Francesca (36 page)

“Will be ready for you by the morning, my lady. It will be simple, for I have neither the time nor the materials with which to make the duke a coffin befitting his high station. I hope it will serve, however,” he answered her.

Francesca nodded. “It will be fine,” she told him, “and I thank you. It will allow me to take him home one day and inter him with his father and his mother.”

“You plan to return, then?” Bernardo said.

“One day,” Francesca said. “It is my son, the duke’s, heritage. I will attempt to regain it for him eventually.”

The
duchessa
of Terreno Boscoso sat by her husband’s body all night long, praying. When the morning came Bernardo carried the dead man outside and set him gently in the simple wood coffin he had spent much of the night building. Francesca bent down and kissed Rafaello’s cold lips a final time. Then she instructed Bernardo to nail the coffin shut. With all of their help the funereal container was set in the grave. Each of them stood silently, praying for the soul of the young duke, and then Bernardo began to fill it in with the moist earth. When he was finished the three women returned into the house. There was work to be done if they were to be ready for their guests.

It had been a mild autumn, but as November began the wind started to blow from the north once again, and the huntsmen began coming in from the forest. Each noticed almost immediately that Carlo was among the missing. Bernardo told them simply that the innkeeper had died. When they had all arrived he would tell them the full story, but he did not want to repeat himself over and over. They were excited by the twins and most became doting towards the children. They saw Francesca’s sorrow and were respectful.

By the end of the month Bernardo reckoned that most of those who sheltered with them had arrived, although the number was even smaller than the previous year, having fallen to fifteen. They had finished their meal one evening and were seated by the fire in the inn’s main room, dicing and talking, when the big huntsman sought their attention. “The time has come for you to learn the facts of Carlo’s death,” he began. Almost immediately the room grew quiet, and all eyes turned to him. “You have noticed the absence of Matteo as well, I am certain. It was Matteo who murdered Carlo,” Bernardo spun his tale. “Matteo had sought to take liberties with little Roza. Because she is no light-skirts, she told Carlo, and Carlo warned Matteo to keep away from the girl.

“Sadly he did not listen, and sought to rape Roza in the henhouse when she went to gather eggs. Her screams brought Carlo to rescue her before any harm was done. Carlo had Matteo bound to the stable doors, and he whipped him for his attempted crime. Matteo then swore to respect Roza. Several days later Carlo and Matteo were up on the roof of the inn, seeking any damage. It began to rain, and Matteo threw Carlo off the roof to revenge himself. Sadly the innkeeper’s neck was broken. I dispatched Matteo myself shortly afterwards, and put his body in the forest for the beasts. A vicious murderer does not deserve a grave. So, there is the sad tale of how our good friend Carlo died.” Bernardo concluded the tale that he and Francesca had devised.

The room was silent as his last word died. Only the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the blowing wind could be heard. Then the men began to speak quietly among themselves, and Bernardo left them to find Francesca, who he knew was in the kitchen.

“You have told them?” she greeted him.

“I have. Some may ask me questions here and there, but the story was plausible and they are satisfied to have heard it.”

“There is only the priest to tell now, if he arrives next month,” Francesca said. “I will want him to bless the grave.”

“If you want I will go and seek him out,” Bernardo said.

“No,” she replied. “He will come, and I feel the children and I are safer with you here watching over us.”

“I will not return to the forest for hunting,” he assured her. “I am yours to command now, my lady.”

December came, and the priest arrived as usual, just before the Feast of the Nativity. At his back was a nasty snowstorm. He was told of Carlo’s death and went immediately to the grave to bless it, the snow now falling about him. Bernardo held a lantern so they might both see in the dusk, which was obscured even more by the falling snow. The priest found himself both shocked and heartbroken.

He joined Francesca in the kitchen by the hearth when he and Bernardo returned from the outside. “I can think of nothing that would ease your sorrow,” he told her. “Nonetheless I can pray with you, my daughter.”

“Nothing will ever take my sorrow from me,” she told him quietly.

