"Betta." Micheletto approached her noiselessly, appearing in the hall when she left Lady Lucrezia's side for the night. Micheletto had been gone from Nepi for many weeks and Betta had stopped trying to predict his comings and goings. He would appear like a shadow, watching Lady Lucrezia walk through the courtyard of the ancient tower, and then he would be gone like the ghost she had once asked him to be. They walked in silence together until they found a corridor in the dusty castle where they could speak in private.
"My mother is dying." His voice was deeper then normal but his face did not betray any emotion. Betta did not reply, knowing from her own life that nothing said could ease the loss. She squeezed his arm and waited for him to continue.
Micheletto shifted his weight fractionally from one foot to the other in an almost imperceptible movement that caught her attention simply because it was so uncharacteristic. Micheletto was a master at the silent stalk of a predator and Betta did not think she had ever seen him move with less than fluid grace. Betta realized with astonishment that he was nervous.
"Would you journey to Forli with me? I have told my mother that I have a woman here that is dear to me and she wishes to meet you before she passes."
"You wish me to meet your mother?" Betta asked in surprise. They had never discussed the exact nature of their relationship and this seemed to suggest a greater intimacy than she would have expected of him.
Micheletto turned away from her, equal parts angry and embarrassed. "It is no matter."
"Of course I will come with you. Let me speak to my Lady. We must leave and return quickly for she grows great with child and I must be present when her time comes."
Lucrezia readily gave her permission and provided two swift mounts that would carry them through the mountains to Micheletto's homeland. Betta had assumed she would be travelling by wagon, as she had in all the journeys that she had taken since leaving Rome. When she saw two spirited animals being loaded with provisions for the journey she flatly refused to mount until Micheletto gravely asked if her Ladyship would prefer a litter with velvet cushions for the rigors of travel.
Betta detested riding. The few times that she had been forced to mount she clutched at the animal in terror that she would fall off and be trampled by huge hooves that seemed both too far away and much too close. Micheletto watched her ride with ill concealed amusement for the first hour and then suggested that perhaps he should instruct her on some of the finer points of horsemanship so they would arrive at Forli before the change of the seasons. Her riding skills marginally improved with his tutelage but she did not think she would ever enjoy riding a horse the way Lady Lucrezia seemed to. Betta maintained a wary peace with the animal that carried her through the rough terrain on the ancient road to Forli by sneaking the roan gelding handfulls of oats from the bag whenever Micheletto was otherwise occupied.
"I hate horses. How Lady Lucrezia is able to race around on that monster of hers defies belief." Betta grumbled as she tried to rub feeling back into her legs after a particularly taxing day spent in the saddle.
"Perhaps because she is used to a more dangerous mount." Micheletto's voice did not change but when she looked at him there was humor lurking in the depths of his dark blue eyes. Betta snorted with laughter and then clapped her hand over her mouth in horror at the coarse sound, which made Micheletto laugh outright.
They travelled together as husband and wife, staying at inns where they were available and on pallets made by their cloaks and blankets when they were not. As the neared their destination they stopped for the night in the crumbled remains of an ancient villa where the silence was unbroken save for the small noises made by the wild animals nested among the stones. The small fire cast a golden glow on his features and Betta rested her head on her arm and watched him in the shifting light. The smoke from the fire was something she experienced every day of her life but under the blanket of stars the woody fragrance was a thing of beauty and mystery as it spiralled into the dark night.
"Every time I leave Forli I hope to never return." He finally said, breaking his silence. As they travelled through the Romagna his mood had darkened and he took refuge in silence more and more.
"Was it so difficult for you here?" She asked.
"Everything that I am was created here. My father..." For a long while he did not continue and Betta waited, understanding the compulsion to confess but not sure if he was ready to do so. Micheletto's voice was nothing but a horse whisper when he continued. "He would use me for his plaything and then beat me until I could not stand. I know not which he enjoyed more."
"How did it end?" she questioned, but she already knew the answer. The man who lay next to her would never have let such acts to go unpunished.
"I strangled him when we returned from a battle when I was fourteen years of age. He was a mercenary, skilled with a sword, and I fought beside him in every conflict from the time I was old enough to hold a knife. I wept as he struggled, but whether it was with relief or sorrow I do not know." She could picture it so clearly in her mind and her heart grieved for his pain. "Went to Rome after that. I sold my skill with a knife when I could and my body when I could not." Micheletto lapsed into silence, consumed by the dark memories. Eventually he turned to face her again.
"What of you, my Elizabetta? Are you going to take that boy who follows you around like a stray dog to your bed?"
Betta was not surprised that Micheletto knew she had thought about taking Bernardino, who had accompanied them to Nepi, as a lover. The tower where they sojourned was lonely, and Lady Lucrezia had withdrawn more into the private spaces of her mind as her time to deliver the child drew near. Bernardino was an amusing companion but the only time she had let him put hands on her the experience had been so unremarkable that they had agreed to remain friends. He was now often to be seen in the company of a girl from the town. "No. Nothing in him calls to me."
"Do I call to you?" he asked, moving on top of her and pinning her arms above her head in a move that left her a supplicant beneath him.
"Yes," she cried, and cried again when he took her, although not in pain.
