Rose Red Page 17

  “Stupid wench! You can’t tell me what to do.” As if to prove his claim, the figure on the rocks took a determined step without looking where he was putting his feet. He misjudged his distance and slipped off the edge. For a few breathless moments he hung by his fingertips, legs dangling into the emptiness below. “Help me!’’ he cried.

  “We can’t help him,” Bianca said. “It will take us too long to climb up there. Even if we could reach him, he will probably fall before then.”

  “Your own actions got you into this fix,” Rosalinda shouted at the wriggling, gasping figure. “Now you will have to pull yourself up, or else jump into the water and hope you land without breaking any bones.”

  “You are no help to me at all!” the dangling figure screamed.

  “That is just what I have been saying,” Rosalinda retorted. “The choice is yours.”

  “I can’t – yeow!” His fingers slipped too far on the moist rocks and the weight of his body did the rest. The man plunged straight down into the pool at the foot of the waterfall.

  “Where is he?” Bianca cried, rushing to the pool. “Rosalinda, I can’t see him. I had no idea the water was so deep.”

  “I have him.” Rosalinda had thrown herself flat on the moss and had plunged her arms into the pool up to her shoulders so she could search through the foaming water with both hands. After a moment she caught a wrist and started pulling on it. Bianca knelt beside her and together they dragged the man out of the pool and laid him on the ground.

  “He isn’t breathing,” Bianca said. “Did he drown so quickly?”

  “Help me roll him over,” Rosalinda ordered.

  They rolled him face down and Rosalinda pushed on his back until he spat out water and drew a gasping breath. A minute or two later he sat up, glaring at the sisters as if he wished he could strike them dead.

  “Little man, wet rocks will be the death of you,” Rosalinda said.

  “Get away from me, you sluts!” He wiped his face with his hands, pushed the wet hair out of his eyes, and looked more closely at the sisters. “Oh, it’s you two again. I should have known it would be.”

  “This is the second time my sister and I have saved your life,” Bianca told him. “A word of thanks would seem to be in order.”

  “Laundresses! Crude peasants! You almost broke my back just now with your rough handling.”

  “How would you like to take another dip in the pool?” Rosalinda asked, reaching toward him.

  “Don’t touch me!” He scrambled to his feet, nearly falling back into the pool before he caught his balance.

  “Rosalinda.” Bianca grabbed her sister’s arm. “Come away. Don’t ask why, just do as I tell you. Now.”

  “What?” Rosalinda stared at her sister. Bianca tugged harder on her arm. Her eyes still on Bianca’s serious face, Rosalinda allowed herself to be drawn away from the little man and into the undergrowth.

  “What is it?” Rosalinda whispered.

  “Hush. Someone is coming. We can’t be sure if it’s a friend of that man, or one of our own men-at-arms on patrol, but it’s better to be cautious. I do not like that little man.”

  “Over here.” Rosalinda moved between a tall boulder and a thick clump of bushes. “If we are quiet, they won’t see us here. If it is one of our people, I want to tell him how rude that nasty little fellow has been to us. Then let the men-at-arms decide what to do with him.”

  “Little fellow,’ “ Bianca repeated under her breath. “Evil dwarf, you mean.”

  “What did you say?” Rosalinda looked at her in surprise. “No, he’s not that small, just very short. And very nasty.”

  “To a tall man, he would seem like a dwarf,” Bianca responded. “And I think he is more than nasty. I think he is dangerous.”

  “Shh.” Rosalinda went tense and still. Carefully separating the leaves with one finger, she peered through the concealing bush to watch the area around the pool. Bianca looked over her shoulder.

  Two men clad in woolen doublets and hose and armed with swords and daggers walked into the clearing. They stopped short when they beheld the wet, bedraggled figure standing there.

  “Oh, signore,” cried one of the newcomers, “what has happened to you?”

  “I knelt down to take a drink of water, you stupid servants,” said the wet man, “and two peasant wenches sneaked up behind me and pushed me into the pool.”

  “A pity, signore,” said the first servant, who appeared to be fighting back laughter.

