Secret of Light (23 page)

“Here, try a sip of this. It's probably warm, but at least it's clean.”

Brodie managed to take a sip through cracked lips, then lay back once more on the sacking.

“Oh, man, I feel really crummy,” he muttered. Darrell nodded sympathetically.

“Try some more water. And then take one of these.” She gave him a peppermint from her pocket.

Brodie grinned a little. “Well, I'd rather have a Tylenol, but this will have to do.” Darrell smiled, relieved, and went to work on the ropes binding his hands.

“Hey, get over here and untie me,” Conrad hissed.

“Wait a minute, Conrad. I've got to make sure Brodie is okay.” Darrell struggled to untie the knots cutting deeply into Brodie's wrists.

“He's talking, isn't he? The guy kicked me in the head, too, y'know.”

“Ssst!” The young man in the blue cloak jerked his head towards the stall at the back. “Get back into the byre! Someone is coming.”

Darrell grabbed the water skin and the rag and scurried back to the stall. Inside, the cow lowed gently in greeting. Darrell rubbed the broad back absently and slid into the darkest corner.

“I see yer awake,
feiglio de cagne
.” Darrell could hear heels click on the floor of the barn. “It's not long now before the wagon arrives. You'll be at the front in three days and have a chance to show yerselves as men and not the dogs ye seem to be, and I'll have a few more pieces of gold in my pocket.”

Darrell winced at the sound of a boot meeting flesh. From the stream of vitriolic Italian, she guessed the young man in the blue cloak had been the target.

The tormentor laughed. “Yer tongue's working, anyway. Primo! Draw me another mug of your best ale. These three will keep for an hour more.” The light dimmed as he swung the door shut, and Darrell heard the board that barred the door clunk into place. She counted to twenty before creeping back into the barn.

“Untie me first,” ordered Conrad, “then I'll help you undo Brodie.” Darrell glared at him and turned again to the ropes binding Brodie's wrists.

“
Signorina
.” The young man in the blue cloak smiled at Darrell, though she could see a fresh line of blood running around his lips. “I have a dagger in my right boot,” he whispered. “My greatest shame is I did not have time to draw it to save myself from these
porco diablo
thieves of men.”

Darrell crawled over through the straw and found the small blade at once.

The young man gestured with his head. “Cut your friend free first. You will see, unlike the
feigli de cagne
who brought us here, I am an honourable man.”

With the sharp knife, Darrell had Brodie free in seconds. As he rubbed his sore wrists and ankles, Darrell turned her attention to the young man.

“What's your name?” she whispered, as she sawed through the rope around his wrists.

“My name is Remo Giancarli, and I owe you my life.” The ropes fell away, and before Darrell could react, he grabbed her face and planted a kiss on each cheek.

“You're welcome,” she said, startled.

“Now, once we free your other friend, I will take you to a place of sanctuary where we may hide safely until we can send word to your family.” Grimacing as he got to his feet, he hobbled over to help Brodie up.

“Thank you. That would be wonderful!” Darrell began cutting the rope off Conrad's ankles.

“It's about time. And make sure you're careful with that thing!” Conrad's words showed traces of his usual bluster, but his face was drawn with anxiety. Darrell remembered her own shock and fear during her initial journey through time, and for a moment she felt something akin to pity for him. She paused.

“Conrad, I don't have time to explain anything right now. Promise me you'll do what you're told until we can get you back to the lighthouse.”

“Listen — I don't even want to know. I'm speaking a different language, I'm wearing some kinda fruitcake
clothes, a jerk put a bag over my head and kidnapped me — man, this is like my worst nightmare.”

Darrell was unconvinced. “Just do what we tell you and it should be okay.” Conrad nodded. She cut the final bonds at his wrist and handed the knife back to Remo.

Kate was positively beaming with relief as she helped them through the window. All three boys staggered a little as they hurried away from the back of the barn. Delaney capered joyfully around Brodie, but Darrell noticed he kept carefully clear of Conrad.