The priest nodded, understanding. Then he said, “The French have departed Terreno Boscoso in the past month. It seems King Louis died on the last day of August. The new king is but a boy just turned thirteen. Before he died King Louis appointed his daughter, Anne of Beaujeu, to be the lad’s regent and guardian. This choice, however, has much angered the Duke of Orleans, who quarrels with her over the responsibility of young King Charles, for if the boy dies it is Orleans who will be king.”

Francesca attempted to control her excitement. “Why did the French withdraw? The Comte du Barry must be furious.”

“They withdrew because they were called home by the regent who seeks whatever method she can to protect her position as her brother’s guardian,” the priest said.

“You are certain the French are gone?” Francesca said to him.

“Indeed, yes,” he answered her. “The people are returning to the town and there is to be a celebration soon.”

“But what of the duke and
duchessa
?” Bernardo asked.

“The council does not believe them dead, and seeks for them,” the priest responded.

“We must be certain of this,” Francesca said. “I cannot endanger the twins.”

“I will go myself when this storm has abated,” Bernardo said.

“And if all is well, and as our good priest says, then I must go home,” Francesca said. “My son cannot be denied his heritage.”

The priest looked puzzled by their conversation, and seeing it, Francesca said to Terza and Bernardo, “We must tell him.”

They nodded in agreement.

“Good Father, I am the
duchessa
of Terreno Boscoso,” Francesca began. “My husband was not Carlo, a huntsman, but Rafaello Cesare, your duke.” Then she went on to explain everything, beginning with her flight from Rafaello when he first proposed.

She concluded her lengthy recitation by saying, “If the French are truly gone, then I must bring my children home. It is my little Carlo who is now this duchy’s duke.”

The priest was astounded but he did not disbelieve her. “Who else knows this? The infant duke must be kept safe, my lady.”

“The servants who came with me from the castle. Balbina was our cook. Terza and Roza, my personal serving women. And, of course, Bernardo.”

“And that lovely tale that was told the others? All false?” the priest said.

“Matteo betrayed the duke to the French before we fled the castle,” Francesca told him. “He believed now he might complete the betrayal, but we caught him before he was able to expose us.”

The priest nodded. “A foolish man. But now that I know the truth I will help you.”

Chapter 18

K
ing Louis had brought an end to what was known as the Hundred Years’ War. Under his reign France had become peaceful and was showing the beginnings of true prosperity. Agriculture and commerce were beginning to thrive, but France had no source of precious metals, which was why King Louis had been so interested in Terreno Boscoso’s gold mine. He was to find himself very disappointed when Commander d’Aumont reported to him that the mine no longer produced gold and that he had been misled by the Comte du Barry. He was forced, however, in order to save face, to leave his troops in that unimportant little duchy, claiming it was an ally of Milan and therefore a danger to France. The Comte du Barry found himself banned from court.

Louis had not been well liked. He was stingy, with himself in particular, greedy, and cruel. Yet he had managed through the deaths of his surviving brother and other male relations to acquire much of what became France. He had been very generous to his wife, and she in return had given him children while turning a blind eye to her husband’s mistresses. The queen did not live at court. Now, however, Louis was dead, and while he had legally created his daughter, Anne, a clever young woman, the little king’s regent and guardian, there were those who sought to wrest this powerful position from Anne of Beaujeu’s elegant hands.

Needing all the military aid she could get to protect her brother, King Charles VIII, Anne gave orders for the small contingent of troops in Terreno Boscoso to be withdrawn immediately. So it was that the few folk remaining in the town awoke one morning to discover all of the French marching away. Raoul du Barry refused to leave even as the town’s citizens began returning to their homes again. The duke’s council began to seek for their lord, but no one had seen them go when they fled. And no one had seen them since. The council began to fear their ruler was dead.

The priest was not able to leave the winter forest until the very end of January.

Francesca had instructed the cleric that if the French were truly gone to find a council member and tell him only that the family was hidden in the forest and would soon be returning to the town once the roads were more passable. “Do not tell them that my husband is dead,” she advised the priest.

The
duchessa
had decided not to let Bernardo leave them. “I am fearful without you watching over us,” she said, and he acquiesced. He had already told her he would go with them when they left the forest.

