a pot of honey to him there, to
thank him for what he did for me. Oh, how Bianca would shiver if I
were to tell her about that idea!”

Seeing not the slightest trace of a bear,
Rosalinda continued homeward without further incident. In fact, she
saw few animals or birds. The small creatures were already
burrowing in for the winter and most of the birds had flown south
to warmer climes. Coming out of the hills and nearer to the villa,
Rosalinda could see that the tilled fields across which she was
riding were stripped of their harvest as humans, too, prepared for
the long, cold months ahead. When she glanced back at the mountains
she noticed a banner of icy-white cloud streaming across the sky,
and she knew the snows would not be long in coming.

That evening, when Bianca asked where she had
gone on her afternoon ride, Rosalinda took care not to mention the
mountain path or the bear.

* * * * *

The wind howled around the mouth of the cave
where Andrea had taken shelter. Leaves and dust blew into the cave,
forcing him to move farther back into the damp interior. Even with
the skin of the bear he had slain wrapped around him for covering,
he was miserably cold, but he dared not light a fire for heat.
Darkness would fall soon and then a fire might be seen.

He was terrified, not so much for himself as
for the companions from whom he had become separated during the
first hours of their desperate flight. He thought he had continued
onward in the direction upon which they had all agreed. He had
tried his best not to get lost while hiding from those who were
pursuing him. He prayed he would meet his absent companions again
at their designated rendezvous. But he was no longer certain they
would be there. In the cruel world he had recently entered, he
could not be certain of anything.

Cold and fear and hunger were taking their
toll on him. And loneliness. Never before in his twenty-five years
had he been completely alone. He found he did not like the feeling.
But then, he had known in his soul that he would not. If the others
were dead… He could scarcely bear to think of that possibility, but
the thought came without bidding, and grimly he forced himself to
complete it. If the others were dead, then he would be alone and
only half a person for the rest of his life.

And that might not be for much longer. He
knew he could not remain in the rude shelter of a cave, without
food or adequate warmth, for many days more. If he wanted to
survive, sooner or later he would have to descend to the valley,
there to seek a place to stay for the winter.

Braving the wind, he stepped outside the cave
entrance to look down and across the mountain slopes to where a
villa sat in a wide, pleasant valley. It was no very grand
dwelling, but Andrea did not care about grandeur. He had seen more
than enough of the treachery that lurked in grand palaces.

The girl
lived there, in the villa. Each time she rode to the mountains, she
returned to that snug place. She was no great lady, but Andrea had
seen – and heard – enough of great ladies, too. This girl had a
fresh, innocent face, a sense of humor, and a generous heart. He
knew as much from overhearing her whimsical comments to her horse.
He wished she would find his cave and bring that pot of honey to
him, along with a loaf of bread and a large skin of wine. A warm
blanket would be appreciated, too, he thought, pulling the smelly
bearskin more closely around his shivering form.

She would never find his cave. It was too
high in the mountains and too well hidden, which was why he had
chosen it. He would have to go to her. He would do it soon, once he
was absolutely certain the others would not be coming to meet
him….

Early each morning, the guards made their
reports to Bartolomeo on their patrols of the estate during the
previous day and night. Only rarely were there intruders on the
private lands surrounding Villa Serenita, and those were always
local folk who had wandered too far in search of brushwood for
their fires. Occasionally, someone was caught poaching rabbits or
fishing in the streams. By Eleonora’s orders, any game or fish was
confiscated from these miscreants before they were escorted to the
boundary, there to be turned off her land with a stern warning
never to trespass again unless they wished to receive severe
punishment.

Actually, Eleonora did not want to punish
anyone. She had seen enough violence for one lifetime, and she was
pleased that no poacher, once warned, had ever been caught a second
time. Thus, it was with open dismay that she listened on a frosty
morning in late autumn to Bartolomeo’ s account of a disturbing
incident.

“One of the men-at-arms has discovered signs
that someone is living in the old gamekeeper’s cottage,” Bartolomeo
said.

“I know that place,” Rosalinda spoke up at
once. She and Bianca were at the big, round table in the sitting
room, working on their Latin lessons under their mother’s
direction. Ever ready for any distraction from boring declensions,
Rosalinda had been listening to what Bartolomeo was saying. “Who
would want to live there? The house is falling down. The last time
I rode past it, the roof had collapsed.”

“You are right.” Bartolomeo sent a
conspiratorial wink in her direction, as if he understood her
impatience with her lessons and her eagerness to be out-of-doors on
such a fine day. To Eleonora, Bartolomeo said, “There has been no
gamekeeper here since the time of your father, and that cottage is
no longer fit for habitation. I was planning to suggest to you that
it be torn down next spring. Now I think we ought to do something
about it sooner than that. The man-at-arms who spoke to me reported
finding the remains of a cooking fire and the bones of small
animals.”

“This is a serious matter,” Eleonora
responded, frowning. “How could an unknown person be living on my
land? I thought our guards were dependable.”

Rosalinda could tell that her mother was
deeply distressed and that she was trying to hide it from her
daughters. Her effort was not succeeding. Bianca was positively
white with fear. Seeing Bianca’s pale face, Rosalinda tried to
allay her sister’s concern.

“Perhaps it was some lone traveler who only
stopped for a night or two before continuing on his way,” she
suggested. “Bartolomeo, could your man tell if there was more than
one person?”

“More important, did he actually see whoever
is living there?” Eleonora asked.

