DELUGE Page 7

  “Nay, with what’s ahead, I think we’ll need every one of us to find our way through,” Marcello said. “There are treacherous waters before us, beyond the lagoon and its doge.”

  We stood there, the three of us for a time, before Luca came up. I breathed a sigh of relief as he stood beside Lia. Whatever had transpired last night had apparently helped them make up. Or at least they’d found their way to a truce, of sorts. I could still feel tension between them, but it was nothing like it had been.

  “What shall we expect?” I asked Marcello. “When we arrive?”

  “We’ll find our way to a palazzo of my cousins, and they shall make our presence known to the doge. I assume an invitation to court will arrive within a day or two, and we shall find a way to meet these mysterious Betarrini kin. Or at least discover their current whereabouts.”

  The captain arrived, a folding chair in his arms. He set up the rickety teak chair and gestured toward it. “M’lady, please, take your ease. My own wife is in her last months of confinement, due with our third child at any moment. I know she tires easily, as must you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, sinking gratefully into it. Sitting down, after hours on my feet, felt incredibly good.

  Mom and Dad arrived then, carrying water. “Keep sipping at it,” she whispered.

  I knew they’d devised a method of cleaning the water as we traveled, well aware that it would be difficult for me to stay hydrated. Back at the castello, we could trust the well water. But on board the ship, or on the streets of Venezia, it might prove more challenging. Dad talked about how the Venetians filtered their water, though, actually taking salt water from the lagoon and sending it through a sand filter beneath the streets, which in turn fed a cistern from which a small city block could draw water from a well.

  “It’ll actually be much safer than most Tuscan wells,” he’d whispered to me.

  I sipped at the cup Mom had given me, still keeping my eyes on the horizon as the others discussed what was ahead, who Marcello knew in the city, who we could count on. And gradually, my eyes grew heavier and heavier until I was asleep.

  I awakened as the captain shouted directions and sailors repeated commands, hauling sail, belaying rope, tying down this or that. Lia was grinning at me, clapping excitedly. “Oh good! You’re awake! Hurry to the rail. You have to see this, Gabi.”

  Marcello helped me from my chair, and I rose, stiff after apparently passing out for hours. It was a small miracle I hadn’t fallen out of my chair, but I suspected Marcello had something to do with that, as I’d woken to find his strong hands on my shoulders. I gaped at what was ahead and around us. Ships of all sizes sailed about us, some mere feet off our bow. African ships with dark-skinned men in bright-colored fabric passed us, cheerfully waving. Three ships flying the French flag passed in another, the captains greeting with sharp salutes.

  Our captain was swearing and shouting one command and then counter command, trying his best to avoid a collision, until at last all sails were brought down and we came to a standstill.

  “Waiting for the harbor master to send someone to bring us in,” Marcello explained. “In a port this busy, there are papers that must be filed. But at all times the Venetians take precedence. We others must squeeze in when we can.”

  We continued to stare in wonder as small skiffs sailed by at breakneck speed, apparently not fearing our proximity or the lagoon’s thick traffic. Men in rowboats heavy with hills of silver anchovies skirted by, heading toward the wharves, their afternoon bounty evident. Others carried goods—boxes of chickens, bales of fabric and cotton, rounds of rope, a floating mercantile of sorts.

  “It is magical,” I breathed. The setting sun cast a lovely, luminous glow across the water, making the lagoon look like liquid gold and making Venezia’s buildings seem warm and inviting. In time, a small sailboat came our way, the harbormaster’s flag atop its mast. He waved at the captain and held up a sign with the number “57,” and our captain began barking orders, his sailors repeating them even as they hurried to do as he bid. The mood had definitely improved among them; undoubtedly, they were anticipating an entertaining evening in the city. The enthusiasm was contagious.

  We moved into the flow of traffic that was heading toward the lagoon’s harbor, and I noted that there were poles, some close together and others farther apart, to which boats were moored. The bigger ships—bigger than ours—were positioned farther out, both moored and anchored from the back.

