CHAPTER 29

“Absolutely not,” Marcello said, walking between the tents. Men and women parted before us, eyes wide, wanting to look away but rubbernecking at us in spite of themselves.

“Marcello, simply listen. It was your idea to begin with. You have yet to hear my entire plan! The tombs are on that little knoll, between the two castellos. If we can draw them all in there, surround them, you can reclaim both again for Siena.”

“Come,” he growled, grabbing my arm and yanking me into a tent.

“Ow!” I said, pulling it from his grasp and frowning at him.

He ignored my complaint. “So you wish to be at the center of them all,” he said, “surrounded. By every last Fiorentini knight. And then you make your escape. I hear you, Gabriella, as loud as church bells. Are you so eager to be rid of me now that you’d gladly risk death?”

“Rid of you? ’Tis you who seem anxious to be rid of me.”

He gave me a helpless stare. “Only to keep you safe. Only for that.”

I stepped toward him, reaching out, wanting to apologize, ease the pain behind his eyes. “We shall leave, but only as before. With the intention of return. In a month’s time, when all is safe.” I paced away, but then frowned. Why wasn’t he going for this? My mom, my sister, and I would be well, safe, while he secured the territory for our return. Did he not get it? “I simply provide bait for your trap. I’ll be out of the fray while you trap the bear and reclaim the land that is rightfully yours.”

“’Tis not perfect.” He shook his head. He looked down at me, misery in his eyes. “I cannot, Gabriella. Do not ask it of me. If we were certain you could reach the tumuli, I’d consider it. But to get you there…it’d be a miracle if you made it.”

“Think of it. Castello Forelli fell because the traitors surprised our men, attacking from the inside. Where is the last place the men of Firenze expect me to be? Fighting from the inside, the center of battle.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Risking your life—I’d rather die myself, a hundred times over.”

I snorted, hardly ladylike, but he was ticking me off. “Ah, so it’s all right for you to risk your life, but I cannot? What you feel—” I said, reaching out to lay a hand on his chest. “Marcello, I feel the same. I cannot lose you. I cannot. And if we are in danger, if Firenze wins this battle, you will be imprisoned or worse.” It was my turn to shake my head. “Nay, that is intolerable for me.”

He stared down at me for a long moment and then wrapped me in his arms. I relaxed and melted into his embrace. He kissed my forehead, then moved down my cheek to my lips, kissing me for a long time, deeply, searchingly, as if he were trying to memorize me—

I read his intent a second too late. He’d interwoven his fingers in my right hand. Swiftly, he turned my wrist and twisted it to my back. “Ouch! Marcello, what are you doing?”

“Forgive me, beloved, but I do this to make a point. Press me, and I shall see no other recourse but to leave you behind, tied to a post and under guard.”

I frowned up at him in shock. “You would not.”

“I would,” he said, frowning back. “To keep you safe. To keep you alive.”

“Sir Forelli!” called a man outside. “Sir Forelli!”

Marcello gave me one last, long stare and then let me go. I regretted not kicking him in the shin with everything I had in me. Of all the outrageous—

“Sir Forelli!” Pietro called, opening the tent flap. “Come!”

Marcello left with him. They ran down the line of tents to the edge of camp. I hobbled along behind. Men were surging around me, shrugging into breastplates and shoulder guards, urgently preparing for battle.

“Gabriella! Gabi!” Lia cried, shoving her way through to me. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Where’s Mom?” But then I saw her, making her way over to us, staff in hand. She looked regal. Like a queen. Calm. Unafraid.

Together, we reached the top of the hill. Across the valley was the back wall of Castello Forelli, and before her was line after line of soldiers bearing the flag of Firenze.

Lia blew the air out of her cheeks and casually pulled her bow from her shoulder. “Do they mean to attack? Because we do not—”

A trumpet sounded, and the men across from us cheered, their voices eerily following their actions by a second’s delay.

“Knights in formation!” Marcello bellowed. Men all around us quickened their pace.

But my eyes remained on the enemies across from us. They parted at the center, and we heard laughter, triumphant cries. A man stumbled forward, hands tied before him. He was naked, gruesomely bloody. Who was it? A prisoner? My stomach clenched inside as a man reached out to whip the prisoner’s back, sending him to the dirt.

“Who is it?” Mom asked, stepping up beside me.

But then I saw Marcello take a step, falter, bring a hand to his chest.

No, it can’t…please, no. No!

It was Fortino.

Men on our side shouted and cursed, eager to charge, to free one of their lords. Others held them back, waiting on Marcello’s orders.

Paratore trotted down the hill, past Fortino—who now lay unmoving—and on toward us, flag bearers on either side of him. He waited halfway down the hill, unwilling to go any farther. Blasted, cursed, wretched excuse of a man…

Two knights rode up, Marcello’s mount between them. He was atop it in seconds. He searched the crowd until he found me. “Gabriella, you must get out of sight. Are you mad?”

