She shouldn't have repeated herself. She should have said it with more surprise. She did not know. Why should she know?
"Why should I know, my lord?" She spoke it aloud, an attempt at the cool tone Princess Melanthe would use.
"Indeed," Gian mused, "why should you?"
His thoughtful tone dismayed her. She made another courtesy, afraid to look up at him.
"He's been a little absent of late," he said softly. "He told me that he had a lover. I had thought—but you'll forgive me, Donna Cara, if I offend your modesty—I was so dull as to suppose it must be you."
She didn't know what to do. She never knew what to do. All she could think was that she should never have let him trap her.
"Ah—but this is your young man, is it not?" Gian asked in French as Guy led up his rouncy. When Cara answered nothing, her tongue frozen, Gian said to him, "My compliments to you. A fair and chaste maiden for a bride."
"Thank you, my lord." Guy bowed deeply. "Donna Cara does me great honor."
To Cara's vast relief, Gian mounted. As he settled in the saddle, he looked beyond her. The rouncy threw its head and danced a step, though Gian made no visible move.
Cara turned to see Princess Melanthe crossing the yard. Several of the other ladies hurried behind her, lifting her trailing skirts. She stopped beneath the gate. In the dusk her skin seemed white and cool, her breasts rising and falling evenly beneath the low neckline of her gown.
"I came to see you well, Gian," she said. "I would not have us part in anger."
"My lady," he said, "I would not have it, either, but you've tried me sorely this night."
She tilted her head, smiling slightly. "I didn't think you chose me for my docile nature."
"No more did I, but I'd have you know who rules between us."
"Then choose your battles more carefully, my love. For I make my respects to the king tomorrow and leave for London before sunset—and to Calais from there. It will be a lonely wedding without a bride."
In the whole yard there was not a sound but for the chink and soft breath of the horses. Such brazen defiance was beyond Cara's grasp—all the alarm and confusion that Princess Melanthe should be feeling seemed to be concentrated in Cara's trembling limbs.
"Then you've won, my lady," Gian said at last. "I'll be at your side. But take care that your victories are not often bought so dear, or you may find that you've purchased defeat."
She sank into a deep courtesy, spreading her skirts. The rings on her fingers caught light. "As you say, Gian. I look forward to your company on the road."
* * *
Cara folded and packed. It had all come much faster than she'd expected. They were to leave, everyone to go home, and she was to be left behind.
With Guy, she told herself. But still she was afraid. The house was in confusion and disorder with Princess Melanthe's command to be gone by sunset, chests and trunks piling up on the wooden dock below the manor. When Cara had finished emptying the princess's bedchamber and seen the baggage safely aboard the waiting barges, her duties here would be completed.
She had no desire to linger until her mistress returned from the king's audience, having leave to go at once to Guy. He was to take the horses to some castle Cara knew not where, but not too far away; he had a letter commanding that he be given charge of the stables and stud there, a great advancement, he had told her, an unbelievable stroke of fortune. They could marry immediately, thanks to her mistress's benevolence.
Such favor did not come free. Cara had a charge on her—but only one, and not difficult. She was to make certain that, after Princess Melanthe and Gian had left the country, Allegreto freed the poor chained madman in the abandoned brewery. When she saw that it was so with her own eyes, Cara was to write a letter herself to her mistress, and that letter was to contain three times the words by the grace of God, and then the princess could be sure.
Cara thought that when she could pen the last "God" of the three, it would truly be by His grace. She made a cross and said a prayer of thanks, begging Him to let her somehow free her sister, too. And she felt a strange certainty that it would be so. Allegreto had promised, and against all reason, Cara believed him.
But there was the way Gian had looked at her. She knew she had aroused his suspicions. If only he hadn't mentioned Allegreto to her. But surely, he would only think that she disliked him speaking of love with another, when Guy was so near.
