6
The march went on until dark, quiet and slower, as if an invisible ghost had all of a sudden perched himself on Grazia's shoulders, depriving her of the energy and the will to go on with the same speed as before.
Olga had immediately noticed her friend's weird attitude, but had chosen not to ask, confident that it was likely due to the fact that the small adventure (in which she did taste a modicum of freedom) was coming to an end, and that willing or not she would have had to return to the old role of dutiful daughter, that irked her so much.
Or rather, that was what the Grand Duchess wished to believe, because actually what she had glimpsed when their eyes had met for a few eyes, since they had started off again, was something horrifying, in those eyes so alive and full of spunk of her new Roma friend.
The hour was late when they had come into sight of Colleferro.
A bit far from the village was a small hamlet of farmer's houses, all placed around a circular square at the center of which stood a tall plane tree.
Three poor souls were hanging from the gibbet placed at the foot of the three, and the smell they let out made it clear that they had been for a few days. It was unnecessary to read the signs, or look at the kerchiefs around their necks, to understand who they were; patriots, supporters of the Republic who had managed to slip out into the countryside when it had fallen, and who were quickly hung by the French regiments as soon as they were flushed out.
The girls stopped, Grazia first, and for a long moment neither was able to avert their eyes from those mangled bodies from which the crows had already picked off the eyes, and pecked at the heads.
"It's useless..."
"Grazia?" muttered Olga.
"It's all pointless." Grazia hissed between clenched teeth, as her fists closed around the bridles. "They died for nothing."
"Grazia, how can you say such a thing? They died for what you yourself believe in."
"No, they died for an illusion. Caetani is right. Italy is nothing but a mirage. And even if we were able to make it, what nation would come out of a people who hangs and shoots the very ones who fight to create it? Romans who butcher Romans, Bolognesi who sell themselves to the Austrians, Florentines who leave the Livornesi [ed. Inhabitants of Leghorn] out to dry.
We blame foreign governors and call them invaders, but why did all of this happen? It was us who spent the last thousand years in reciprocal hate and kill each other. It was us who demonstrated in the first place not to be able to call ourselves a nation, allowing others to choose in our place and have the control of our lives.
Italy cannot exist if the Italians themselves don't want it to!"
"Things change, Grazia. You saw it yourself, just two years before Europe as a whole rose up, and all the people raised their heads loudly clamoring for the same thing. I myself saw peoples, up until then mortal enemies, fight together for the same dream. If it happened elsewhere, it can happen in Italy as well."
Grazia's teeth closed like a vice, causing a terrible sound.
"What do you think you know about it?" she screamed, her eyes reddened by both tears and rushing blood. "What do you think you know, of what we go through? Even if you wear these stinky clothes and ride like a man, are you forgetting that you're one of them?! You do know of what the Imperial repression forces did in Poland and Finland, don't you? The Tsar is a butcher just as much as the bastards who hanged those men!
So don't pretend to understand or be aware of our situation, because one day you will be among those who will be hanging patriots from the trees to keep hold of the power they have!"
"Just wait a minute." replied Olga, visibly shocked and offended, but still perfectly in control. "I am my father's daughter, true, but as I said it is not written in stone that I should applaud the way he governs. And you should know, if I were to be a queen, I'd never abuse of the power granted to me, not in a hundred years!"
"That's what everybody says, only to think again once they have a taste of that power."
"What is happening, Grazia? You're not yourself since we stopped by that farm. What happened there? I don't..."
Everything went to hell in but one instant; the Grand Duchess first heard something clicking, and then, going silent out of consternation, she found herself looking at the mouth of a pistol.
"Get down from that horse."
"Grazia..." she whispered, staring wide-eyed at her friend.
"I said, get down."
Grazia's stare was empty, but it was nonetheless terrifying, so much that Olga, almost automatically, was unable to resist further. Once her feet were on the ground, the young Orsini took the horse's bridles and, moving up, struck him and made him flee.