All eyes moved to me.

I nodded, no fight left in me, and turned to go.

Luca walked beside us, and I knew then that he’d been assigned guard duty. I glanced over my shoulder. Before the men closed ranks again, I saw Marcello turn and ride low and hard to the valley floor. To his brother.

Luca relayed to us what was coming down, as we remained well hidden behind ten rows of soldiers. “Marcello has dismounted. He’s talking to Paratore now.”

He frowned and watched for another few moments. Some of our men shouted and groaned.

“What? What’s happening?” I said.

“Paratore is turning, leaving.” He looked hard at me. “And they’re taking Fortino with them.” He pried his way through the men, apparently to find out more. In his agitation, he left us behind. I glanced at Mom and Lia, fighting the urge to claw my way to the front myself. “What’s happening?” I asked the tallest. “Can you see?”

“Sir Marcello returns,” he said distractedly.

“Why does he not call for the attack?” cried a man. They were anxious for vengeance, so soon after the capture of Castello Forelli and her surrounding lands. Many of them were farmers and shepherds on those hills, but in this moment, they were unified as knights. The men surged, moved as a group, chanting, shouting. “A morte Firenze!” Death to Firenze!

They quieted as Marcello drew near. “Men of Siena,” he called, “they have taken Lord Fortino Forelli prisoner, demanding a trade price that m’lord himself refused, regardless of his ill health.”

“What?” called a man.

“What did they want?” called another.

“Immediate surrender and retreat.”

The men cried out in complaint and then grumbled, the sound like a wave crashing and then washing over a shore.

“We shall battle them in hours,” he said, “and fight to win my brother Fortino’s freedom, as well as the land that belongs to us. Are you with me?”

The crowd shouted their assent, radiating the fury that had fueled men in battle since the dawn of time. Lips curled back, muscles rippled, weapons were raised. After a moment, they parted, and Marcello came through, followed by Luca, Pietro, and Giovanni. Marcello took my hand and continued to stride forward, down the hill to our tents. I ran to keep up with him.

“Marcello, I—”

He held up a hand to shush me. “Please, m’love. A moment.”

Mom, Lia, Luca, Pietro, Giovanni, and I followed him into his tent, which held nothing but a bedroll and a few clothing items, as well as some maps, open on a table. My mother and sister hovered by the flaps of the doorway, while the men moved to either side of Marcello, arms folded in front of their chests. We waited as Marcello paced back and forth, his eyes moving constantly. In the last twelve hours, he had lost his home and now perhaps his brother. He rubbed a hand through his hair and then squeezed the back of his neck, as if it might force the right plan to his mind.

“He’s not dead yet,” I said quietly. “Do not give up on him, Marcello.”

He frowned at me. “Do you not see? I must.” He paused and looked up to the top of the tent, his face awash in anguish. “If you could’ve seen him, Gabriella…” He put his hands over his mouth and took a deep breath, then turned to us. He stared at me for a moment, started to speak, and then abruptly shut his mouth.

“They wanted more than surrender and retreat,” I guessed. “They wanted us, too.”

“As expected,” he said, meeting my gaze, misery in his eyes. He looked to my mom and sister. “All three of you now.” Mom looked a little pale. “What’s worse is that Paratore has a very good idea you are here, now, with us. You must be away in all haste, for—”

“M’lord,” Luca said from the doorway. “Rider, coming hard.”

Marcello stepped up beside him and opened the other flap so that the scout could enter. The young man, little older than I, looked nervously around at us and then back to Marcello. “M’lord, there is word of three separate armies on the move toward Siena.”

“Three?” Marcello said. “From whence have they come?”

“Umbria, m’lord.”

“What does that mean?” I whispered to Giovanni. “How many men?”

“Fifteen hundred. Mayhap more.”

“And they shall arrive at Siena’s gates…” Marcello led.

“By sundown, on the morrow, m’lord.”

“She may be able to withstand such a force, but they’ll be looking to us to aid them,” Marcello said to Luca.

Luca nodded once.

“M’lord,” I said, my heart picking up its pace. “What if they don’t intend to try and breach Siena’s gates? What if they arrive as a fearsome show of force, merely to push the Sienese into surrender?”

The men frowned at me, not understanding.

“What if,” I went on, “word has not reached Siena about the Rossis’ treachery? What if…Lord Rossi, Romana, are calling the Nine together, even now? To see through what we would not? Betraying the Council of Nine. Murdering all but one.”

Marcello searched the ground, thinking it through. It had been days since Lia had arrived with word, but the focus had been on turning the tide of the Fiorentini armies back from the border, defending the castles. Giovanni had not been certain that word had reached Siena…only Fortino.

“Send two scouts,” he said to Luca at last. “Our fastest riders. To warn the Nine. And tell them that we will be there on the morrow.” His tone was firm, furious, but his eyes held fear.

And that scared me more than anything.