She finished filling the chest, spread strawberry leaves and rose petals over the top layer, and hastened downstairs to call a page to bind and carry it. For a moment, on the stairs, Cara had a moment's vision of what life might be without the princess and Gian and Allegreto. Without thinking each thought in fear of their response, or listening each moment for some fatal word. At this time tomorrow, they would be gone. She would be almost alone in an alien land, but they would be gone.
A tremulous joy filled her. She took a deep breath, thinking of Guy with secret pleasure, and hastened down the curve of the stairs.
At the bottom Gian waited. He stood in the open door, looking out at the barges and the river. His cape swept about him as he turned to her, the golden bosses clinking heavily against one another. "Donna Cara," he said, smiling. "Well met! It's you I came to see."
TWENTY-SIX
She had thought of throwing herself in the river. She had thought of calling out to the single boat they had passed. She had thought of refusing to speak, pretending she didn't recognize the place. She thought of everything, but in the end she only wept.
She could not lie. She had never been able to lie perfectly, and with Gian she was beyond even being able to think. Her sister, he murmured, and she babbled out what he asked to know. Guy, he said, and she went with him when he commanded it, without a word to anyone, without a scream or a plea, a rabbit carried helpless away by the wolf.
He would kill the poor mad knight who loved her mistress. She did not want to see it, and put up her greatest resistance at the old stone wharf, half-hidden in reeds. But he laid his fingers close about her neck and crushed her throat until she gave in to pain and fear. Gasping air into her bruised throat, she crawled out of the boat and led him up the path through the reeds.
The wicket door to the brewery passage was unlocked, standing slightly open. Cara had a moment of wild hope. She drew a breath—a scream, a warning—but Gian's hand came across her mouth. He stroked his fingers over her neck, pressing lightly.
"Silence," he said into her ear. "Please me. That's your only hope now. This open door—has he escaped?"
She shook her head.
"Then someone else is here. The princess?"
She wet her lips and made a small shake.
"Your Englishman?"
Cara shook her head violently. Her nose seemed full of the scented oil that he used. Allegreto's voice drifted from the wicket door, far away and echoing, a faint derisive laugh.
His father didn't move. He turned his head. Allegreto's lazy tones were beyond doubting, and yet Gian squeezed her throat and hissed, "Who is it?"
Then he suddenly shoved her down through the door. She fell onto her knees in the sloped passage with a yelp, her palms scraping. Gian had already passed her, dragging her up with him.
"Allegreto!" he shouted, a sound of savage anguish that reverberated down the passage and rolled back from behind them. The brewery door hung a little open; he hurled it wide and stood on the landing, staring down at the huge chamber: Allegreto beside the well, the mad knight with his fettered arm resting against the wall. The last of Gian's voice still muttered frenzy back from the hollow spaces.
"Allegreto," he whispered.
In her desperate hope Cara had been glad to see the doors ajar. Allegreto, who could frighten demons—but he did not move. He sat on the edge of the well, his eyes on the water. An orange rind dropped from his motionless fingers. It fell far down below his feet and hit the water with a faint plink, a bright patch floating on the surface of a huge black moon.
&nb
sp; Gian said softly, "Look at me."
Still Allegreto did not move. He closed his eyes.
"Not even this?" Gian said. "Not even this that I ask you? My son." His teeth bared. "My son. Look at me."
Allegreto turned his face upward. He saw Cara. A faint sound, like a dreamer's whimper, came from his throat.
"Now stand up."
"My lord—"
"Do not speak to me. I don't wish to hear your voice. Stand up."
Allegreto raised himself. He wore a sword and dagger, but he touched neither. He stood up, and then, as if his limbs failed him, he fell onto his knees.
Gian turned to Cara. With a courtly gesture he directed her down the stairs. She went in helpless tears, the only sound in the great chamber. He brought her before his kneeling son.
"Donna Cara—look upon a great love," he said. "For you, he has betrayed his father. For you, he has slain himself."
"Oh, no," she mumbled. "No."