"Colleferro is little more than a mile away, beyond that hill." Grazia continued, without lowering the pistol. "All mornings, by seven o'clock, a coach goes to Rome. Take it, and get back home to Russia."
"Why, Grazia?" mumbled Olga, her face the epitome of someone who had been struck in the back by a trusted one. "Please, talk to me. I can help you."
"No, you can't. You can't."
Only then the Grand Duchess took notice of the extreme bewilderment, almost apathy, that escaped the superficial coldness and aggressiveness that Grazia had built around herself, and that made her hide with any means possible the tears that threatened to reveal her true feelings.
"I am sorry. I would've never wanted to end it like this. But it's for the best."
With those words Grazia strongly, almost angrily gave her horse a taste of the spurs, and it took off as fast as it could.
So, all of a sudden, Olga found herself alone, and for a long minute she was unable to do anything but to listen to the noise of the hoofs growing farther and farther, until it died out in the silence of the night.
She had a bad, very bad feeling; a horrible gut feeling that she was unable to shake off, and that made her really apprehensive for the life of someone whom, despite that sudden turnabout, she still felt able to consider a true friend.
She wanted to do something, but what?
She didn't even have the slightest idea of where she was, or how to reach Anzio. Not to mention that she was on foot, now.
Grimly, she turned to look at the town, sighing and shivering when her eyes met the three sods hanging from the gibbet.
It was then that she saw something that seemed able to reignite her hopes. She immediately put a hand into the satchel, almost trembling and looking down; when they had changed out at the beginning of their adventure, she had had the foresight to drop anything that could have betrayed her disguise, and potentially able to reveal, if not her very name, at least her true rank.
She had kept only one thing for herself, a thing most dear to her because it was the only remembrance of her beloved sister Aleksandra, from some time by then dearly mourned. She had promised herself never to part ways with it for the rest of her life, but despite that in that moment she metaphorically put on a balance her sister's memory with the fate of her new friend.
And after that, she had no more doubts left.
A few minutes later, the only owner of a horse in that small hamlet was dragged from his bed by a mighty knocking on his door, that kept shaking his house despite his protests.
"And who in the devil ruins people's sleep like this?" he cursed as he walked to the door, only to find himself face to face, after he had opened it, with a golden ring worthy of a queen, crowned by a large diamond surrounded by a huddle of rubies.
"I would like to buy your horse."
Although it was four strokes past midnight, the Spiaggia del Nettuno, standing halfway between the town of the same name and the village of Anzio, was still pitch black, among almost absolute darkness.
Dark clouds had covered the moon, announcing a nasty storm coming from the north for the next day, and along the narrow gravel road that went along the beach there was not a soul to be met.
Grazia, lone rider, advanced at a slow trot along said road, with a small light on her saddle to lit up the road, all the while eyeing the desert beach, looking for something that indicated a human presence-
The uninterrupted lapping of the waves, together with the muffled sound of the hooves and the panting of that poor horse (by then at its limit), were her only companions, but the girl could also feel her own heart's nervous beating, that she was barely able to keep under control remembering what was in play, on more than one level.
All of a sudden, as if somebody had finally noticed her, in the dark a light shone, right next to a large but crumbling building standing just a few feet away from the sea; surely a shed used by the fishermen to keep their boats safe.
Glimpsing a shadow near the shed, Grazia moved the horse towards it, and soon she recognized him as the same man clad in black who had dragged her into that whole mess.
As she came close to him, she stopped, climbing down from her horse with an expression that on somebody else's face would have looked threatening; but that seemed anything but for her "patron", who did not look perturbed in the least, even when they were finally face to face, less than ten yards away from each other.
"And your companion?" asked the man in black, whose undefined shape was finally revealed to Grazia as due to a cumbersome, completely black dress, as well as a long cloak with a large hood raised onto his head.
"It's not anything that concerns you." replied Grazia, bitterly and viciously.
