The Angel of Soriano: A Renaissance Romance (13 page)

Pierpaolo chuckled at his good fortune. He’d found his missing niece. As a plus, her behavior had secured him an invite to the wedding and an overnight in Soriano’s castle.

He rode with his five hand-picked men to the top of the hill. After leaving their horses at the stables, they wandered by the empty garrison and peeked in. He’d need wait until all were drunk on wedding wine before executing his campaign.

“Buongiorno.” Signora Santamaria greeted him at the church’s entrance wearing a wolf-like smile on her normally dour face.

He smiled back. Inside, his noble allies dotted the crowd. One by one, he caught their eyes and nodded. Soon they would execute his well thought out revenge.

While he waited, he estimated the worth of the church’s gold that would soon belong to him. An expensive chalice and plate rested on a white altar cloth. Above that, Christ’s crown of thorns sparkled and the Stations of the Cross were inlayed with gold, as well. He’d melt it all down, sacrilege be damned, and begin to amass a new fortune for his family.

Suddenly, a trumpet sounded, the crowd turned, and the oak door swung open wide. This had to be Lucella, weeping uncontrollably and led by Dideco. The bride’s veil didn’t hide her red blotchy face or swollen nose. For a moment, Pierpaolo felt some sympathy for the groom.

That is until he remembered he was going to kill him. He chuckled. Then the young Carvajal entered, cursing, and fighting his chains.

Catching his eye Bernardo shouted, “Where is Aurelia?”

Pierpaolo grinned and shrugged as guards dragged the unwilling groom through the standing crowd and forced him upon his knees. Soriano’s armed men seemed uncomfortable as they refused to meet their captain’s gaze but did nothing to stop the proceedings.

At the altar, the bishop whispered into his ear and the groom calmed. Hmm. What was that? Pierpaolo considered every interaction with care. All these elements would soon come into play when he took over the city.

Wedding vows were exchanged, the body of Christ consumed, and the unhappy couple escorted out of the church. Then the guests exited and followed them into the main castle hall.

Pierpaolo could hardly contain his excitement. He walked over to Dideco Carvajal, slapped him on the back and said, “Congratulations, my friend. A marriage made in heaven. Let’s find the wine and begin the celebrations.”

Wrists locked in irons, Bernardo walked his fake bride up the hill. Antonio had refused to speak so he questioned her instead. “Where’s Aurelia? What happened?”

Lucella lifted her skirts with nose high in the air and said stiffly, “Grandmother said a wife does not speak of his husband’s mistresses. If you must keep one, I’ll do my best to pretend she doesn’t exist.”

His blood boiled at her insolent tone. “You’re my wife and will obey or I swear when I get you alone I’ll flay you within an inch of your life.”

She flinched and paled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, dearest heart, I would. You no longer have your grandmother’s protection. She leaves within the hour. Then you’ll feel every inch of my wrath.” He’d never actually hurt a woman, but her impertinent attitude deserved a put down.

She opened her mouth to wail but thankfully Antonio put a hand over her mouth. “Jesus, Bernardo. No more. Give up this foolishness and by God’s blood, just take her.”

“I swear, if you harmed Aurelia, I’ll see to it you pay with your life.”

“You’re no good to her dead. Your father has let it be known, if you don’t consummate this marriage within the hour, he’ll hang you. He’s already sent for Niccolo in Naples.”

“My brother? You’d allow him to take my place?” He stared, incredulous. He’d always thought he held his man’s constant loyalty.

Antonio glared and then spit upon the ground. “Will it come to that? Brother against brother? Father against son? Friend taking arms against friend? All for a woman? You go too far.”

Bernardo held up his arms and the chains rattled. “Tell me this much. Does Aurelia still live?”

“Si. She lives.” He shook his head back and forth, seemingly haunted for a moment.

Bernardo sighed. He’d heard the crowds in the courtyard from the dungeon and feared the worst. His next words stuck in his throat. “What did they do to her?”

