Rose Red (5 page)

Through the fog of failing consciousness, he
remembered the girl. The memory of her had kept him from giving up
even as his strength had waned and his hopes had faded. He had
glimpsed her only a few times, when she rode into the mountains
alone, but her energy and her exhilaration at being young and alive
and free had communicated itself to him. Once he, too, had been
that young, that enthusiastic.

With the
girl’s bright image in his confused mind, Andrea forced himself to
lift one foot, to drag it forward through the obstructing weight of
the snow, to place it in front of the other and then, after an
agonizing pause, to lift the other foot. She was there, where the
light was. If he could but reach her, she would help him. That girl
would give honey to a wild bear. She would not turn away a freezing
man. If he found her, he would find himself again. And then he
might learn Vanni’s fate…

“‘How dared you make your way to this high
mountain? Do you not know

that here man lives in bliss?’”

In her
warm sitting room, Eleonora was reading aloud from Dante’s
Purgatorio
, reciting in
a low voice throbbing with emotion the words of Beatrice, the
poet’s lost love.

Valeria moved quietly, filling a Venetian
glass goblet with wine and setting it on a table next to Eleonora.
Nearby, Bartolomeo sprawled in his chair, entranced by the images
evoked by Dante’s beautiful language.

Bianca sat on a stool at her mother’s knee,
with her pet kitten curled up asleep in her lap. Behind her on a
pedestal stood the cage that housed a pair of doves. Bianca had
covered the cage for the night, but an occasional rustling hinted
that the birds were not yet asleep.

Rosalinda was sitting closer to the window
than the others. At the words of the poetical Beatrice, she glanced
out the window in the direction of the mountains. It was an
involuntary motion that lasted for only an instant, but her gaze
caught on something on the terrace that should not have been there.
A form hovered, its shape indistinct in the falling snow. Rosalinda
went still, her vision sharpening.

Most definitely, something was moving on the
other side of the glass. She did not think it was one of the
men-at-arms. If one of them wanted to speak to Bartolomeo, he would
knock on the door.

“’ …
on
the spine of Italy the snow lies frozen hard,’“ Eleonora continued
her reading. “’... in winter when the northeast tempests
blow…’”

Rosalinda’s thoughts were no longer on poetry. Instead, she
concentrated on the darkness beyond the window, where a real
tempest was blowing and where the form she had seen appeared to be
moving closer to the glass. A hand – or was it a paw? – lifted in a
despairing gesture. Rosalinda had the eerie feeling that the figure
was motioning to her.

She was about to rouse Bartolomeo from his
poetry-induced torpor and ask him to investigate when Bianca, ever
alert to her sister’s moods, transferred her attention from her
mother to Rosalinda. At once Bianca followed the direction of
Rosalinda’s gaze toward the window. Bianca drew in a deep, gasping
breath. Then she let out the breath in a blood-curdling scream that
sent the kitten in her lap scrambling to get away from her and
caused a furious flapping of wings from under the covering on the
birdcage.

“A bear!” Bianca pointed a shaking finger. “A
bear is at the window!”

Bartolomeo leapt to his feet and rushed
toward the window. Eleonora and Valeria were close behind him.

“Where is it?” Bartolomeo asked, peering
through the glass. “I don’t see anything.”

“Something has been out there, though,”
Valeria said. “The snow on the terrace is trampled.”

While the others exchanged amazed remarks and
tried to see through the window, which was rapidly becoming steamed
with their breath, and while Bianca hung back as if she feared the
bear she thought she had seen would leap through the glass to
attack her, Rosalinda took action. She unbolted and flung open the
door leading directly from the sitting room to the terrace. She
stepped outside, into swirling snow and wind.

“Rosalinda, come back!” Bianca screamed.

Rosalinda paid no attention to her sister.
Instead, she put out both hands toward the shape that stood frozen
and staring into the light of the sitting room.

“Come,” Rosalinda said in a quiet voice.
“Come inside where it’s warm. We won’t hurt you.”

“Rosalinda!” Bianca’s voice rose to an
hysterical shriek.

“Daughter, come back here at once!” called
Eleonora, sounding frightened but under control.

“
Bartolomeo, come and help me,” Rosalinda cried.
“He’s half frozen. I don’t
think he can walk alone.”