They arrived in Forli the next day. Micheletto's mother had the look of someone who had once been solidly built but the illness that was claiming her life had stolen the flesh from her bones in preparation for the grave. Her grey hair lay tightly braided with only a hint of the vivid red that she had passed on to her son remaining and her eyes were the same deeply set dark blue. She lay on a bed that had been moved in front of the fire, shivering despite the heat, and every few minutes a spasm of coughing would leave her with blood on her lips and gasping for breath. Micheletto's younger sister was a timid creature who lovingly tended her mother but after they arrived the dying woman only had eyes for her son.
"Mama, I have brought Betta to meet you." Micheletto knelt by the side of the bed and touched his mother's hands with infinite gentleness. Maria Corella smiled and cupped his cheek with her gnarled fingers. "My boy, come home to see his mother one last time." Micheletto wiped the tears from her eyes.
"Betta. Elizabetta?" The woman asked and Betta nodded. " Come closer child so I can get a look at you." She studied Betta's face and then grasped one of her hands, running her fingers over calluses created by years of hard work. "Pretty, and a good worker too. Where did my son find such a woman?"
"I serve one of the great families of Rome, but my Lady is travelling and gave me leave to accompany Micheletto."
Maria watched Betta with eyes that were sharp and probing despite the pain that twisted her mouth. She talked with Micheletto about his life in Rome before sending him from the house so that she and Betta "could talk without you disturbing us."
"So, you are my son's lover?" Betta smiled at the woman's bluntness but made no reply.
"You will have to forgive me, what they give me for the pain has dulled my wits and loosened my tongue."
Betta told the dying woman an edited account of her association with Micheletto. Maria listened raptly and asked no questions that Betta could not answer. When Betta finished her tale Maria plucked at the blanket that was spread over her wasted flesh.
"I would that you could have seen him when he was a baby. The most beautiful red curls."
"I can not imagine Micheletto as a child." Betta said honestly, with a laugh in her voice.
"The loveliest of my children, and the sweetest. Michael Corella" she spat his name like a curse "destroyed him, and may the devil roast his parts over an open flame for all eternity."
"Micheletto's father?"
Maria nodded, the movement of her head starting another coughing fit that almost had Betta running to fetch Micheletto back. "Twisted that sweet little boy until there was hardly anything left. I was so glad when Micheletto killed him." She wheezed, watching Betta's face. "Told you about that already I see. Good."
"Do you know what he did to Micheletto?" Betta could not keep the anger from her voice, even if it was directed at a woman who would soon face judgement. If her mother had lived Betta knew that her father would never dared to touch one of his daughters. Her mother handled knives with the dexterity of one who had spent her whole life in the kitchen; she would have carved her husband from ear to ear and never shed a tear.
"Yes I knew. I saw him forcing himself on my boy when the lad was scarcely ten years old. Like a coward I ran but he saw me. He beat me so hard that night that it cracked two of my ribs and I could not move for days. Michel Corella always made sure to beat me where no one would see the marks. I went to the priest but he told me to obey my husband and that we were his to do with as he wished. Found out later he liked the same sport. Went to Michael's father but he said he would crack the other ribs for saying such filthy things about his son and that he would see me dead if I ever spoke of it again."
"You could have killed him." Betta said softly. She heard the softest imaginable footsteps and knew that Micheletto had returned and listened where his mother could not see him.
"Thought about it, tasted it, wanted it so badly for years. But they would have burned me, and my children would have been left with no one."Another coughing fit wracked her body. "I know he lies to me. I know what he does in Rome and about...his lovers. A mother always knows. But it makes him happy to lie to me about these things so I pretend to believe them. I thought at first you were another lie but you care for him." Her eyes were enormous in her shrunken face.
Betta nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The complexities off her relationship with the assassin were too difficult to try to explain, even to herself.
"Good. Then I can rest easy knowing my son is not alone in this world."
Maria Corella died during the night, slipping from life in her sleep while Betta and Micheletto slept nearby in a bed made from their cloaks and a heavy woollen blanket that was at least fifty years old. They laid her in the ground the next morning. The priest, a very young man whose robes must have only recently been laid across his back, fumbled over the simple words of the funeral rite but the few who were in attendance at the grave did not seem to mind. An old man stumbled close to the graveyard but then seemed to think the better of it and headed back to the tavern he had come from. Betta, noticing Micheletto's stiffness as he looked at the old man, marked his face in her mind and followed his movements out of the corner of her eye. A tall, dark haired man who attended the burial exchanged a single heated glance with Micheletto that seemed taunt with meaning.
The rest of the day was spent moving Maria's meagre belongings to her daughter's home. Micheletto kept only a simple golden cross that he'd given to her years before. They spent one more night in the home where Micheletto had been born, laying on their makeshift bed in the empty room. Betta noticed his increased restlessness as the night progressed, and the furtive glances at the door.
"There is someone who waits for you here." Betta whispered in his ear. Micheletto did not respond but his body tensed.
"Go. You do not have to hide what you are from me." He drew her close for a second before he disappeared through the door.
"My grandfather died last night." Micheletto watched Betta out of the corner of his eye as they guided the horses down the road to Nepi. Betta kept her face smooth as stone, waiting to see his reaction.
"Someone cut his throat when he returned home late in the night. He bled out slowly."
Betta arranged her face into lines that she hoped would convey sympathy. "Tragic"
Micheletto quirked his eyebrow slightly as he looked at her. "Next time take the purse so it will appear a robbery." She nodded and nothing more was said on the subject during their return to Nepi.