It had been decided that Francesca and her children would go back to the castle as quickly as they could. Terza would be by her side, but Balbina and Roza must remain until the spring departure of the huntsmen. But the roads did not become passable until two months later, in late March. Francesca had considered telling the huntsmen at the inn who she was, but decided against it, for she was afraid for her son in particular. After Matteo’s treacherous behavior she was not ready to trust anyone other than those close to her. The twins were now eight months old, and she worried about the trip they must make in the uncertain and whimsical early spring weather. But without her they would starve. She had no choice but to take them with her.

Using the excuse of an ill grandmother to assuage the curiosity of the inn’s guests, they departed early one morning. Giovanna was placed in a warm basket that hung from Terza’s saddle. Her brother was similarly housed with his mother. They would not return the way they had come, but rather seek the road that Alonza and Francesca had taken when they went from the forest to the town. It was a little bit longer, but it would be safer, as they might shelter in a farmhouse each night, which would be better for the twins. Exiting the forest on to the roadway by midday, they stopped so Francesca might nurse her children. In the afternoon, as the babies didn’t seem to mind, the horses now cantered gently. Indeed they napped quite peaceably.

“We have our own food,” Bernardo assured the farmer from whom they requested shelter that night. Francesca understood the food was still in short supply. The farmer made his barn available to them. “May we drink from your well?”

The farmer nodded and admired the twins. “Those are fine babies you have, mistress. You and your man should be proud.” Then he left them to themselves.

“Fool,” Bernardo muttered. “As if a lovely young thing like you would marry the likes of me, my lady.”

Terza giggled. “Indeed,” she agreed with him.

“It is better he believe what he thinks,” Francesca said with a smile. “I take no offense, Bernardo.”

They had not eaten since they departed the inn that morning. Now they devoured the cold roasted venison, the bread, and the cheese Balbina had packed for them. The water from the farmer’s well was sweet. Francesca nursed her babies again before settling them down in an empty feeding trough Terza filled first with fresh hay before covering the hay with a soft woolen cloth. The twins slept immediately, with their mother and Terza on either side of the trough. Bernardo took himself a distance from the women to make his bed in the hay.

They slept soundly, awakening just before dawn. The twins were fed once again. The
duchessa
and her companions ate their bread and cheese before saddling their horses. The two babies were settled for the day in their baskets, and they left the barn as the sun was peeping over the skyline, and the farmer coming from his house. Bernardo thanked him for his hospitality.

“Are you going to the town?” he asked them. “Everyone who fled is hurrying to return now that the French have departed. Now we must find our duke and his wife.”

“Perhaps they fled to her family in Florence,” Bernardo suggested.

“Well, wherever they got to, the French couldn’t find them, although that comte who seemed to be their leader tried to tell everyone that they were executed,” the farmer said. “If that were true you can bet their bodies would have been displayed as proof, but they were not,” the farmer remarked. “Well, Godspeed!” And he waved them off.

Their second day and night on the road mirrored the first. And then on the afternoon of the third day they reached the town. Francesca at that point pushed back the hood of her cape, revealing her red-gold hair and her face. Suddenly she heard a cry.

“It is the
duchessa
!”

And suddenly they were being surrounded by the townsfolk, who joyously escorted them to the castle. To her great surprise Captain Arnaldo and a group of men appeared to join them. Bernardo remained close to Francesca and her small son.

The captain came to ride on the other side of her. “Welcome home, my lady,” he said. His gaze went to the babies, and he looked questioningly at her. Then he asked her, “Where is the duke, my lady?”

“This infant boy is your duke,” she said softly. “He is called Carlo. My husband is dead. I have returned because this is our son’s heritage and the French are now gone.”

Captain Arnaldo nodded, taking in the baby with his auburn hair and blue-green eyes. He was a miniature of his father. “We will have to remove the Comte du Barry from the castle, my lady. He would not go and claims he will now rule Terreno Boscoso.”

Francesca laughed a bitter laugh. “He will be dead before the sunset,” she said.

“Can we get into the castle, Captain?”

“The drawbridge, or what remains of it, is passable,” the captain replied.

“Who serves him?”

“Few, and most his own servants.”

Francesca turned to Bernardo. “You know what to do,” she said.

“I do, my lady, and it shall be done immediately,” Bernardo told her.