  “A disgrace to your dignity, signore,” said the second servant in a more sober way.

  “Have you by chance noticed two silly, giggling girls running away from here?”

  “No, signore,” said the first servant, “but I assure you, if we had, we would have made fine sport of them. After offering them to you first, of course.”

  ”Imbecille! Be silent! I do not know which of you is worse! Unquestionably, you are the most incompetent servants I have ever been forced to endure! Be glad you are not in Monteferro, for if I had other men at hand to assist me, I would order both of you gutted! Now,” the nasty little man went on a bit more calmly, “have you discovered any trace of that young upstart and his companion?”

  “No, signore,” the first servant replied. “Were you able to find a track in this area? You did say you thought it a likely place, with water and berries near by.”

  “If he ever was here, he is gone now,” said the little man.

  “Signore, I think we ought to search deeper in the forest,” said the second servant. “If I were trying to escape someone who was hunting me, that is where I would go.”

  “Would you?” The little man cocked his head to one side, studying the speaker. He nodded his approval. “You may be right. The remains of the campfire I discovered were in the hills above this area.”

  “There may be caves in the mountains, where they could hide,” the servant said.

  “I am sure both of them would prefer a house and hot food,” the little man responded. “But if they know how close we are, they just might take to the hills.”

  “There is a villa some distance down the valley.” The first armed servant spoke up as if he did not want his companion to take all the credit for serious thought. “We tried to approach it but were stopped by a guard. When we asked in the village, we were told that an eccentric, elderly widow lives there, who won’t allow anyone on her lands. If we couldn’t get through the guard, then neither could our young lordling and his friend.”

  “Hmm.” The little man appeared to be considering the possibilities. “All right, we will search in the hills first. Perhaps we can drive them into the lowlands, where it will be easier to capture them. Or to put an end to them. If we are unsuccessful in the hills, then I will decide on a way for us to penetrate the defenses around that villa, so we can search there.”

  The three men moved off together, disappearing into the undergrowth. Rosalinda and Bianca stayed where they were until well after the sound of voices had faded. When they dared to move again, it was to put their arms around each other, to cling together until their fear had subsided enough to allow them to make rational decisions.

  This was more difficult for Bianca to do than for Rosalinda. Bianca was certain that the “young lordling” and his friend for whom the nasty little man and his servants were searching were Andrea and Francesco Bastiani. But how could she reveal her suspicions to Rosalinda without admitting that she had met Andrea in this very place and had not told her sister of it? And what was she to make of that mention of Monteferro?

  “We must go home at once and tell Mother and Bartolomeo what we have seen and heard,” Rosalinda said as they hurried out of the woods.

  “Yes, I know you are right,” Bianca agreed. “That dreadful little person and his henchmen can only mean danger for all of us.”

  “Here are the horses. We are fortunate that those men did not discover them.” Rosalinda untied the reins and helped Bianca to mount from a nearby rock before she
leapt onto her own horse’s back. She studied Bianca, wondering what lay behind the unnaturally placid expression on her sister’s pale face. She did not think Bianca had brought her to the forest and the waterfall just to show her a lovely woodland glade. There had been some other purpose behind today’s excursion.

  “We should hurry,” Bianca said.

  “We should also be careful,” Rosalinda warned. “We don’t want to be discovered and captured by those three men.”

  They took the quickest, most open route to the bridge. Once they were over the river and out on the wide meadow, Rosalinda felt safer, for she thought it more likely that anyone intending harm to them would be noticed by the men-at-arms that Bartolomeo kept posted as sentries along the boundary of Villa Serenita.

  As they rode, Rosalinda pondered the mystery of what Bianca could be hiding from her. And she could not escape the recognition that her own once carefree days were ended, at least for a time. When Eleonora heard the news her daughters had to tell, she would insist that they remain at home, where she could be sure they would be safe.

  * * * * *

  “Stregone. That is who Rosalinda has described. Niccolo Stregone.” In Bartolomeo’s office, Eleonora pressed a trembling hand over her heart. Her face was ashen, her eyes dark pools of memory and fear. “After all these years, he has discovered where we are hiding.”