“The walk.”

“Bloody Christ. Was she brave?” His eyes watered as he imagined his only love forced down the hill with fruit flying and the locals cursing.

“The bravest I’ve ever seen.” Oddly, Antonio’s tone seemed proud, not disdainful.

“Jesu. Did they strip her naked?” His heart ached for her and guilt ate at his soul. This was entirely his fault. He never should’ve let anyone see his interest in her.

“I took her boy’s clothing off to her chemise. Then she told me you’d kill me if I continued.” Antonio stared at the ground, shaking his head back and forth, no doubt remembering his complicity.

“You? You did that to her?” Bernardo swung his bound fists at Antonio’s face and he went down. He jumped onto his chest, hands to his neck with murder in his mind.

Lucella screeched for help, men came running, and it took at least three sets of arms to pull him off his so-called friend.

As Bernardo stared panting, rage burning, the castle guard wiped the blood off his face. “I volunteered. Who else would keep her safe? I stripped her only to her chemise and—”

“And my grandmother tore off the last of her garments,” Lucella spit out. “Bared the whore’s chest.”

“Jesu.” Bernardo fought against his chains and stumbled to his knees. What had he done?

Antonio pulled him up. “Then Fulvio threw her his shirt. I’ve seen women in court with more skin showing. Her legs were covered in thick hose and your friend’s silk went below her calves.”

“But now? Where is she?”

“Your father sent her out of town with Pierpaolo’s men. But your cousin sent Fulvio after her. He loves her almost as much as you. He’ll free her when the time is right. You must trust your friends. Trust me.”

At the chamber door, Antonio stopped and said, “Your father said if I don’t hear her screaming, then I’m to bring you back to the dungeon.”

“You might as well do it now as I won’t consummate this marriage. My God, man. She’s a child in both body and mind. I can’t.”
And I’m already married. Lucella will be ruined.

“Many a good man has wed younger girls.”

Bernardo tried to look the part of someone who’s given in. “Very well. Come Lucella. We must make the best of this.”

“What?” Her horrified look would’ve been comical had the situation been any different. “No. No. No. I want to go home. Turn around. Both of you. I’ve something to show you.”

They did as she asked, her silk skirts rustled, then she thrust her panties into his hands. The rag wrapped in the center that should’ve been red with blood was white as snow. His mind spun at the bold treachery. Had he not met Aurelia and married her first, he might’ve actually been stuck forever with this girl.

“You’re not in your monthlies?” In his mind, he began to formulate a letter to Ferdinand and Isabella.

She sniffed and wiped her nose with the lace of her veil. “No. My grandmother used sheep’s blood.”

Bernardo gave her back the garment. “Surely she knew I’d find out upon our bedding.”

“I was supposed to sprinkle more blood inside my legs after I disrobed.” Tears welled in the young girl’s eyes and he felt a bit of sympathy. She didn’t want the marriage any more than he did.

“There, there. We’ll have this annulled and I’ll send you home, but think. How will it fare for you in Spain if they find out you’re barren?”

She smiled secretively. “I suspect the malady will fix itself once I’m safely within Spain’s borders.”

Something about her tone and evil grin worried him, but he had far more serious issues to deal with. He needed to get to Aurelia.

His father’s voice boomed down the hall and all cringed. “Antonio, is the deed done?”

When he saw all three still standing in the hall, his face grew red. “What’s this?”

Bernardo grabbed Lucella’s underthings and pushed them under his father’s nose. “She lied. She’s not bleeding. Never has. The girl’s still incapable of bearing an heir.”

“I don’t give two figs. Go in there and fuck her.” He pushed them both into the room and onto the bed.

Chained as he was, Bernardo had no chance of fighting back. “You must let me explain.”

“Damn it, son. I can’t have the wrath of the king and queen of Spain as well as Borgia.”

Bernardo pushed up to standing, shouting nose to nose. “You’ll have no heir. She’s barren!”