“He saw no one,” Bartolomeo replied.
“Madonna, allow me to assure you that Lorenzo, who discovered the
evidence, was puzzled to think how such a thing could happen when
our sentries patrol the boundaries of your land so thoroughly.
Acting as my deputy, Lorenzo ordered extra guards out before he
even reported to me. If the intruder is still in this area, he will
be found before the day is over.”

“I want that cottage pulled down at once,”
Eleonora commanded. “I don’t care how many men it takes. Level it.
And if you do catch the person who has been living there, bind him
and bring him to me. It must be a man. No woman would dare to live
off the land in such a way.”

“I understand. The cottage will be gone
before nightfall. With your permission, madonna, I will leave you
now and give the order.”

“Wait a moment, Bartolomeo,” Eleonora said as
he headed for the door. “I have another order for you. I am certain
Bianca will have the good sense to remain at home after hearing
this troubling news, but I am not so sure of my overly curious
Rosalinda. Until this stranger on my lands has been caught, I
specifically forbid Rosalinda to ride alone, or to ride out of
sight of the villa, even in the company of a pair of
men-at-arms.”

“As you wish, madonna.” Bartolomeo bowed and
left the sitting room.

“Mother, no!” Rosalinda protested. “I will go
mad if I am forced to stay at home all day.”

“You will soon be forced to do so in any
event,” Eleonora responded, “since you cannot ride in the ice and
snow that will arrive before much longer.”

“Please,” Rosalinda begged.

“I gave the order to Bartolomeo with your
safety in mind, child. If you insist upon arguing with me, I will
send you to your room.”

“But, Mother-”

“Oh, Rosalinda, do be quiet,” Bianca hissed
across the table. “Can’t you see how upset Mother is? Must you
always add to her worries?”

“Why can’t you and Mother understand that I
feel like a prisoner here?” Rosalinda hissed back at her.

“You are not a prisoner!”

“I am! We all are!”

“You are not! We are not!”

“Girls, be silent,” Eleonora interrupted the
building dispute. “Return to your lessons. Rosalinda, you will
decline the following Latin verbs.”

Rosalinda’s heated protests had their desired
effect of making an irritated Bianca forget her fears. However,
Rosalinda’s continued pleas that she be allowed to ride were
useless against her mother’s firm insistence that she must not
venture out of sight of the villa. In any case, her arguments
proved unnecessary, for that night a rainstorm broke over the
valley and continued into the next day. When the sun reappeared, it
was accompanied by cold and windy weather, which lasted for a mere
two days before the snow began and the issue of Rosalinda’s desire
to ride was resolved by Nature. Soon both mountains and valley were
buried under several feet of white, and the snow kept falling.

In the villa itself and in the outbuildings
where the men-at-arms and their families lived, as well as in the
other buildings where the livestock was sheltered, all was prepared
for the winter, so humans and animals were as comfortable as they
could expect to be.

For Eleonora and her daughters, the winter
routine was soon well established, with household duties in the
mornings, lessons in the afternoons, and in the evenings, the quiet
pleasures of games in which Bartolomeo and Valeria also joined, or
of reading aloud from one of the books in Eleonora’ s library.

Bartolomeo reported the gamekeeper’s cottage
had been destroyed and no further signs of the mysterious intruder
had been noticed. Rosalinda thought she was the only person who
wondered from time to time whence that unknown person had come and
where he had gone. She knew she was the only one at Villa Serenita
who remembered a bear she had once encountered, who had done a good
deed for her. She hoped the bear would find a snug cave in which to
keep warm through his winter hibernation.

* * * * *

Andrea knew he was going to die. He had known
his death was inevitable since the moment when he realized he was
alone, that he had somehow lost the others in the darkness and
confusion of that first, frantic night. Against all the claims of
logic and good sense, he had struggled to keep hope alive in his
breast, telling himself that he would see his missing companions
again. But they had failed to appear at the agreed-upon meeting
place. Their continued absence finally destroyed his fragile
optimism. If it were in any way possible, he knew they would have
met him. That they had not done so meant they were most likely
dead.

Sunk in sorrow too deep for weeping, Andrea
had left the meeting place and wandered back into the mountainous
area where he had spent the recent autumn. By now, weeks later,
even the loss of closest kin and dearest friend scarcely mattered,
for Andrea was about to join them in death.

He was numb from the cold and so starved that
when he put his hands to his armpits to try to warm them, he could
feel his bones jutting through the skin. Were he a less stubborn
man, he would have just stopped where he was, dropped to the
ground, and let the cold and the never-ending snow have him.
Everything had been taken from him. His family and friends and all
his worldly possessions were gone. Even the rude shelter he had
found and used for a few days had been torn down to drive him away
from it. And now his very life was to be claimed by Fortune’s cruel
whim.

“
But if I
die,” he muttered, voicing his disjointed thoughts in a growl
scarcely recognizable as issuing from a human throat, “then they
have won – the liars, the traitors, the assassins. Vanni, where are
you? What has happened to you? God in heaven, at least let me know
what has befallen Vanni before I die! And Francesco, too. What a
trial we have been to him. Dear God, I pray they are not in my
condition – or worse, imprisoned and tortured. Though I shall die,
if they by some unexplainable chance are still alive, then I pray
that they are safe. And warm.”

He stood in several feet of snow, weary unto
death, swaying on feet he could no longer feel, with more snow
piling up on his shoulders and his ragged beard with each moment
that passed, his fortunes and his life force at their lowest ebb.
The light he was trying to reach was barely discernable through the
heavy crust of snowflakes that stuck to his eyelashes. Surely, he
could never walk as far as that light.