  “Mother, I do not think those men have any idea that we are living nearby,” Rosalinda said. “They are looking for a young nobleman and his companion. The only mention they made of the villa was to say that folk in the village told them an elderly widow lives here.”

  “Please, dear God.” Eleonora clasped her hands together in prayer. “Let them believe I am a hundred years old and that I live here alone.”

  “Mother,” Rosalinda went on, fixing her parent with a sharp eye, “could this man they are tracking be Andrea? Perhaps he is traveling with a servant or a friend. But if so, why didn’t he come directly to the villa? Why should he hide in the mountains again?”

  “It may well be Andrea,” Bartolomeo put in before Eleonora could answer. “Let us imagine that he was returning here, but along the way he discovered that he was being followed by that murderous Niccolo Stregone and his henchmen. Andrea would not want to lead them to us. Instead, he would attempt to throw Stregone off the trail by wandering through the mountains for a time and perhaps even going elsewhere until Stregone gives up.”

  “Stregone never gives up.” Eleonora appeared more worried than ever by this possible explanation for the near presence of an enemy. “Bianca, Rosalinda, leave us. I wish to speak with Bartolomeo alone.”

  “Mother, we may be able to help you,” Rosalinda protested.

  “I said, go!” Eleonora’s blue eyes flashed fire. “And you are not to leave the villa without my permission.”

  Recognizing there was nothing they could do to change their mother’s mind, Bianca and Rosalinda obeyed. But by unspoken agreement between the sisters, Bianca did not close the heavy door very tightly and the two of them stood in silence outside Bartolomeo’s office to listen to what was said within.

  “I will have the guards search these lands inch by inch,” Bartolomeo promised.

  “What good will a search do if Stregone has discovered what we are planning?” Eleonora asked.

  “Dear friend, we cannot be sure he knows.” Bartolomeo spoke as if to calm her fears.

  “I am sure,” Eleonora said. “Why else would Stregone leave Monteferro – he who loves the city and hates all green and growing things? We have had reports that Stregone, or his masters, the Guidi, are having Luca’s home in Monteferro watched. No doubt they investigate every person who enters or leaves that house, and their spies follow any associate of Luca who leaves the city.

  “You know I speak the truth, Bartolomeo. You remember as well as I do the net of surveillance and intrigue the Guidis wove about my husband, slowly gaining control of those who lived or worked at the palazzo, so that when they were ready to strike there were few left to come to my Girolamo’s aid. They probably used the same method to overthrow the Duke of Aullia, and now they are weaving their net around Luca, the wealthiest banker in Monteferro, who holds their loans. It would be to their benefit to bring Luca down and confiscate his wealth. What better way than to prove that Luca is involved in a plot to restore the Farisi family to power?

  “I do not care what happened to the Duke of Aullia when his false friends, the Guidi, turned on him, but I do care about Luca, who has been honest in his dealings with me. I do not want to see Luca destroyed for my sake.” Eleonora went on with a sigh, “I had such hopes of regaining Monteferro for Bianca. Bartolomeo, we thought we could trust Andrea because the prize we offered him was so great, but what if he is one of Stregone’s spies?”

  “If that is the case, why is Stregone seeking to capture him?” Bartolomeo asked.

  “Perhaps Andrea has been working for both sides and Stregone has uncovered his perfidy. Gesu!” Eleonora cried. “I came to Villa Serenita seeking safety for my daughters and respite for myself from the plotting and intrigue and untrustworthiness of those I knew in Monteferro. Now I can feel myself becoming caught up in all of that again and I dread it. Most of all, I fear for my girls. Yet I swore on my dear Girolamo’s soul that I would restore his family to its rightful position. What are we to do, Bartolomeo?” she ended on a most uncharacteristic sob.

  “What you are to do,” said Bartolomeo, “is, first, drink this glass of wine and try to calm yourself. Next, remember that every person on this estate is devoted to you. Each of the men-at-arms has good cause to hate Niccolo Stregone and the Guidi family. None of us will desert you or your daughters. And, finally, know that I will see to it that no one intrudes upon these lands who should not be here.”