The kidnapper hesitated, as if understanding that the girl standing before her was no longer the same one he had met just two evenings before, but chose not to probe further.
"Do you have the package?"
Grazia fished into her satchel, and took out the still sealed envelope.
"Excellent work." said the man, extending his hand. "Give it to me."
"Absolutely not. I want to see Carlotta first."
"Your friend is alright; you don't have to worry about it."
"You didn't hear me. Either you let me see her, or you'll have to recover this from the sea."
By then aware that the girl was no longer the youngster vulnerable to blackmail that he had known, the kidnapper chose to give her a treat.
All he needed was a snap of his fingers, and a young man, roughly thirty, with black hair and small moustaches came out of the shed together with Carlotta; she had her wrists messily tied together, but other than that she looked fine and in good health, even smiling. At the moment, Grazia didn't even consider that the thing might look strange to her.
"Carlotta." said Grazia, almost tearing up, as she and her guardian advanced until they came to a stop, some space behind the kidnapper.
"Don't worry, miss. I'm fine."
"So?" asked anew the kidnapper. "Can we close the deal?"
Grazia hesitated, as if she were thinking it over, but in the end she threw (with apparent vexation) the envelope to the man, who caught it; he, breaking the seal, opened it and let the content fall into his hand... a content of a large quantity of white sheets.
The eyes of everybody were so focused on the envelope that nobody thought to keep an eye on Grazia, at least until the sharp sound of a hammer being cocked forced their attention on her once more.
In a moment, the young Orsini had gone back to her horse, with the true papers held between her hands, together with a lamp and a revolver, the first that any of those present had ever seen, aimed at the kidnapper.
"Were you looking for these?" she asked, with the expression of somebody looking for but a pretext.
"Miss..." whispered Carlotta, looking like the most scared of them all.
If there was one thing of which Grazia was proud of were her reflexes; so, when she saw a suspicious movement under the kidnapper's cloak, she was very quick in firing a warning shot, that whizzed past his head, not far from the hood.
"Don't even try." she threatened him, cocking the hammer once more. "There are six bullets in this pistol. I can unload them into you before you can even try to use your circus tricks."
The kidnapper tried to look calm, but Grazia noticed, not without satisfaction, his gritting his teeth under the hood, clear sign of someone who realized he had underestimated his victim.
"What does this mean?" he asked, without showing anything more. "Don't you care for your maid's life?"
"If I didn't care, I wouldn't have spent the last two days running all over the Appennines like a bat out of hell. But maybe, had I known what kind of animals I was helping out, I should have acted otherwise from the start."
At that, Grazia unrolled the papers, showing their true nature.
"Safe-conducts. Securities to obtain government funds in the United States. And a passport. All registered to the same person, whose name is..."
"Giuseppe Pane!?" read Grazia at the bottom of the letter.
She couldn't believe it.
She didn't want to believe it.
That one was a name she knew all too well; as did at least half of the whole population of Europe.
If Evil had a name and a face, it must have been his.
Or at least the name, since the face, even after years, remained a mystery, since nobody in Europe could claim to have ever seen or known the legendary anarchist Giuseppe Pane.
The list of crimes for which that man was wanted was so long that it defied logic.
High treason. Conspiracy. Grand theft. Embezzlement. Homicide. Seditious activity.
There was no crime of which this kind of supernatural, faceless entity was not accused of; pretty much any civilized nation on the face of the planet had put a price on his head, and he was even wanted by some South American countries, like Brazil or Argentina.
Even in the revolutionary circles, to which rumour had him belonging to at some point, he was looked at with suspicion, if not outright hated. It was rumoured that he was a turncoat, someone more than ready to change flag as soon as the wind changed, and that he had no issue in selling out his own companions to save his own life.
Grazia lowered her head, almost ashamed of what she had been doing.
And yet, how could she take a step back?