“I would see him first so that he dies knowing that my son’s duchy, like a phoenix, has risen from the ashes he and the French caused. That I am responsible for his death, and my son will grow up to rule Terreno Boscoso,” Francesca said.

“I will bring him to you first, my lady. Do you wish him to suffer?”

“I should, for I am a Florentine, but no. Just strangle him.”

Bernardo smiled a slow smile. “As you wish, my lady,” he promised her.

“Captain Arnaldo, this is Bernardo, who guards me and my children. I shall tell you all this evening. Bernardo, this is the captain of the castle’s men-at-arms, whom I thought surely would be in Switzerland.”

The two men nodded warily at one another, each gauging the other.

“I wanted to be certain that all was entirely lost before I deserted our duchy,” Captain Arnaldo explained. “When the French departed I somehow knew it was not.”

They crossed the damaged drawbridge and entered into the castle’s courtyard. Francesca left the children with Terza and two men-at-arms while she and the others entered the building. Bernardo grabbed a surprised servant by the nape of his neck.

“Where is your master?” he asked.

Looking up at the big huntsman, the servant could hardly speak, but he finally managed to get the words out. “In . . . the hall.”

“Leave this place, and thank God your life is spared. Do not come back,” Bernardo warned the shaking man, who when released fled from the courtyard.

They made their way to the hall where the Comte du Barry was sprawled in a chair at the high board. He was drunk, but not so much that his eyes didn’t widen at the sight of the
duchessa
and the men by her side.

“Get out of the duke’s seat,” Francesca said. “How dare you defile it, Frenchman?”

To his credit the Comte du Barry rose and stared down at her. “Where did you come from, bitch?” he asked her.

Bernardo stepped up to the high board and slapped the comte across his face. “You will speak to the
duchessa
in a more civil manner, Frenchman,” he growled. He towered over his opponent, glaring in a very fierce manner. “You are bold for a man who will shortly meet his maker. Are you ready to die, then?”

Raoul du Barry turned a pasty white. Suddenly sober, he now looked terrified. For a moment he could not speak.

“I believe my mistress told you to leave the high board,” Bernardo growled.

Finally du Barry began to babble, “This duchy is no more. This is France, and I am the king’s representative.”

“That greedy old bugger you called King Louis is now dead. In his place a child sits. Your soldiers have been called home,” Bernardo said. “Show me your authority. You have no authority. Terreno Boscoso does not belong to France. It belongs to its duke and to its people.” Bernardo then reached out, his fingers grasping at the comte’s doublet. He yanked the frightened man from behind the table and then flung him from the dais. Then Bernardo stepped down and picked up du Barry from the floor where he had landed. His big hands were now wrapped around the Frenchman’s neck. “My lady?” he asked Francesca.

She nodded without a word.

Bernardo slowly choked the Comte du Barry, whose pale face first turned pink, then deep red, and finally purple.

His eyes bulged from his head, and Francesca wondered if they would pop from his face. Satisfied at last that the comte had suffered enough, she gave Bernardo another nod, and the big huntsman snapped his victim’s neck, ending his life.

“Remind me never to offend you, my lady,” Captain Arnaldo said wryly. He had, like so many others, always thought the
duchessa
a charming woman, an exquisite ornament. He was surprised to see how determined, how fierce, she was in her revenge.

He knew that strength of character would be applied to guiding her infant son to manhood. Terreno Boscoso was in good hands.

“See he is buried,” Francesca told Bernardo. “Make his own men dig the grave in unhallowed ground. And no priest.” Then she turned to Captain Arnaldo. “I want double the men-at-arms we used to have, and I want them as quickly as possible. Can you manage that for us?”

“I can,” he answered.

“Is the council in the town? I will want an immediate meeting so Duke Carlo’s rights can be confirmed quickly.”

“You should tell the people of Duke Rafaello’s death yourself,” the captain suggested. Is she a woman to take my proposal? he wondered nervously.

“Yes, you are right,” Francesca agreed. “But not until the council has first been informed. And my husband’s body must be returned to the castle so it may be interred in the Cesare crypt below the castle.” She sighed. “There is so much to do, but it will be done and done properly.”