"No? It's not for you? But it must be. He looks at you—you're somewhat fair, no great beauty, but such sweetness, such innocent light—and his heart turns to treachery. But what has he bought with it? Your safety, your life...ah...those poisoned mussels, that he told me you were so clever as to save your mistress from. Perhaps you didn't save her? I've been a little stupid. I've loved my son, and been stupid."
Allegreto was silent, his eyes glazed dark and empty.
"But perhaps I'll forgive him. Perhaps someone else has been more false even than he. My betrothed was in such concern to hurry me toward home." Gian turned his back on his son and walked to where Princess Melanthe's knight stood watching. "I may thank what wit I retain, I suppose, that I'm not chained up like this poor hound, to await her pleasure. Does she love him?"
He observed the knight, who looked back with a grim and even stare.
"Does she love you?" he asked in French.
"She's my wife."
"No, but does she love you?"
"Ask her."
Gian tilted his head. "She denies you. And yet—you're here, instead of under a pile of dirt where I'd have you. She forgives Donna Cara for poisoned mussels, because she can buy my son's service by it. She's lain in bed beside you, and feared for you, and lied for you!" He put his fists to his head. "Melanthe!"
The knight moved. His steel fetter caught light, a flash and slam, the chain hitting the end of its length a bare instant before it would have struck Gian's temple. The sound went around the chamber in discharges like hands clapping.
Gian recovered from his recoil, standing beyond the other man's reach, his hand on his sword.
"He's mad," Cara said desperately. "My mistress says that he's mad. She's to marry you. Don't kill him."
Gian's attention came to her, and she regretted speaking. She thought of the stairs so close behind her, of Guy with the horses, waiting for her, and new tears blurred her eyes.
"Why, Allegreto, what a kind heart your maiden has. Did I say she was not worthy of you? She is too good for you."
His son said nothing. He stayed on his knees, his gaze on the stone pavement. Gian walked around the well and stood before him.
"There, I'll not run the poor hound through, do you see, Donna Cara? I can't resist a lady's pleading. Truly—truly, you're far too good for my black-hearted son."
Allegreto was trembling, breathing as if he would weep and could not.
"Look at him. So frightened. Shall I forgive him, Donna Cara? His life is in your hands."
"Oh, yes! Forgive him!"
"Come, rise, my sweet son." Gian touched his shoulder. Allegreto jerked as if he'd been pricked. He rose to his feet, but there was no reprieve or relief in his face. He seemed to have gone beyond any thought at all, closing his eyes when Gian took him by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to each cheek.
Gian stepped back, shoving his son hard away. Cara screamed, watching in disbelief as Allegreto reached and failed and fell, his arms outstretched toward his father. He disappeared at the edge. A moment later the water broke in immense echoes.
She ran forward without thinking, looking over the edge. His head came up, his shoulders, the water surface shattered into silver and jet. She grabbed for the bucket and rope, but Gian jerked her back. He crushed both her wrists together in his hand.
Allegreto held his head out of the black water, pushing his hair from his eyes. He looked up at them. Water splashed softly as he kept himself afloat.
Gian walked to the edge, still holding Cara. She struggled, terrified that he would throw her in, too, but he did not. He only stood, looking straight down the wall into the water. Allegreto swam toward them. His upturned face looked deathly white against the dark liquid. He put his hand on the wall, searching it.
Gian shook his head. He pulled Cara with him, walking around a quarter of the well, still staring down the edge. Allegreto followed, as if a magnet drew him. His hands slid on the well-dressed stone, finding no hold.
She realized that Gian was making certain he could not. Slowly he circled the whole well. When he came to the water bucket and rope, he picked up the bucket and set it beyond reach of the knight, who watched them from his bolted chains.
No one spoke. Cara thought it must be a nightmare, but for the pain as she pulled and twisted to free her hands. When Gian forced her to the stairs and up, she tried to look over her shoulder. Allegreto seemed a ghost in the huge well, his wet face already confused with the shining black water in her eyes. His father closed the door, and the one beyond it, driving down the bars.
