CHAPTER 20

It was my throbbing head and ribs that woke me first, as dawn lit the outside, changing the color of the tent from plum to lavender. Kind of a girly color for a knight, I thought. Maybe he really is gay.

As if he sensed me looking at him, Lord Greco’s eyes squinted shut and then opened wide, staring directly at me. Our gaze held for a long moment.

It was then I knew he was no ally. No friend. He tended to me, did not harm me, because I was worth something. The fatted calf on my way to slaughter.

“What shall be your reward for delivering me to Firenze?”

“Far more than you can imagine,” he said, sitting and untying his end of the small rope that bound us together.

“The Forellis,” I began. “You know them. They have significant means. I could—”

He lifted a finger to his lips, gently shushing me. He shook his head and rose to untie my wrist. “This is a matter of honor. Though I once considered Marcello Forelli a friend, my loyalties will forever be with Firenze.” He finished and turned from me, walking to the basin and pouring water into it.

Outside, I could hear the commanders calling their troops into order, the clop, clop of horses, passing by. Today they would attack Siena.

Had Lia reached Castello Forelli in time? Would they have chance to send for reinforcements? Would the castello be taken, and my mother with it? Paratore would probably be there, if Castello Forelli fell. He would not be kind to the prisoners he took. I’d seen what he did with prisoners, myself, when he had Lia in his dungeon, when he very nearly had me. And if he got Mom…I shook my head. I had to stop it—

“’Tis out of your hands, m’lady. You are a mighty and worthy adversary,” Lord Greco said with a nod of deference, “but you are one woman. You cannot save a city. Not this day.”

I stared back at him, wanting to scream at him, convince him he was wrong. But inside I felt hollow, empty. Marcello and Luca were gone, perhaps prisoners themselves. Today, Siena might fall. Had I done this? Set into motion a course of action that would change history?

No way through but through, my father’s voice said to me. Do the next thing, Gabriella, and then the next, and then the next. I swallowed and said, “So what is to become of me?”

“That is for the elders to decide,” he said, staring back into my eyes. “You are the sworn enemy of Firenze. Your way shall not be easy.” He went to the trunk of clothes and began rummaging through them, then paused. “Unless…”

I waited a second, letting his word hang in the air. “Unless?”

“Unless you have something they want.”

“Such as?” I asked with a frown.

“Access.” He dragged his fingers casually across the metal edge of the fine red mahogany trunk.

I stared back at him. What kind of access were they after?

“Not into Castello Forelli,” he said gently. “As formidable as she is, she cannot withstand the attack to come, not without others to come to her aid. And they shall not. We’ve seen to it that she shall be cut off from any reinforcements.”

I didn’t flinch. I was proud of myself for that.

He found a shirt and rose, slowly meeting my gaze. “I speak of Siena,” he said.

“Siena,” I repeated.

“Yes. You are very nearly kin to Lady Rossi,” he said. “You’ve been in their palazzo several times.”

“Twice, in the traitors’ palazzo,” I said, testing out my theory.

My heart pounded as he came over and looked down at me, like a patronizing older brother. “I prefer to see them as people capitalizing on uncommon opportunity. Siena’s days are short. The wise shall side with us, aid us. Lord Rossi is one of them. We shall breach Siena’s walls within a week, two at the most. But she is well fortified. You know this. You’ve been there.”

Fortified, yes. But there were ways…I thought of the secret tunnel. The one that ran from Palazzo Pubblico to the apartment inside Palazzo Rossi.

He squatted before me and brushed my hair over my shoulder. I edged away from his touch. He smiled and then nodded. “Yes. You’re seeing it now, again, in your mind. You’re a clever woman. A warrior. You know the way from the Palazzo Rossi into Palazzo Pubblico.”

“I know no such thing,” I said.

“You are a decent liar,” he said evenly, unperturbed. “But you’d need to be excellent, m’lady, to fool me.”

I waited him out. For as much as he claimed to know me, to have me figured out, I knew, deep down, that it was just a part of his game.

“There is another tunnel, leading from Palazzo Pubblico, to the outer walls. An escape route that might be of some use.” He shook his head. “The door cannot be opened from the outside, but those who wish to do so could open it from within.” He rose and paced for a bit. “I know it is a great deal to ask,” he said, his chin in his hand. “But in Firenze, to avoid death, you shall have to convince our people that you are our heroine, not Siena’s.”

“And how would I do that?”

“Gather the Nine, under the guise of giving them information you’ve gained while in enemy territory. They shall come—for you. Once we have the Nine in one room, we shall relieve eight—those not following the path of greatest wisdom—of their duties.”