  The sailors expertly looped the pole as we passed, just as the sails came down again, and they let out a good deal of rope, slowing us without lurching us around. When we came to a full stop, the men wound the rope around a capstan and four took to the wheel, slowly turning our ship around and pulling us in to our mooring pole, dimly marked as 57, even as the next ship swept past us to number 58 and did the same. It was a far more organized procedure than I anticipated, but never in my wildest dreams had I really expected the madness that was the lagoon. In our own day, it had been busy, bustling with vaparettos and gondolas and even cruise ships, but it was nothing like it was now. The sea traffic was so dense, I thought that, in a pinch, one might be able to jump from deck to deck, until they were all the way to the Rialto.

  Two rowboats arrived beside us, each manned by a pair of men. They shouted and bartered with the captain, negotiating a price, until an agreement was made and the captain gestured downward. “Please, m’lord,” he said to Marcello, “take your wife and kin first.”

  Marcello thanked him and handed him a bag of coins, the payment for safely getting us to our port. Only half had been paid up front. I thought it silly; if we were to die at sea, who cared if the captain had half or all of our money? But I supposed it protected us from those who might wish to take our money, kill us, and move on to whichever port they wished…

  Soon enough, we were all settled in the boat below, with me feeling particularly proud of myself for getting down the net, preggers, big skirts and all. Oh yeah, I thought, I’m the She-est of the She-Wolves. I grinned at Lia.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  She probably thought she was All That because she climbed it in half the time. Whatever. But I was still pleased with my surprising feat of grace.

  Our trunks were lowered into the boat with us, and then we were off, waving to the sailors, and soon absorbed in those we passed. It seemed like the entire world was here in Venezia’s harbor. We could pick out what had to be Russian, Chinese, French and middle-English in the first five minutes. The water smelled of brine and fish, but the air was blessedly cool, keeping me from feeling nauseous again, even facing overwhelming, almost-choking smells. There were merchants ferrying casks of wine and olive oil, skiffs carrying piles of stone out to ships—to serve as ballast weight, I learned from Dad—and others carrying in slabs of white marble. There was chain and rope and bale upon bale of wool. Silk tapestries. Sacks of grain. It was a hive of humanity and trade, and I couldn’t help but think that the harbor was a perfect example of why the coming plague would spread so quickly. Everything and everyone was pressed together, sharing space, air, goods, and all sorts of invisible germs with people from all over the world.

  For the thousandth time, I wished for liquid gel cleanser.

  “When we reach the docks, you must stick very close to us and keep hold of your purse,” Marcello said. “There is an unsavory element here, and they prey upon those who are distracted by the beauty of the city. Be aware of who is around us.”

  “Sounds just like Venezia last time we were here,” Dad muttered, but he grinned with excitement as he looked our way. It’d been years since we’d come this far north. I think I’d been about ten, and Lia eight.

  The men at the oars took us past the busy docks beside the doge’s palace, which led to Piazza San Marco farther down the Grand Canal, and eventually into a small side canal that took us deeper into the Rialto—basically Venice’s version of an alley. It was too narrow for the men to use the oars, so i
nstead they stood and used their hands to propel us between the buildings that rose four stories above us. We stopped beside an ornate gate, with mossy green steps rising from the canal waters, up and into the palazzo beside us. A servant appeared, and Lia and I glanced at each other in glee. We were just a few blocks away from the grand plaza, the doge’s palace. And staying in a palazzo right on the Grand Canal—with a cousin of Marcello and Luca’s.

  “We’re livin’ a freakin’ dream,” Lia whispered excitedly, as Luca helped her out of the boat and over the slippery little hop to a dry step. We all disembarked and made our way up the stairs, which widened into a grand entrance a story above us. Dad whistled under his breath. Above us, in nine domes nestled between marble pillars, were elaborate mosaics—teeny, tiny, bright-colored tiles that depicted ladies dancing and men lounging, animals of all sorts, and fish and more fish.

  “Marcello, my darling!” said a low, melodic voice. “Luca!”

