Tuscan Rose (46 page)

The couple with the child kissed each other. The mother cradled her daughter in her arms. ‘It’s all right, Carlotta. It will soon be over. Don’t be frightened.’

Fiamma helped the blind woman to the ground. She gave a look of hate to the officer and then one of farewell to Rosa.

‘Get up!’ Rosa heard the officer with the cap say behind her. She didn’t realise he was speaking to her until she felt his gun in her back. ‘Stand up and walk backwards.’

Rosa’s heart thumped in her chest. So she was going to be the first to be killed. Perhaps it was better. She didn’t know if she could stand watching the others being shot and waiting her turn.

‘You too,’ the officer said, kicking Fiamma’s feet. One of the soldiers took Rosa and Fiamma to the side.

‘Oh God,’ whispered Fiamma. ‘They are going to kill them and then make us check they are dead before killing us.’

Rosa wasn’t listening. She was looking at the grenade on the officer’s belt, wondering how hard she would have to pull it to make it go off. Surely it was worth a try.

‘Listen!’ said the officer with the cap to the main group, his German accent suddenly disappearing. ‘I’m sorry you can’t return to your village. But up there through those woods is a farm that will take you all in. I hope that in gratitude for your lives, you will do all you can to cooperate with the farmers who give you shelter and food. As for the partisans, I’m sorry that you were arrested because of us but I hope you will come to understand that we are your fellow countrymen and patriots fighting for the freedom of Italy. We are not Nazis and we are not fascists. We don’t kill innocent children, women or old people, only Germans, fascists and
traitors
.’ He emphasised the last category and clearly directed it at the men in suits as a warning. ‘I hope you understand. Now get up, don’t turn around, and start walking.’

‘What about the nurses?’ the old man asked protectively. ‘What are you going to do with them?’

‘We need their services. They are staying with us.’

The little group stood up looking dazed. ‘They aren’t going to shoot us,’ the young father said, breaking down in tears and embracing his wife and child.

Rosa glanced at Fiamma. The whole scene was surreal. These men weren’t Germans; they were partisans. The uniforms must have been stolen. And what about their accents? They had played the part so well they had fooled the colonel—again. Rosa’s mind was too muddled to take it all in at once.

‘Who are you?’ the elderly lady asked, still obeying the officer’s order not to turn around. She had linked her arm with the blind woman and was helping her along.

‘I am the Falcon,’ the officer with the cap said. ‘And if it’s all right with you good people, I’d like to keep my testicles.’

The officer took his cap off and turned to Rosa and Fiamma to say something. The smile disappeared from his face and his eyes grew wide with surprise. Rosa felt that she must be dreaming. For standing there in a German uniform with his hair cropped short was Luciano.

L
uciano and Rosa stood staring into each other’s faces. The brutality of what Rosa had experienced in the past few hours left her with a void as if her soul had been drained out of her. But Luciano’s grey eyes took her back to a time when she had been a different person. For a few seconds, despite the danger they were in, she felt calm. How had Luciano returned safely from Spain? All this time she had thought he was dead. She had been praying for him in the past tense, as one prays for the deceased. His expression was full of something she couldn’t describe. There was so much to say but there was no time.

As soon as the rescued villagers disappeared into the distance, the bushes around them began to move. Men of many different nationalities appeared in the clearing: partisans. The Italians were dressed in khaki shirts and pants, but there were other men—Allied soldiers—who either wore their army uniforms or ill-fitting civilian clothes. There were about thirty in total.

‘The bridge is ready, Commander,’ said a lanky Italian with an unshaven face and long black hair.

Luciano snapped out of his daze, changing in an instant from himself to the Falcon. The bird was known for its vision and speed. It soared in the sky to hunt and dived to stun its prey midair.

‘Later,’ he said to Rosa, giving her one last look before turning away.

An American soldier handed Luciano and the other men who had acted as Germans khaki uniforms. Without any thought to the women standing near them, the men stripped off and threw the German uniforms to the soldier. Fiamma averted her eyes from the naked men but Rosa looked at Luciano with curiosity. Her gaze travelled down his muscular back to the scar on his left thigh. He was older and leaner but not aged. The light that he’d always had in him was burning stronger than ever.

‘You too,’ said the soldier to Fiamma and Rosa, speaking in pidgin Italian. ‘Hurry!’ He pushed some trousers and shirts into their hands.

Rosa and Fiamma ran behind a bush and changed their clothes. The trousers were too wide for Fiamma. Rosa helped her tie a knot in them at the waist and to roll them up from her ankles. The soldier took their nurses’ uniforms and carefully folded them into his backpack. Rosa thought he looked like a wardrobe mistress at the theatre. Did he intend to keep the uniforms for future masquerades?

‘Quick march!’ said the soldier, when he had put the uniforms away. He pointed his gun at them.

Luciano called out to him: ‘It’s all right, Blackbird. They aren’t hostages. They are volunteers.
Staffette
. They won’t cause trouble.’