The sun had fallen low in the sky and the cold deepened, wrapping itself around the corners of the buildings, filling the shade and creeping under collars and into sleeves. After the warmth of the cow barn, the wind bit deeply. Without a word, Remo beckoned, and they followed him as he moved through the growing shadows of the dusk. They wove their way along lanes and around buildings, avoiding the marketplace entirely. Darrell looked through the waning light to see the dome of the cathedral emerging into the sky above the narrow street.

“The
Duomo
?”

Remo nodded. “My uncle is one of the priests. But we must go the back way — there is a secret door.”

Darrell's leg throbbed as she limped along beside Kate. Brodie was also looking a little unsteady on his feet, so it was several more long moments before Remo knocked on a wall at the back of the cathedral. Tiny cracks appeared in the wall along the lines of the ornate fretwork, and it opened as though on hinges. A hooded figure stood in the shadows.

Remo whispered a few words then turned and nodded. The figure stepped aside and they all filed through the tiny secret door, Delaney following at the rear.

Darrell looked around in the cramped entry, lit by a single candle that flickered and danced in a sconce on the wall above. The monk removed his hood and his tonsured head gleamed in the candlelight.

“I am Brother Raul,” he said. “Follow me.” He turned to Darrell and his voice was curt. “You must keep that dog quiet. Such beasts are not permitted to roam the halls of this cathedral.” Darrell, her hand on Delaney's head, nodded mutely.

The monk removed the candle from the sconce and carried it as they followed in a silent train, single file down a narrow corridor redolent with beeswax and incense. The monk wore a white, ankle-length habit, hooded in black. The rough wool of the tunic seemed ghostly in the candlelight as he made his way, swift and silent, along the darkened passage. A left turn took them down a narrow, winding flight of steps and then along another confined hall, this one damp and clam-my with an earthen floor. Brother Raul stopped abruptly and pulled open a heavy wooden door with an iron handle.

“Brother Constantine's chamber,” he said quietly.

Inside the small room he used his candle to light another sitting on a tiny desk against a wall. The light flickered to reveal a Spartan room furnished only with a cot in one corner, a single chair, and the tiny desk. Two hooks on the wall held a long robe of rough, white wool and a short, black cape. A man knelt beside the
bed, his murmured prayer interrupted, and his face turned up to them in surprise.

“Remo!” He leaped to his feet. “What brings you here?”

Brother Raul replaced his hood and nodded, closing the door as he left.

“Uncle Tino, I was stolen this afternoon by men seeking to sell me into armed service.” He gestured at the others. “The three of us were taken to the marketplace to be transferred to the battlefront by bondsmen.” He grinned at Darrell and his teeth flashed briefly in the light of the candle. “These girls are our rescuers.”

Brother Constantine clasped Darrell's hands briefly and then Kate's before looking back at his nephew. “Your brother?”

“He is safe at home. The black marketeers caught me when I was checking out the barns for a new horse. They called me a deserter, took my money, and threw me in their cart.”

Brother Constantine shook his head. “I can't wait to hear what your mama will say about this,” he muttered and shook his nephew gently by the arm. “You should never go through the barns without your father, Remo. These times are not safe, even for those of noble blood. You know that!”

Remo nodded.

The monk's face was worried. “I must make my way to the street to see if there is news of your disappearance. If they label you a deserter, a whole detachment could be brought in to search. You may have to hide here for some time until the interest dies down and we
can safely get you back to your home. I will be but a few moments.” With quick, deft movements he donned his white robe, belting it with a leather strap. He tucked his rosary into his belt and pulled the cowl over his head before slipping out the door.

Conrad sat down on the bed and bounced a little. “Nice room,” he said sarcastically. “I've seen jail cells that are more comfortable than this.”

“The monks of this order seek simplicity,” whispered Remo. “They have very plain clothes and food and put their strength into serving God.”

“Yeah, and all their money, too, from the looks of it. Did you see the marble this place is covered in? And the gold stuff everywhere? Somebody's got a lot of coin to throw around.”

“The Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore is still being built,” said Remo, raising a haughty eyebrow. “My uncle is very privileged to be one of the Dominican order who are God's servants here. This cathedral is a testament to the talents of our artists and is dedicated to the glory of the mother of the saviour.”