“Bartolomeo, bring my daughter inside and
shut the door,” Eleonora ordered.

“
You -”
The voice of the creature on the terrace was a broken growl, as if
he had not spoken for a long time. You – will – help.”

“Of course I’ll help.” Ignoring his size and
his fearsome appearance, Rosalinda took him by the arm. Bartolomeo
joined her on the snowy terrace and she gave him a firm command.
“Take his other arm. He is having trouble walking. I think his feet
must be frozen.”

Together, supporting him on either side,
Rosalinda and Bartolomeo got the stranger through the door.

“It is a bear!” Bianca screamed. “Rosalinda,
you have brought a bear into the house!”

“Be silent or leave the room, Bianca,” her
mother ordered.

Indeed, the creature Rosalinda and Bartolomeo
were leading to the fireplace did appear to be a bear standing on
its hind legs. It was as tall as a bear, it had a bear’s head, and
two bear arms complete with long bear claws were crossed upon its
chest. But just under the bear’s open jaw, a snow-encrusted,
heavily bearded human face could be seen. Further inspection showed
that the bear’s hind legs were missing. The fur that had once
covered those legs was now wrapped about the lower legs and feet of
a very real man, over what had been a pair of fine, red leather
boots. These boots were badly scuffed and had holes in the toes,
around which ice had congealed. A doublet so soiled and torn that
its original color could not be discerned and a pair of ripped hose
completed the man’s remarkable costume.

Bartolomeo removed the snowy bearskin from
the man’s broad shoulders, while Rosalinda bade the stranger sit
near the fire and warm himself.

“Give him Bianca’s stool,” Eleonora said, and
at this direction from her mother, Rosalinda pulled the stool
forward.

“Madonna,” the man gasped. He was staring at
Eleonora. He tried to bow to her but he was already swaying on his
feet and when he moved, he nearly lost his balance. Rosalinda and
Bartolomeo caught his arms, once again steadying him.

“Do not trouble yourself with formal
courtesies just yet,” Eleonora said. “Sit down on that stool. And,
since you appear to be able to speak, tell me who you are.”

“
I – am –
Andrea.” The man transferred his burning gaze from Eleonora to
Rosalinda. “I knew – you – would help.”

“Certainly, we will help you,” Rosalinda said
to him. “Do sit down as Mother advises.”

“It was a command,” he said, sitting.

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” Rosalinda
suppressed a chuckle before she turned to practical matters.
“Bartolomeo, I think we should remove his boots at once. His hands
are as cold as ice, and his feet must be, too.” She began to
struggle with the bearskin thongs that held the fur wrappings
around his ankles. Those same thongs, she now noticed, were also
holding his ruined boots together.

“You won’t be able to untie the thongs,
Rosalinda. We’ll have to cut them.” Bartolomeo pulled his dagger
out of the sheath at his belt and went to work on the thongs.
“Valeria, bring us a basin and a pitcher of hot water.”

“Warm water,” Valeria corrected her husband.
“Hot water will burn his frozen skin. I won’t be long.” She left
the room.

“Did you come here alone?” Eleonora demanded.
When Andrea did not answer she repeated the question, adding, “I
mean to have an honest response from you, fellow.”

Andrea winced. Rosalinda could not tell if it
was from her mother’s peremptory tone of voice or if the sudden
release of his swollen feet from their wet, cold covering had
elicited the response.

“Answer me,” Eleonora commanded, “or I will
have Bartolomeo cast you back into the snow without that
evil-smelling skin and in your bare feet.”

“From the way my feet are burning, madonna,
putting them into snow would be a kindness,” Andrea ground out
between clenched teeth.

“I am sure they do burn.” In contrast to her
mother’s nervous harshness, Rosalinda was sympathetic to Andrea’s
plight. “Whenever my fingers start to freeze in the cold, they hurt
when they begin to warm again. But I am happy to see that none of
your toes are blue. They are only white. One of the men-at-arms
told me last winter that blue toes are a sure sign the frozen toes
will later turn black and drop off, and perhaps the entire foot,
too. I think you will be spared such a fate.”

“You will not be spared my wrath if you do
not answer my questions, fellow,” Eleonora stated. “Do you come
here alone, or are there others with you? If so, how many are
there, and where are they?”