Luciano sent a meaningful look to Rosa, who nodded. Fiamma indicated her assent too.
Staffette
were the women who assisted the partisans—as couriers, spies, cooks and nurses. Rosa was reminded of her time with the Montagnani theatre group: Luciano was difficult to refuse. After what she had seen, she knew that she would do anything to rid Italy of the Nazis, including sacrificing her life, but she had to get back to Antonio. There was no time to explain that to Luciano or the soldier. The group moved stealthily through the forest, Blackbird acting as guide for the two women. Rosa sensed the urgency was not so much to get away from the Germans, who would surely pursue them once they realised they
had been fooled, but to reach a destination before nightfall. They never crossed open fields but stuck to riverbanks, woods and scrub. Rosa was impressed by their ability to move through foliage without making a sound and did her best to imitate their catlike strides.

The group reached the crest of a hill as the sun was setting. Rosa could see in the valley below a village with a bridge leading to it. The village consisted of a church, café bar and tobacconist along with a few houses. Its position was next to one of the main routes north. When the group of partisans reached the top of the hill, more swarthy and bearded faces popped up from the grass or slid down from trees.

‘The explosives on the bridge are primed and ready, Commander,’ said a fair-haired soldier with a British accent.

‘Where are Plover and Snowfinch?’ Luciano asked him.

‘They haven’t returned.’

Luciano frowned. ‘They haven’t returned?’

The British soldier shook his head. ‘Woodpecker and Duck got the villagers out. They are in an abandoned farmhouse up the hill. Most of them were cooperative. Except the priest. He insisted on staying.’

‘Fool,’ muttered Luciano.

There was the rumble of trucks in the distance. ‘Stay down,’ said Blackbird, pushing Fiamma and Rosa into the grass. Through the quivering blades Rosa could see a German army jeep followed by two trucks heading towards the village. The partisans disappeared from sight into the grass or behind rocks and trees. Rosa noticed the British soldier squatting behind a boulder with a detonator. She put the scenario together in her head. Having duped the SS colonel twice—once in the guise of Italian soldiers and then as Germans—the partisans had anticipated swift and violent reprisals. The SS colonel was sending soldiers to do another round-up at the village and had fallen straight into the partisans’ trap.

The jeep came to a stop before the bridge. The soldiers in it jumped out and checked the beams and scanned the hillside with
binoculars. Rosa felt the partisans collectively hold their breath. She pressed herself as far as she could into the rocky soil. Fiamma did the same. Rosa heard the jeep start up again and then the trucks. She hoped that meant the Germans had decided it was safe to cross the bridge. Suddenly the ground vibrated and the sound of a loud explosion pierced the air. Rosa looked up to see the trucks toppling off the bridge into the ravine below. Soldiers were falling out of them like rag dolls. There were shouts and screams.

‘Stay here!’ said Blackbird to the women.

The partisans stormed down the hill, their machine guns firing. They didn’t take prisoners but shot any German soldiers who were still alive. Despite the atrocities she had seen performed by the Nazis that day, Rosa was stunned to see men killed in front of her. The partisans lowered themselves into the ravine and worked quickly to strip the trucks of anything that might be of value. Rosa saw the priest run out of the village towards the bridge. Luciano met him, and a conversation with much gesticulating followed. The lanky, black-haired partisan stood next to Luciano, his gun still ready for action. Rosa guessed that he was the second-in-command.

Blackbird ran back up the hill. ‘All right,’ he said to Fiamma and Rosa, ‘come quickly before more Germans arrive. We need to get back to our camp for an air drop.’

The women wasted no time in running after Blackbird, trying to keep up with his long, athletic strides. Rosa’s lungs hurt. She was close to collapse but now was not the time to succumb to human weakness. They followed Blackbird to the village, where the partisans were loading the spoils from the trucks and guns from the slain soldiers onto a donkey cart. Luciano and the second-in-command were still speaking with the priest.

‘But they were on their way to the other brigade,’ Luciano was saying. ‘One of your villagers must have informed on them. Who?’

‘None of my people would have done that,’ insisted the priest.

Luciano turned to his second-in-command. ‘We have to send a search party for Plover and Snowfinch.’

It suddenly occurred to Rosa that they were talking about Carlo and the other partisan. Luciano didn’t know his brother was dead. Rosa’s legs froze. She would have to tell him. What would happen then? Knowing Luciano, he would order a raid on the Villa Scarfiotti. Rosa remembered what Clementina had said about noone leaving that place alive. She closed her eyes against the memory of Carlo’s mutilated face. How could she tell Luciano about that? But if she didn’t tell him, the men on the rescue mission would be risking their lives for nothing. Then an even more sickening idea plagued Rosa. What would Luciano do when he realised that she had given Carlo fatal shots of morphine; that she had killed him?

‘Luciano!’ she called, walking up behind the men.

The shouts of the partisans loading the cart were too loud and Luciano didn’t hear her and continued arguing with the priest. ‘Luciano!’ Rosa repeated, louder this time.

Luciano spun around and stared at her. The second-incommand glared and pointed his gun at her. Not understanding why they should be showing such animosity, Rosa continued: ‘Luciano, I know—’

Before she could finish, Luciano seized her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘No names!’ he shouted, glancing at the priest before turning back to her. ‘Do you understand? No names, ever! If you want to address me, you call me Commander.’