  We turned to see a startlingly beautiful woman of about thirty coming our way. She was slender and impeccably clad in a silk gown with a complex weave I’d never seen before, and had a long neck, narrow nose and high cheekbones, giving her an exotic look. Two black servants appeared behind her, looking half like guards and half like butlers. They were dressed in flowing Turkish pants, belted at the waist, and light shirts, which looked startlingly white against their dark skin. They showed no emotion, no interest really, as if only a word from their mistress would gain their attention. They reminded me of the fierce guards in Lord Vivaro’s mansion down in Rome, and the memory made me shift uneasily.

  Our hostess reached out and took Marcello’s hands, kissing him on both cheeks—her eyes on me the whole while—and then Luca. I noticed Lia got a similar once-over, but what I sensed in the woman was more curiosity than anything dangerous. Besides, Marcello clearly liked this cousin, a young widow who enjoyed life far more now that her old tyrant of a husband was dead. Together, they turned to me, Lia and my parents.

  “Lady Caterina Brexiano, may I present my wife, Lady Gabriella Forelli?”

  She curtsied in a regal motion. She seemed taller than I, even if I had five inches on her. I did my best to mimic her movement, feeling like an elephant in comparison. But she smiled with genuine welcome in her eyes.

  “And may I present Gabriella’s sister,” Marcello continued, “Lady Evangelia, and their parents, Lord and Lady Betarrini?”

  “Welcome, welcome,” she said, when the introductions were complete. “My men will show your knights where they will lodge during your stay here,” she said, her eyes flicking over the gold tunics of the six men who traveled with us as guards. “And I shall show you to your lodgings. Please, follow me.”

  With that, she turned, her wide skirts in her hands, and we followed her across the main floor, a complex marble pattern of gorgeous squares and circles—in purple porphyry, olive green, harvest gold, midnight blue.

  “I was sorry to learn of your husband’s passing,” I said to her as we walked side by side.

  “Don’t be,” she said lightly, a wry grin on her wide lips. “It’s a blessing,” she said, crossing herself, “to be free of the old goat. He was as mean as he was rich.” Her heavy eyebrows lifted. “And now I am free to enjoy his wealth and run his businesses in my own way.”

  I laughed under my breath at her honesty. It was easy to see why Marcello and Luca remembered her fondly.

  “I am so glad you finally brought your bride to visit me,” Caterina said to Marcello. “You’ve been remiss, hoarding her in Toscana.”

  “Traveling conditions were hardly…optimal,” he said, giving her an indulgent smile. “If I was going to bring Gabriella and her family north, I wanted to be reasonably assured we’d be safe.”

  Caterina cocked a brow. “Wise, I’m certain, cousin. Lucky for you that the doge holds the pope—and his precious Fiorentini—in disdain. There are few in the city who dare to proclaim their allegiances to Firenze, and therefore, you’re likely as safe here as you were at home.”

  “May your words be prophecy,” Luca said.

  “Here you are,” Catarina said to my parents, opening two wide doors to show them a lovely room with a sprawling four-poster bed and a small balcony over the side canal. “We shall sup in a few hours, but, please, make my home your own. You may wander the entire thing, from top to bottom, and should you have need of anything, merely ring a bell,” she said, gesturing toward a rope by the door.

  “Thank you, Lady Brexiano,” Mom said, with a lovely curtsey. I’d have to get lessons from her later. She’d gotten way better at it than I.

  She put Lia in the next room and Luca across from her, waggling her eyebrows as if she expected midnight mischief. Luca just crossed his arms and shook his head in consternation. As much as he loved to joke around, he’d never do anything to put Lia’s reputation in danger. Still, a little kissing in a gondola might be just the thing they needed to push them out of their tentative, tense track, I thought.

  The last room was for us. With a wink, she opened the doors and led us inward, hands clasped, face expectant. The room sprawled before us, and I had a hard time not believing it was the master bedroom. Perhaps she had an identical one on the far side of the hallway. There was a massive four-poster bed with carved headboard and luxurious linens across it, as well as delicate netting across the top, giving it an exotic feel, even though I knew it was used to keep bugs away. Come summer, Venice could be called Mosquito-rama. That’s why Dad insisted we go in the spring or fall.