"Do you understand, now, miss?" asked again the General. "This is what you're trying to defend. And now you'll understand why we can't allow you to go any further, even though I'm sure that you yourself are more than convinced that Giuseppe Pane cannot be allowed to escape once again the laws of God and men that he has to face at last."
"I can't help you." answered after a few moments Grazia, her eyes downcast and in a small voice.
"You should. If not for yourself, for all those people who would be endangered if Giuseppe Pane were able to reach America."
"No, you don't understand. Even if I wished to help you I couldn't. They kidnapped my best friend. And they will kill her if I won't do what I was ordered to."
D'Aspre looked taken aback, maybe struck by this revelation, maybe noticing how his prisoner's eyes had changed.
"I am sorry for your friend." he said resignedly. "But unfortunately, difficult moments call for difficult decisions."
But then, after a momentary breakdown, when Grazia raised her gaze once more both the General and his men were able to see into it something strange, unknown until then; something that was able to unnerve even veteran soldiers like them.
"Or perhaps, we might be able to reach a compromise."
The General visibly started, shocked by how a city girl finding herself in a situation so much bigger than her could still keep an enviable self-control.
"And, to be exact, what kind of accord are you thinking about?"
"I have to deliver these documents to the people who will get them to Giuseppe Pane. But you have no idea where the place to exchange them is, otherwise you would have awaited for us there.
So, here's my proposal. I get you there, and you'll give me the chance to save my friend."
"This would mean that you will have to deliver the papers to the go-between, though. And we can't allow this."
"I won't. If they see just the sealed envelope, they'll think that the papers are in their place. When they will be distracted to check them out, I will act and will get Carlotta back. And then, the thing will no longer be my concern.
What do you say? This way, we all get what we want."
The General took his time, among the clear surprise of his underlings.
"What guarantee do I have that you won't try and warn the go-between as soon as you see him?"
"Other than they still have my friend as a hostage," growled Grazia, "that bastard has threatened and had me do his own dirty work. I'll be more than happy to see him dead on the ground."
The most shocking thing, one that left D'Aspre himself in disbelief, was that those were not mere words, dictated by anger or the frustration of the moment; if only she hadn't been born a woman, somebody thought, who knows what great officer she could have been.
"Perhaps, we can hope to reach a compromise. We will allow you to help your friend, and you'll guide us to the place where the exchange will take place."
"Fine by me. But I have another request."
"What does it entail?"
"I wish to keep the papers."
Incredibly, the only one not to be shocked by that absurd demand, as if he had expected it, was the General himself.
"Do you think this is a game?" protested his aide, without regard to the difference in social rank. "What kind of request is this?"
"Granted."
"What?!" the youngster started, eyes and mouth wide. "But, General..."
"But, in exchange, you will tell us now the place of the exchange."
"Do you give me your word of officer and gentleman that you won't try to double-cross me?"
"I swear on His Apostolic Majesty's life."
"In this case, the exchange will take place tonight, around five o'clock, on the Spiaggia del Nettuno, near Anzio. And by the way, the longer we stay here telling tales, the more time passes by, so I say we cut to the chase."
The General smiled once more, then, at his command, one of the soldiers cut Grazia's ropes, and she rose to her feet.
"I need a new horse."
"Take mine. It's the Black Alsatian in the stable near the house." said D'Aspre, lighting another cigar. "I knew you were a reasonable person, Miss. But indulge me. Why did you ask me to keep the papers?"
"Because," answered Grazia between gritted teeth, with a face that gave them the shivers, "I want to have the please to force him to look, when I'll burn them before his eyes."
In a little while, constantly followed by the General and his men, Grazia reached the stable, and began to saddle up the horse that she had been pointed to.
"Sir." whispered the aide to the General, maybe convinced that she couldn't hear him. "Do you really believe this was a good idea?"
"Did you look into her eyes?" D'Aspre almost smirked. "Those were not the eyes of a doe. Those were the eyes of a she-wolf."