“Better heirless than dead. I’ll see to it that mistresses are provided for you to have children. Take him to the dungeon until he changes his mind.”

He turned to Antonio. “And put that little liar in her room. Post a guard at her door. If you hear her whine, beat her. It’s high time I put some order back in my own keep. Meanwhile, I have wedding guests to attend to.”

The fountain’s water flowed from the palms of the Virgin Mary and Aurelia prayed to her. But just like the cherubs in the castle ceiling, the mother of God seemed oblivious.

She’d just arrived in the piazza when some in the angry mob picked up stones. Aurelia cried out when one rock’s sharp edge cut deep and then more followed. One hit her temple, blood dripped down her face, and she dropped to her knees. Crouching in a fetal position like Saint Stephen, she prayed her end would come soon.

One of Pierpaolo’s men sidled his horse close. He clamped an iron fist onto her upper arm and her body shot into the air. She landed behind him like a rag doll. Then shaking uncontrollably, she clung onto his waist.

The strange savior rode her under the iron teeth of the portcullis while the rest of the mounted men, riding close behind, suggested acts of rape and sodomy. Finally, he cursed, flicked his reins, and galloped so far ahead she could no longer hear the awful language.

She considered sliding off the back of his horse and making a dash across the open terrain but was probably safer with him. Her whole body stung from the multiple welts of the stoning and yet she did not weep. There was only gratitude in her heart as the stranger rode her away from Soriano.

Blessed silence ensued for several miles of brown and gray terrain, giving her time to wonder about Bernardo’s fate. Had he refused to marry or did he now lay upon his wedding bed, piercing Lucella’s virginity?

At that thought, her stomach turned, and she squeezed back tears. Her marriage was a farce. Bishop Carvajal and Bernardo must’ve tricked her. How could she be sure? She was not even right side up when it happened.

Her captor slowed at a field filled with huge piles of fall hay. The last drop of hope drained away when the horse stopped. These grassy lumps were not a bountiful harvest, they were well disguised tents. Perhaps a hundred battle-ready warriors hid under the flaps. In the middle of the clearing, a catapult waited with one long arm and wooden wheels.

War horses nickered, tethered at a nearby farm house.

Mother of God!
Pierpaolo intended to invade Soriano.

She didn’t give a piss about the people who’d almost just stoned her to death. But what about Bernardo? He’d most certainly be one of the first to die in a surprise attack.

Her champion spoke quietly to another wearing a similar leather vest. “Bind her and see that no harm comes to her. She’s to be ransomed. Understood?”

The other nodded and pulled her down off the horse. He ducked under the flap of the nearest tent, dragging her along. Then he tied her to a thick pole in the center of the dim shelter and left.

The sun set fast in November and before she could ponder her escape, it was dark. Then the cool air turned cold. Sitting on the damp ground, she said a prayer for the thoughtful old woman who’d handed her a warm cloak as she’d walked in shame down the hill of Soriano.

A low voice rasped outside the tent, breaking her thoughts. “I’ll give a ducat for a first go at her.”

She moaned and struggled at the ropes that bound her.

“I’ll double that. C’mon now,
amico
, I’ll get her nice and wet for you.”

Damn all the saints to hell!
She squirmed to retrieve her knife from her boot. She’d slice their throats, one at a time. That is, should she reach her blade in time.

Suddenly, a man shouted. “The tower! The signal! Mount up.”

One fear replaced another as excited male voices shouted out. Horses whinnied, spurs jangled, and swords sliced against leather as they prepared for battle. She’d heard stories of how women were catapulted over the walls during a siege. Would they leave her here or bring her with them? She twisted, her teeth inches from the hilt of her boot’s stiletto.

A strange bird whooped outside the tent and she paused, remembering her confession in the church. Had not Bernardo’s cousin said something about a bird call? Was it possible she was going to be rescued?

“Pssst. Aurelia. Say nothing.” Fulvio’s voice whispered outside the tent and her heart raced.