  “Oh,” I moved toward the tall windows at the front of the room. “Oh, it’s wonderful,” I said, taking in the curve of the canal, the multi-colored palazzos lining either side. We weren’t just in Venice. We were staying in a palazzo during its heyday. During its height of power. I looked back at Caterina as Marcello joined me at the windows. “Grazie, Lady Brexiano. We might never leave.”

  “Trust me,” she said, coming closer. “When the doge finds out the She-Wolves of Siena are in his city at long last, he might not allow you to stay with me or to leave the Palazzo Ducale. There will be much celebration. He loves nothing more than famous guests, and he’s long harangued me to use our family ties to bring you north.”

  “We can only stay for a week or so,” Marcello said, turning toward his cousin, arms folded. “Given Gabriella’s state, and with the winter seas just around the corner. We’d best be back to Siena in a timely manner.”

  “Yes, well, I assume you know how the doge is prone to press his own way. There will be business to discuss, trade between the republics.”

  “I understand. But, Caterina, it is the other Betarrinis who have recently come to court that brought us here at all. Have you met them?”

  Her long-lashed, dark eyes searched me a moment, then Marcello, then back to me. “I have. They are most…unique. Are they close kin to you, m’lady?”

  “Nay,” I said, with a shake of my head. “We’ve not yet met. Honestly, I do not know if they are madmen, latching on to stories of us, or truly two of our own.”

  “They may well be frauds,” Marcello put in, adding to the story as we’d prepared. “Men seeking to gain access to our own Betarrinis.”

  “Well, they have asked after you,” Caterina said. “They fairly demanded to be taken to you, but the doge wouldn’t allow them to leave. He finds them intriguing and clearly believes they still have secrets he wishes to ferret out. As I said, he favors any diversion he can find at court, and those two are certainly rare with their wild tales. And likely he knew that keeping them here might bring you northward at last.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “In prison.”

  “In prison,” Marcello and I said together.

  “Yes,” Caterina said, raising a brow. “They ceased speaking at all, in protest that they weren’t allowed to leave. So the doge had them flogged for their insolence and sent them to the cells.”

  I sighed heavily. “Do you think we might be able to speak to them t
here?”

  She bit her lip and looked tentative. “It will be far more challenging. But I expect that the doge will want to observe your reunion with these kin. I will do what I can to aid you in finding a moment to speak in private with them. The doge favors me, and he knows that Marcello is one of the Nine in Siena, so…” She gave her head a little shake. “Give me some time, and we’ll see what transpires.”

  “Grazie,” I said, reaching out to touch her arm.

  She glanced down in surprise and then to my face, bending her head, all genteel grace, and making me feel like a bumbling idiot. I supposed it was overly familiar to touch her, but she seemed warmed by the gesture.

  “If there is anything you need before we sup, simply ring your bell. We will gather in the dining room for our meal when the bell rings three times.”

  My stomach rumbled, as if approving of the mention of food, and I prayed that she hadn’t heard it. If she did, she pretended to ignore it.

  Downstairs, we heard men laughing and shouting, and then the scrambling of boots on the marble stairs.

  “Caterina!” a man bellowed. “Cat! Marcello!”

  Caterina sighed and put her fingers to her forehead in agitation, then looked at Marcello and me.

  “Nicolo?” Marcello asked, a wry grin on his lips.

  But then the man was there, bursting through the door without invitation, two men with him, four Forelli knights right behind them, looking concerned.

  “Marcello!” the broad, short man cried, pulling my husband’s face to him for two exuberant kisses.

  “Nicolo,” Marcello returned with a grin as the man drew back, hands sprawled out, face filled with joy. “May I present—”

  But Nicolo was already turning toward me, bowing. “Lady Gabriella Forelli.” He rose, still grinning. “How honored are we to be your kin. I am Nicolo lo Grato,” he said, laying a hand on his broad chest. Then he gripped my shoulders and gave me two swift kisses on my cheeks. “Ha!” he fairly shouted to his comrades, gesturing to me. “I would never have believed that I’d one day kiss a She-Wolf!”