* * *
The bright morning outside burst upon her. It seemed for a moment that it could not be summer, and day, but should still be that dim cold twilight they had left behind. The numb burn in her hands was like the speechless horror in her brain. It was day; there were birds and grass and the river sparkling.
Down among the reeds Gian stopped, loosing her hands. "Now, Donna Cara," he said reasonably, "for the sake of your sister, and your Englishman, you'll forget this morning, and this place forever."
In the summer warmth it already seemed a dream, and his calm voice seemed part of it. She was stricken with dumbness, like a sleeper unable to speak.
"You've been a brave child, and done well for your sister. We'll have her safe from the Riata for you. And you've helped your husband, too." He led her up onto the wharf. "I'll make him a greater man than he dreamed of being."
The boat waited, tied. Cara stood on the stone quay, her toes over the edge. Gian let go of her and pulled the boat closer.
She heard her name. Caraaah—faint and hoarse and distant, a howl of fear and pleading.
Gian heard it, too. He straightened, looking at her with a faint concern, as if he worried for her. "Come. We all must make our choices, Donna Cara."
She jerked away from him. He grabbed, catching the liripipe on her sleeve as she flung herself toward the path. She felt the fabric part, tearing loose, freeing her with an unexpectedness that made her stumble. He shouted; there was a great splash behind her, and suddenly she had a chance. She scrambled, not looking back, not thinking, only running.
Oh hurry oh hurry oh hurry, the sound of her own breath obscured anything else. She didn't know how long it took him to get onto the wharf, how close he came behind. She hiked her skirt and slipped and ran hurry hurry her mind on nothing but the bucket, the door—could she bar it behind her? Allegreto must have the key to the knight's fetters—if he would not fight his father, the mad knight surely would.
* * *
Ruck strained against his steel bonds with impatience as he watched the weeping maid fumble the bucket.
"Give it to me!" he snapped. "Give me the rope! God's blood, you can't raise him yourself!"
She ran to him, panting. Her wit appeared to have completely deserted her. But for escaping Navona and barring the door against him, Ruck blessed her with every blessing that he knew. He tossed the bucket into the well and braced the rope across his steel anchor, taking a loop around his arm fetter.
/> "Now!" he exclaimed.
The girl was down on her knees, crying and urging Allegreto in Italian. The rope strained, slipping a little as it took the youth's weight. Ruck heard water surge and splash.
He held firm with his arm against the hard jerks of Allegreto's climb.
The boy's black head appeared. He grasped the rope above the edge and heaved himself up. With a grimace he thrust onto the stone on his hands and knees, water spilling off his dragging clothes.
"Where is he?" Frenzy edged Allegreto's words as he looked toward the door. "Where is he?"
"He fell in the river! I ran, but he'll be here any moment!"
Allegreto stood with his eyes on the door. "Mary, oh, Mary—save me."
"The key!" Ruck slammed his arm against the chains. "Do you have it?"
The youth was so gone in terror that he stared at Ruck without comprehension for an instant before he looked down and fumbled the key from his soaked wallet. His hands, dripping and white, were shaking hard enough that he couldn't get the iron in the lock.
"Keep your head, whelp," Ruck said, gripping the boy's arm.
Allegreto nodded wordlessly. He stabbed at the lock twice, and at last got it free. Ruck pulled the key from his fingers and opened the leg fetters himself.
"Give me your sword." Ruck reached to Allegreto's belt and swept the light weapon from its sheath. He made for the door, threw off the bar, and flung it open without caring what was behind it. Released from seven nights and a hellish death chained in this pit, he was willing to slay anyone to get out of it, and more than pleased to make Gian Navona the first.
* * *
All three of them saw it at once, in the reeds at the edge of the current. Donna Cara made a garbled sound.
"I heard him behind me." Her voice was shaking. "I didn't stop."
Allegreto said nothing. He stood for an instant, and then threw down his dagger, plunging into reeds and water up to his waist. He caught the white cape and pulled frantically.