The flap of the tent opened, cool air met her back, then a knife cut the ropes binding her hands and feet.

He pulled her outside and asked, “Can you run?”

He’d rubbed some kind of charcoal over the muscles of his chest and face so the moonless night made him all but invisible.

She nodded.

With a finger to his lips, he pointed to the outline of a nearby rock fence and pushed her forward. “Go.”

Having no layers of skirts to hinder her movements, she lifted her warm cape, held the roll of hose, and ran like the wind. At the wall, she jumped and fell onto her stomach. Fulvio joined her a moment later, his breath labored.

They both listened and stared into the blackness behind them.

Nothing.

Finally, Fulvio grinned and took her hand. “They’re too busy preparing for the assault on Soriano to notice.”

“Come.” He dashed into a clump of trees.

With hands in front of her face she blindly followed to where his horse was tethered. Silently they mounted and rode through low branches of hazelnut trees until they were feet away from a small farmhouse with a thatched roof.

Fulvio got down and handed her the reins. “I’ll be right back. Wait here.”

In the field beyond, the army prepared for battle. Horses stomped, leather saddles creaked, and then a piece of wood cracked loudly.

A very low voice with a northern accent cursed and grunted. “The wheel is stuck tight.”

Another said, “Put a stone there.”

“Push.”

Despite the tumult, at this distance and in the moonless night, they’d never be detected by Soriano, not even from the parapets.

What was taking Fulvio so long?

Suddenly, a sliver of moonlight peaked out between the clouds, lighting a nearby hill.

Mother of God!
The giant iron ring of Bastia! She needed to get to it. Now.

With a flick of the reins and a kick of her heels, she raced off without another thought. All the while she prayed Fulvio’s strong beast was sure-footed as it jumped the rock fences and small streams.

Once in front of the ring she searched on hands and knees for a way to make the damn thing clang. Her stiletto was too small.

A priest dressed in his sleeping gown opened the second floor shutters in the nearby church tower. “What do you want?”

She shouted, “Vignanello is attacking Soriano. Look how they gather in the field below.”

The man leaned way out the window toward where she pointed. He appeared in front of her a moment later cradling what appeared to be a heavy iron sword. Swinging it back, he whacked the steely ring. The clang deafened her.

Pierpaolo’s warriors raced up the hill like angry ants.

The priest shouted at her between clangs. “To Soriano.”

She left the brave man, jumped onto Fulvio’s charger, and found the main road. The clanging continued until she heard a blood curdling scream. But far away, similar clangs began to echo throughout the valley from every direction. Soriano had been well-warned. The man had not died in vain.

Her mind churned. The people of Soriano would never allow her entrance, not after nearly stoning her in the piazza. Regardless, she clamped her legs and urged her horse faster. Bernardo needed her, even if he’d tricked her most foully.

As she drew near, the road became clogged with farmers and peasants running toward the village. She’d never seen a more devoted set of vassals. They held pitiful weapons of metal hoes and pitchforks.

Trying to avoid them, she almost trampled an old woman shuffling along with a basket’s handle in the crook of her elbow and a cat in her arms.

Aurelia pulled up on the reins. “Old woman! Pierpaolo’s men are coming. An army. You best get off the road.”

Wise eyes stared up and Aurelia almost tumbled off the horse at the shock of seeing the familiar old face. This was the woman who’d handed her the warm cloak mere hours before in front of the butcher shop.

“You?” Aurelia breathed out.

The woman grinned with toothless smile, cackled, and curtsied. “Si. I’m the old vechio of Bastia. I’ll help you get into Soriano. Dismount.”

Not having any other plan, Aurelia got down from Fulvio’s horse and petted its nose, holding the reins tight.

Meanwhile, the ancient woman held out her hand. “Give me my cloak.”

Aurelia reluctantly shrugged out of the warm wool. Then her eyes widened as the old woman sprinkled some kind of dust into the inside and outside of the garment.

“Here. Put it on.” The vechio pulled the hood over her head and handed her the basket of sweet porchetta along with the good-natured cat.