I took a breath. “You mean kill them.”

He stared back into my eyes.

“Why me?” I whispered. “Lord Rossi has many men. Why not have him do this? If all you’re after is mutiny—”

“Lord Rossi’s allegiances must be hidden. If he is found to be a traitor, it shall only make the Sienese more furious. But if the She-Wolf kills all of the Nine but him, and urges submission to Firenze, and Lord Rossi stands behind her, the Sienese shall stumble.” He paused. “To them, m’lady, you are Siena. Their hope. Their future. It is a kindness, in a way. Lead them to submission, and a great many shall be saved.”

A kindness. He was smooth. Deadly smooth.

“And…and if I do not choose to lure the Nine to their deaths? If I do not wish to betray my people?”

“Then you shall die, after a prolonged period of agony.” He turned, threw some clothes into the trunk, and gazed over at me. “Either path shall be difficult. The choice is yours,” he said, shaking his head, “and yours alone. You can consider it on the road today.”

He walked to the edge of the tent. “The doctor shall be here in a moment to see to you. After that, you shall have a bath.”

Whatever, I thought dismissively. I had much bigger things to worry about than whether or not I smelled good.

Someone blew a horn outside, making me jump. Men were on the march.

Lord Greco gave me a sad smile. “Today, Siena begins to crumble. She may fall fast or she may fall slowly, but she shall fall.”

Says you. I kept my lips clamped shut.

“’Tis time to rethink your loyalties, consider your future.” He waved about the tent. “All swords and knives and anything sharp have been removed. All sides are guarded by knights. Do not attempt escape.”

He left, then. I paced for a time, in my lame, limping fashion, trying to figure a way out, a plan. But came up with nothing. His men had literally stripped the tent of everything but the bed. I was just considering breaking it apart, to use a piece of wood as some sort of weapon, when the doctor arrived.

He studied me, reading too many of my thoughts, judging from his raised brow. Without a word, he gestured for me to show him my palms. He studied every scratch and cut, apparently looking for infection. Satisfied, he unwound my thigh and chest bandages.

There was a new green hue to my bruises today. Hadn’t seen that before. The one at the back of my leg now stretched all the way down to my calf. “I cannot do anything more for you but rebind you,” he said. “I shall return after you see to your bath.”

Two men brought in a heavy round wooden tub, like the bottom half of a wine cask. They set it behind the screen, brought in several buckets of water, and then ducked out, never looking my direction. Favoring my left leg, I knelt in the cold water, bending to wet down my hair. I found a cake of soap in a net to the side and lathered up, rinsed, and rose, shivering. There was no towel. I hurriedly slipped on Lord Greco’s big shirt and yanked on the leggings. They came to my chest, so I rolled them down and tied them with the rope.

I turned around the corner of the screen and gasped. Once again, he’d crept in without me knowing. Lord Greco stared at me, his eyes falling from my wet curls to the damp shirt…for the first time letting me know he thought I was something more than a sack of potatoes to deliver. Not gay.

I crossed my arms and stared back at him, tensing in defense.

He turned and spoke over his shoulder. “The doctor shall be back in moments. As soon as your wounds are bound, we shall set off.”

“Oh. Good?” Was that the required response?

He nodded to a trencher, a wooden platter, near the entrance. “Break your fast,” he directed. “We shall not eat again until we enter the city.”

I went over to the makeshift table and picked up the bread, still warm. I ate it and then the wedge of cheese. Last, I drank down the cup of cold water, just as the doctor returned.

He did his number on me and gave me a bit more pain powder for the road. I accepted it but was determined not to take any of it. I preferred the knifelike pain at my ribs and thigh to feeling like I was a drugged up and out of control. When he finished binding my chest and leg, he straightened and looked at me with sad eyes. I frowned, knowing that him feeling sorry for me could not be a good thing.

“Will they kill me in Firenze?”

“I don’t believe so,” he said with a slow shake of his head, and his eyes become more sorrowful still. “But you might wish they had. You must rethink your loyalties, m’lady. ’Tis the only way.”

“Loyalty is not loyalty unless one clings to it in the face of adversity. No?”

He stared back into my eyes and, seeing he wasn’t going to sway me, gathered his things and left the tent without another word. The flap was open, and I could see him talking to his tracker.

I came out, and a knight grabbed my arm.

I shook him off. Man, relax, dude. “I shall go no farther.”

“See that you don’t,” he growled.

Lord Greco was frowning, making angry gestures as he berated the helpless-looking tracker.

I smiled, feeling a twinge of hope, the first of the day.