He turned to Darrell. “I have to thank you again for your help,
signorina
. We will stay here in the old section of the cathedral until my father arrives, and then I will make my way home under the cover of darkness. Do you have a way to return to your homes in safety?”

Darrell nodded. “I think so. We have only a few streets to travel and I know the way, as long as we don't meet those — did you call them — bondsmen?”

Remo nodded. “They steal boys and young men off the streets and sell them to some of the less law-abiding
commanders at the battle front. Usually they are the poor and the no-account so they are not missed. There is always a need for more soldiers for the war, and this form of conscription is very common.”

Kate spoke. “Why wouldn't they be missed? You may be of noble blood, Remo, but not everyone who is poor is of no account. Those boys and men must all have families somewhere, too.”

Remo nodded, though he still looked defiant. “Perhaps. But if I go to the army, I will go as an officer. My father will see to that.”

Kate raised her eyebrows at Darrell but said nothing.

“One of the commanders came into the barn before you got there, Darrell. He's the one who smacked me in the face,” said Brodie.

“What happened?”

Brodie sat on the floor by the bed and stroked Delaney, who lay curled beside him. “Well, first they hauled us out of the cart and threw us into the barn. They left the sack over Conrad's head but for some reason they took mine off. I was feeling pretty sore from getting punched, but other than that I was okay. Then this new guy came in and yelled, ‘Soldier, get to your feet and stand at attention.' My head was still spinning and so he yelled at me again.”

Brodie rubbed his wrists, still bearing red weals from the ropes. “So I said I'd heard him but didn't think he'd really meant it. ‘Let me assure you, I meant every word. On your
feet
!' He screamed so loud the veins stood out on his temples. I had to find a way to stand up with my hands and feet tied. I don't think he
expected me to be about a foot taller than him, so his eyes bulged.” He shook his head at the memory.

“He stomped back and forth in front of me. ‘Yer a fine, tall young whelp, it's clear,' he said. ‘Skinny, but the skinny ones make smaller targets.' Right about then another guy came in with Remo and dumped him on the straw.”

Conrad laughed from his spot on the bed.

Brodie glared at him. “What's so funny?”

“Tell them about the musket.”

Brodie narrowed his eyes. “If you think it's so funny, you tell it,” he said.

“Okay, I will.” Conrad leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “The guy yelling at Brodie came over to me and pulled the sack off my head and hauled me to my feet. My legs had gone numb from the ropes, so I fell. The guy tried to give me a boot in the ribs, but he got my arm instead so it didn't hurt so bad. Then he yelled at Brodie again.”

Conrad stood, miming the soldier talking to Brodie. “‘Can you shoot a matchlock, ya beanpole?' And Mr. Polite over there starts to stammer and stutter. ‘A — a matchlock, sir?' he says.” Conrad chuckled again. “So the soldier roars: ‘Y've quite clearly outgrown yer brains, I can see. A
musket
.' And then he waves this stupid gun that looked like some kid's homemade toy in Brodie's face.”

“That is no toy. It is the latest weapon in use by our armies. A true musketeer can load and shoot a matchlock three times in under a minute,” Remo interrupted hotly.

Conrad narrowed his eyes, and his face looked thoughtful. After a moment he shook his head and continued
as if coming out of a daze. “The soldier's face was beet red and he was so mad his hands were shaking. ‘Are ye deaf now, too, ye lousy turnip?'”

Conrad warmed again to his story and smirked at Brodie. “So Mr. Beanpole answers ‘No sir,' in his nambypamby voice. ‘I'm not deaf. But I think you've mistaken me for someone else.'” Conrad sat down on the cot. “That's when the soldier got mad. He smacked Brodie in the face with the gun and knocked him down. I kept my mouth shut,” Conrad pointed a finger at Brodie, “the way
you
should have done in the first place — and the guy swore at us and ran outside. I could hear him out there yelling at somebody else.”

The scrape of a heel in the hall made Conrad blanch and fall silent. The door to the chamber snicked open and Brother Constantine slipped inside.