Rosa was shocked by Luciano’s rebuke and lost the courage to tell him what she had to say.

He softened his grip and looked at her apologetically. ‘We have to get out of here. We have to find the whereabouts of two of our men. Later we will talk.’

He was about to turn away again. ‘I know where Carl—’ Rosa stammered, before correcting herself. ‘They are dead,’ she said simply.

Luciano’s eyes narrowed on her face. ‘How do you know?’

‘The Germans,’ Rosa said, finding it difficult to breathe. ‘That’s why they brought us to the villa. They had tortured them for
information and wanted me to revive them. But I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t have anyway. They had been beaten up too badly. I gave Carl…him…morphine to stop the pain. That’s why they were going to shoot me.’

‘How do you know they’re dead?’ Luciano asked.

‘They passed away while I was there.’

Luciano reeled back. He staggered to a wall and leaned against it. Rosa could see the battle going on inside him—between Luciano the loving brother of Carlo, and Luciano the commander who was fighting a war. She had told the truth but not the whole truth. She had left out the nature of the torture and her role in Carlo’s death. Was it really necessary for Luciano to know more?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to hold back her tears. ‘I would have saved them if I could have.’

The second-in-command rushed to Luciano and grabbed his arm. ‘How do you know this woman is telling the truth?’ he said. ‘She could have been sent by the Germans to muddle your mind. That’s what women are good for. The SS might be trying to provoke you. So far you have been nothing but cool-headed. You’ve outsmarted them at every turn. Maybe this is their way of getting you to make mistakes, to lose your head.’

‘She wouldn’t do that,’ Luciano replied, staring at the ground. ‘I know her. She loved my brother.’

‘What do you know of her?’ insisted the second-in-command. ‘I’ve never heard you mention a nurse. The war has changed everything and everyone. Remember Cuckoo? His own wife turned him in to the fascists because he wouldn’t enlist. That’s what we know of women. You can’t trust these sweet-talking Florentines. If you are going to throw yourself at a woman, at least let it be a strong, dependable one like Marisa: a woman who knows her place.’

The British soldier made a signal from the hill. ‘Germans!’ he shouted.

The warning snapped Luciano into action. ‘Take the priest,’ he said to his second-in-command. ‘It’s him I don’t trust.’ Then,
turning to Rosa, he gave her a look of such pain that she felt her heart crumble to dust inside her.

Darkness was falling. The partisans, along with Rosa and Fiamma, moved like a pack of nocturnal animals. They passed a field and five men, led by the British soldier, broke away from the group without a word. Rosa understood it was to intercept the goods that were being dropped by air, presumably from the Allies. The rest of the group approached a farm with two barns. The partisans unloaded the contents of the cart and hid them under the straw in the barns.

‘Watch him,’ Luciano told Blackbird, pointing to the priest. He then signalled for Rosa and Fiamma to follow him into the house along with the second-in-command, who Rosa had learnt was called Starling, and a portly partisan who was called Partridge.

Inside the house, two women were laying out a table. The younger one, with a swarthy complexion and robust figure, glanced at Luciano before settling her suspicious black eyes on Rosa and Fiamma.

‘Bread, soup,’ Luciano said to her, before turning to Fiamma. ‘Sit,’ he told her. ‘Marisa will get you something to eat.’

Starling opened a door to a room off the kitchen and lit a candle. The shutters were closed. Luciano indicated that Rosa should follow him inside. Partridge came too. Starling fixed himself against the door and Partridge leaned on a windowsill. Luciano placed a crate next to Rosa and told her to sit on it.

‘So explain to us how you ended up at the Villa Scarfiotti,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t that where you worked as a governess? The Marchese’s daughter…she was once your charge?’

Rosa felt sick in the stomach. Luciano was interrogating her. There was a time when he wouldn’t have questioned her loyalty and integrity. Before, he had been an activist; now he was a soldier. Was that what Spain had turned him into? Rosa could only forgive his manner towards her because of what he must have been feeling about Carlo.

‘We will ask your friend the same questions,’ said Starling, nodding towards the kitchen. ‘So we will know if you are lying.’

Rosa related her story again. She still couldn’t bring herself to be truthful about the extent of Carlo’s injuries and the fact that she had injected him with a fatal dose of morphine. How could she describe those things? How could she possibly explain them?

When Luciano had finished asking Rosa questions, Starling asked her exactly the same questions again, followed by Partridge. Rosa was afraid and exhausted but didn’t contradict herself. Luciano glanced at Starling and Partridge, who both shrugged. Starling reluctantly conceded that Rosa was probably telling the truth.

‘We need nurses,’ said Partridge, resting his hands on his stomach. ‘This could turn out to be good luck.’

‘We need nurses,’ agreed Starling, ‘but they can stay at Vicchio. We don’t need them here.’

‘No, they will stay with us,’ said Luciano. ‘They need to move wherever we do.’

Rosa looked up. ‘I can’t stay,’ she said. ‘Antonio is in prison. I was supposed to collect him today. They won’t let him out unless a relative is present.’