  “If Andrea is true to our cause,” Eleonora said, “then we must do what we can to protect him from Stregone. I cannot bear to think of the torture Stregone would inflict on Andrea to make him tell all he knows about our plans.”

  “Andrea knew the risks he was taking,” Bartolomeo said. “We discussed them before he left. However, I do have two young men, both sons of one of the men-at-arms who came here with us. These boys love the mountains and are skilled at hunting there, and they also have experience in climbing at great heights. I will give them special instructions and send them out to look for Andrea. If he is hiding in the mountains, they will find him and bring him to the villa. Then we will hear what Andrea has to say about Stregone and whether he knows the man or not.”

  “My daughters and I would not have survived so long without you, Bartolomeo.” Eleonora sounded weary and close to tears.

  “Just this once, allow me to give an order to you,” Bartolomeo said. “I am going to tell Valeria to make a soothing tisane for you, and I order you to drink it, so that you will sleep well tonight. Without it, I am sure you will lie awake worrying until dawn.”

  “Dear old friend, that sounds more like good advice than an order,” Eleonora said.

  “It is advice you should follow.”

  “I will. I promise. Thank you, Bartolomeo, for your loyalty to me, to my husband’s memory, to my girls. You and Valeria.” Eleonora’s voice choked.

  “Go now and rest,” Bartolomeo said. “I have instructions to give to the men.”

  At this point Rosalinda and Bianca gave up eavesdropping in favor of fleeing as quietly as they could, away from Bartolomeo’s office to their own rooms.

  The conversation she had overheard left Bianca confused. None of the facts as she knew them from her own experience or from listening to her mother explained why Andrea had not come to the villa. At no time during her meetings with him had he acted as if he were fleeing or trying to hide. Even the condottiere with him, though cautious, had not been overly concerned. Andrea had said he was searching for a dwarf. Bianca believed he meant Niccolo Stregone. Having encountered Stregone twice without knowing who he was, she could understand why her mother feared the man. There w
as something intrinsically evil about him. She found herself wondering what would happen when Andrea and Stregone finally did meet.

  In the days that followed, Bianca’ s old fear of violence rose up again to terrify her, to make her so dizzy that she came near to fainting several times a day. She could not eat or sleep and had great difficulty in keeping her mind on the simplest household tasks.

  A week passed with no word of Andrea, or of Niccolo Stregone, and Bianca thought she would go mad from the strain. No matter the danger to her, she had to see Andrea again. With a single-minded ruthlessness that would have surprised her sister and dismayed her mother, Bianca concocted a plan.

  Her monthly flux was due to begin in a day or so. Using it as an excuse to claim she had a headache and a cramping in her abdomen, Bianca accepted a cup of hot herbal brew from Valeria and retired to her bedchamber, asking that no one bother her, so she could drink Valeria’s medicine and sleep until nightfall.

  Once in her bedroom, she tossed the contents of the cup out the window. Next, she wrote a letter to Andrea, folded and sealed it. She might not need it, but she wanted to be prepared. Then, being fairly sure she knew where everyone in the villa was on a warm, early summer afternoon, she made her way to the stable and saddled her horse. Only a stableboy saw her, and he did not dispute her right to go riding if she wanted.

  She knew where all the men-at-arms were posted, so she was able to avoid them as she took a roundabout route to the spot in the woods that she knew best. If she did not find Andrea there, and if he did not appear before it was time for her to return home, she would leave the letter for him, safely weighted under a rock, in the very place where they had lain together. She was sure that if he should spend even a few moments in their special place, he would look for some trace of her there and he would find the letter.

  Chapter 13

  Rosalinda was by nature too healthy and active to tolerate for long the round of indoor chores that Eleonora had imposed to keep her daughters within the villa after the appearance of Niccolo Stregone. Sewing, fine embroidery, counting linens, or supervising the cleaning of unused guest rooms could not distract Rosalinda from thoughts of Andrea. She longed to hear his voice, to gaze into his soft brown eyes. Most of all, she wanted his arms around her again.