She lightly slapped Aurelia’s cheeks. “Pay attention. None will question you if you pretend to be me. Hurry now. Enter with the rest. Give me your horse for safe keeping.”

Shocked, Aurelia handed off the reins and gathered her wits at the last moment. “Fulvio, Bernardo’s man is within a farmhouse in Bastia. Please help him. But caution, ancient one, the army approaches fast upon this road.”

Not wanting to waste another moment, Aurelia shuffled as fast as she dare toward the main gate while peasants shouted about the impending attack, rushing the gate.

“Old Vechio! You shouldn’t be out! Didn’t you hear the alarms from Bastia?” A Soriano guard took her arm, stared with mouth open at the glowing cape, yet helped her through the mass of bodies.

She reached up and tugged his ear lower so he could hear her over the melee. “Pierpaolo’s men. They’re all but upon us. About one hundred strong. Maybe more.”

He started to answer but his hands shot to his chest and he fell back when an arrow pierced straight through his neck.

She squatted, pried his sword out from under him, and yelled, “Clear the gate! Clear the gate!”

Gripping the bloody hilt, she swung the blade and split the rope holding up the iron spikes. They fell and clanged to the bottom.

Mothers who’d been too far away rushed forward and handed their babies through the bars into arms of those inside. Then they turned, faces grim, and raised whatever meager weapons they carried.

Suddenly, horse hooves pounded, people screamed, and the air rained blood as Pierpaolo’s mounted men slaughtered the peasants like sheep.

Her stomach lurched and she heaved. When she raised her eyes the butcher and Antonio were at her side.

She stared into their astonished faces. “Where’s Bernardo?”

The older of the two men twisted a crested ring off his finger. “He was last seen in the dungeon. Tell the guard to release him. That The Sentinel sent you.”

He grabbed a boy of about ten and pushed him toward her. “Show her the lower entrance. Don’t worry, my son. It’s the angel Uriel. She’ll protect you.”

The boy’s brown eyes went wide as if she had two heads. Then without a word he ran off. She followed, bare feet pounding on the rounded stones.

Those who had reviled her earlier in the day, made way, cheering. “A miracle! The Angel Uriel. To Arms.”

Halfway up the hill, heart pounding, she paused to catch her breath while merchants with swords passed by in the opposite direction. One stopped, stared, and made the sign of the cross. Another rolled his eyes to heaven and prayed aloud.

She grabbed the boy’s arm. “What goes on?”

He stared into her face. “You don’t know?” He picked up her hand and put it in front of her face. “You glow.”

She brushed at the glowing greenish dust that covered her arms and studied the underside of the cloak. It seemed to burn brightly without heat. Then there was no more time to wonder as the boy dashed off and ducked under an arch.

Down a long stairway, over a wall covered with vines, and into a tiny courtyard she followed. Then he led her down an ancient circular stairway. When the pebbles loosened, they plopped into well water far, far below.

A torch waited at the bottom which he quickly lit. They sprinted up a narrow sloping path and passed an ancient underground city filled with many rooms. One contained olive oil presses and another, a pottery kiln. They ran by barrels, pots, lamps, harnesses, and sleepy-eyed donkeys in their stalls.

Soon, the path led them to a steep staircase. The boy put a finger to his lips and pointed up at a sliding bar of metal.

Angry shouts echoed in the room above.

Bernardo!

She climbed the ladder, reached up, and slid back the cold steel bar. Then she lifted the wood square and slid it to the side, overhead. The acrid smell of urine pouring from the dungeon made her eyes water. Then, much like a hedgehog, she poked her head out of the opening.

Torchlight flickered, eerily lighting the black walls of the tufa cave. A guard sat on the bottom of a stone step, sharpening a knife. And behind iron bars, her Bernardo squatted on his heels, then caught her gaze.

While she calculated the odds of being stabbed to death, the boy squeezed out in front of her and rolled into the main room of the dungeon.