They hadn’t found Lia. She had made it. Please, Lord, I prayed silently. See her all the way to safety. Help her warn Siena. Save Siena. Please.

Lord Greco glanced in our direction, caught sight of me, and then shouted at the knights, “Get her inside! She is not to be out here.”

We set off an hour later, four knights in Greco purple leading the way, Lord Greco on a dark brown gelding, me on another gelding—flanked by two knights—and six more behind us. The journey was made longer by the sickeningly huge number of men who still journeyed south to the front lines, streaming past us on either side. With each group that arrived, Lord Greco called out, “I present to you, Lady Gabriella Betarrini! Tell everyone that if one She-Wolf of Siena can be captured, then so can the other! They are mortal after all.”

The men laughed and jeered. Greco’s knights kept them from grabbing me, or stoning me, as some tried to do. He was using me as some kind of crazy inspiration, a symbol of Siena’s impending defeat. Was that what I would do for all of Firenze? Stir them up, get them ready to take on Siena?

There was no way that Siena could fend off such numbers, not when she was so ill-prepared.

Not that these were the finest specimens of warriors. Many carried nothing but a pitchfork or axe over their shoulders. But I knew that victory often was claimed by the side with the most men willing to die. At least that was what my world history teacher had said to us. And so they went, why? For land? Honor? Glory? Spoils of war? What?

What could be worth it? I doubted the women they left behind would consider it worthwhile, should they be left widowed, alone, struggling to feed themselves and their children. Sure, men got the glory and honor. But women were abandoned to try and pull the pieces together. I thought of Mom, carrying on without Dad. But that was different, a different time. Still hard, for sure. But at least she had education, a way to make a living. These women…my eyes trailed up the hills, toward a vineyard much like that of the old woman who’d helped us.

These women were left to watch hope itself wither on their vines.

Helpless to stop it.

I stilled even as my gelding carried me forward.

You are not helpless, said my father’s voice. Was it Dad’s…or God’s?

Yeah, right, Gabs. Now God’s speaking to you. Getting a little full of yourself, aren’t you?

But then it came again. Unmistakable. You are strong, Gabriella. Smart. You’ll survive this. Find your way.

It sounded like Dad, in my mind. Memory of my father’s voice comforted me. I had to go with that, that he was speaking to me, reaching out to me, even if only through my memories of what he might’ve said. For the thousandth time, I wished he were here. He’d know what to do. Because right then, I felt like just a kid, really, in shoes way too big for my feet.

Dad, it’s too much.

Not too much for one of my girls.

If only you were here—

You have what you need. Within. Draw deep, Gabriella. Search your heart. Use your mind. You’ll find it. You are not alone.

His voice faded then, and I closed my eyes, clinging to the memory, wishing I could sit down across the kitchen table from him and talk. Make him listen, really listen rather than read his latest copy of the Oxford Journal of Archaeology and nod while I went on. There was so much I wanted to ask him yet. So much I never had a chance to ask.

“What pains you so?” Lord Greco had fallen back, taking the position to my right for a moment.

I blinked rapidly and decided to use truth as my weapon. “Memory of my father. He died recently.”

Lord Greco crossed himself and stared at the road for a time before looking my way again. “It is what set your path to Italia, from Normandy? Three women, alone?”

Yeah, in some ways. I nodded once.

“I do not believe you are from Normandy.”

“Oh?” I asked.

“I heard English upon your tongue, back in the woods.”

I paused for a moment. No doubt this guy had already spoken with Lord Rossi, who suspected the same. And Lord Paratore…

Lia and Mom and I had figured out our story—should this come up again. “We spent the majority of our years in England, where we learned to speak and read. Your own Tuscan is my second language,” I said, meeting his eyes. I shrugged. “I admit, my French is not as it should be. Parlez-vous français?”

“Nay,” he said, staring at me as if he knew I wasn’t telling him the truth.

But I didn’t care. I owed him nothing.

By midafternoon, we crested a hill and could see Firenze down in the valley, but she looked nothing like what I knew. Countless towers dotted her cityscape, as they had in Siena, but there was no huge red-domed church or campanile—the bell tower. They must’ve been built later. It felt like going home and finding out your favorite rooms had been torn out.

“Here is where you shall relinquish your mount,” Lord Greco said, looking back at me.

I frowned as the knights beside me dismounted and came up on either side. One reached up and lifted me down. I looked at Lord Greco as they tied a length of rope to my bound hands and then roughly removed my boots, but he kept his back to me.

When they were done, they remounted, leaving me on the ground between them. “All is in order, m’lord,” said one knight, handing the end of the rope to him.