“Answer her, Andrea,” Bartolomeo advised him
in a kinder voice. “If you have companions who are lost in the
storm, perhaps we can find and help them, too.”

“I wish you could.” Andrea’s brown eyes
glistened with sudden moisture. “There were three of us. I lost the
others weeks, perhaps months, ago. I am not sure how long it has
been. I think they must be dead by now,” he ended on a choked
sob.

“What were you doing, wandering for weeks or
months in these mountains?” Eleonora asked.

“Madonna, I cannot -” Andrea’s eyes closed
and he slid from the stool. Bartolomeo caught his head just before
it hit the floor.

“
Buffone,”
Eleonora muttered. “Has he really fainted, or is
it a trick?”

“He is not a clown at all, Mother,” Rosalinda
protested. “From what he says, he may have suffered a great
tragedy. Furthermore, I think he may be a person of some
importance, for his clothes were once very fine.”

“He could have stolen the clothes,” Eleonora
objected.

“His speech is that of an educated man,”
Bartolomeo noted.

“All the more dangerous for us,” said
Eleonora.

By this time Valeria had returned with the
large pitcher of warm water and the basin Bartolomeo had requested,
along with several linen towels. Together she and Rosalinda began
to soak Andrea’s ice-cold hands and feet.

“If we take off the rest of his wet garments,
he will warm faster,” Valeria said to her husband.

Bianca had remained silent during all of
this. Now she drew closer, staring at Andrea in fascinated
distaste, as if she feared he might jump up and seize her at any
moment.

“He is ugly,” Bianca said, noting the heavy
beard and the long, unkempt hair. She wrinkled her dainty nose.
“Now that he is warming up, he smells like an animal.”

“That’s partly because of the bearskin,”
Bartolomeo informed her. “It hasn’t been properly cured.”

“He is a young man,” Valeria said. She was
using Bartolomeo’s dagger to slice through the filthy fabric of
Andrea’s doublet, making short work of both doublet and
underclothes. “See, Bartolomeo, his throat is not wrinkled. And he
is not a poor man. This dirty shirt beneath the doublet is fine
linen.”

Rosalinda was staring at the manly chest
beneath the linen shirt. Andrea’s skin was pale and smooth, with
dark hair across his chest. His ribs stuck out in hard ridges and
as Valeria pulled down his hose, Rosalinda could see how hollow his
belly was, as if he had not eaten for a very long time. She also
noticed how the hair on his chest trailed downward in a
line....

“Rosalinda, come away,” Eleonora instructed.
“It is not right for a young girl to undress a man.”

But he is my bear.
Rosalinda almost said the words aloud, but caught
herself just before they left her tongue. For a reason she could
not have explained save to say that all her instincts told her it
was so, she was certain it was this man, covered with the bearskin,
who had warned her away from a dangerous rock fall. She was also
fairly sure he was the man who had been using the gamekeeper’s
cottage. So few strangers came to this part of the mountains that
he must be the one.

“Rosalinda!” Eleonora repeated in growing
exasperation.

“Would you find a blanket?” Valeria asked
Rosalinda. “After I remove his clothes we can wrap him in it.
Madonna Eleonora, we will need a bed for him. Perhaps Bianca could
see to the preparation of a guest room while Rosalinda locates the
blanket.”

“Excellent suggestions.” Eleonora nodded her
approval of this means of removing her daughters from the vicinity
of an unclothed man. “Do as Valeria asks, girls.”

Rosalinda and Bianca went up the stairs
together, both heading for the room where extra linens were
kept.

“Make up the guest room on the south side,
where we usually put Luca,” Rosalinda said. “It is the warmest of
the unused rooms. After I take the blanket to Valeria, I’ll help
you carry in wood to build a fire.”

“I wonder who he is?” Away from the sight of
the dirty, ragged man, Bianca had lost much of her fear of him.

“He will tell us when he is able.” As she
spoke, Rosalinda threw open the door to the linen room.

“You find this exciting, don’t you?” Bianca
sighed. “How I wish I were as bold as you. I acted very badly,
didn’t I? All that screaming and saying nasty things about a poor
soul who is almost dead from the cold. Now Mother is annoyed with
me.”