They intended to walk me the rest of the way into town, like an animal on a leash. The She-Wolf of Siena, captured.

Fine, I thought, defiantly staring back at him as he looked down at me, winding the end of the rope around his forearm.

“Get on with it!” I snapped.

“As you wish, m’lady,” he said, turning at once. The rope was shorter than I realized and I lurched forward, crying out, my side feeling like it had been ripped open. The knights beside me laughed, but Lord Greco did not. He didn’t turn either. Why? Did he feel guilty? Like the jerk he was for treating me this way? You should, I thought venomously. I hope you and your men die in the battle. Every last one of you.

I shivered. I’d never wished anyone dead in my whole life. Well, other than Lord Paratore…

Mom wouldn’t like my hatred. She’d always taught us to love everyone, that war was misery and never resolved anything for long. That humankind’s greatest hope was peace. But she hadn’t experienced stuff like what was coming down now, here. I winced as I stepped on a sharp rock, then another, but bit my lip to keep from calling out. I kept my eyes on the road in front of me, picking my way forward while keeping some slack in the rope. I did pretty well for the first mile. But around the second I tripped and fell. Lord Greco allowed me to drag for ten feet before he wearily pulled up and let me regain my feet.

I swallowed hard. Now the tops of my feet were cut up, bleeding. I wanted to yell at him, scream, cry, but instead I put my shoulders back and waited for him to resume our walk. People were coming toward us, from the city gates, wanting to know what a woman, with hair down around her shoulders, was doing, bound and dragged behind Lord Greco’s horse. And in men’s clothing, to boot.

They recognized him with cries of greeting, celebration. Apparently, Lord Greco was some sort of big deal in this town.

“Lady Gabriella Betarrini!” cried the knights, announcing our arrival. “The pride of Siena, now m’lord’s prisoner!”

The first piece of spoiled fruit surprised me. I gasped at the impact to my shoulder, and at first, thought I had been injured, was bleeding. But then another hit me on the back, still another my head, the juice and seeds dripping down to the stones beside my bloody feet. The crowds were gathering, growing thicker.

Not exactly the flowers I got in Siena, I thought.

But then someone threw a stone. It hit my arm, and I cried out in spite of myself.

Lord Greco looked back and frowned. “Nay!” he demanded, holding his hand up. “I have been charged with bringing this woman to the grandi. If they sentence her to stoning, so be it. But you shall not do so without approval!”

The crowd booed and hissed, and I felt a shudder of fear go through me. I was hated here. Really hated. For what? They didn’t know me! All I had done was fall in love with a son of Siena! And help my sister escape an evil lord. I hadn’t done anything that any of them might not have done in my place, had the tables been turned…

I tripped again, and the crowd laughed, then more rotten food came flying. I smelled the vinegar, the mold. I quickly found my feet and ducked between the rump of Lord Greco’s horse and the nearest knight’s. “Go,” I said to my captor.

He eyed me. “There is another way, Gabriella—”

“Get on with it!” I shouted, his use of my first name irritating me. It was irrational, I admitted to myself. A million people called me Gabriella, Gabi, Gabs…but not this man. He was not allowed to sound like he knew me. And I wanted him to remember my title, to show me a shadow of civility, even if I was wearing his clothes and was covered in spoiled juice. I wanted him to remember this injustice, that I had been tied to his horse, so that when I had the opportunity, when I regained my sword and my strength…

He met my gaze without faltering. He knew what I was saying with my eyes, read the hatred there. Then he turned and pulled me forward again, through the city gates. People were running in from every street and alleyway, shoving others aside in an effort to see me. The barrage stopped then, perhaps not allowed inside the city, I thought, but the jeering kept on.

“So the Sienese adorn their women in the fruits of the past year?”

“Is she a man or a woman? I cannot tell!”

“Where is your fearsome sword, girl?”

“The She-Wolf bleeds!”

“Behold, the pride of Siena! Today, she is ours!”

We turned a corner and then another, making our way deeper and deeper into the city until we emerged on the enormous Piazza della Signoria, with the city hall modeled after Siena’s own. Back when the two had been sister cities, not such bitter enemies. Maybe back when Marcello and Rodolfo had been buds.

The men dismounted, and I glanced over my shoulder. The crowds had all come here, celebrating my capture as if their home team had just won the World Cup or something. But they looked upon me with hatred, panting with a crazy kind of anticipation in their eyes.

It hit me then.

They were waiting.

Waiting for me to be turned over to them.

For what? What exactly was the sentence for an enemy of the Commune di Firenze?