La Brigantessa Read online

  Alfonso gets up, still wearing his day clothes, and ambles to the window, which looks down to the rectory courtyard. The servant girl is leaning over a rabbit enclosure, murmuring something to the creatures. She is the same pretty girl he had spotted on the way into Camini. Alfonso notices how her brown dress clings to her slender waist, which he is quite sure would fit within his hands. Her hair is arranged in a thick black braid reaching almost to her tailbone, the light catching it making it resemble the blue-black of a raven’s wings. Her profile is easily distinguishable: the clear, rosy skin of her cheekbone, her straight nose, and the maroon lips that instantly invoke a painting he has of the mythical Dionysus, holding a cluster of plump grapes to his mouth.

  As Gabriella’s body straightens, he becomes aware of his own body stiffening. He has not indulged his desire for a woman since the fiasco with Clara months ago. Gambling has been his preferred mistress, and the monetary gains made lately at his favourite Venetian haunts have been more than sufficient to keep him positioned at the gaming table instead of over a lover.

  Oh, he has thought about the pleasures of the body many times throughout his journey south, but with his brother Claudio as his constant companion, and the limited stops made along the way, the opportunity to indulge in carnal passions has never presented itself.

  On one occasion at an inn near Rome, the trattoria owner’s daughter winked at him when her father was busy settling the account with Claudio, and Alfonso was instantly inflamed by her swarthy attractiveness and revealing bodice. But there was no excuse he could think of to extend their stay. The little trollop passed by him deliberately, feigning clumsiness with a bread basket as she stumbled, brushing her bosom against him. With a giggle, she sauntered off into the kitchen. The journey from Rome to Naples had been unbearable and Alfonso had to lie when Claudio queried as to his seeming discomfort.

  Alfonso straightens his clothes and slips on his burgundy jacket. As he descends the stone steps, the clock chimes mid-afternoon. He recalls that Don Simone left earlier to administer the last rites to a farmer in the neighbouring hamlet of Riace. Claudio has gone to the town of Stilo to consult with the pharmacist. The farmhand Lorenzo is out in the fields and won’t be back until sunset, and his son Luciano has scampered off to spend the day with his friends.

  Alfonso heads to the far door in the hallway that leads to the courtyard. The fresh air fans his face. Gabriella whirls around with a welcoming smile that fades when she sees him. “Oh, Signor Alfonso. I’m sorry. I thought you were my brother.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Signorina Gabriella.” He gazes at the animal enclosures and the narrow path that leads to the barn and the acreage from which Don Simone and the Falcone family derive their subsistence.

  The property stretches interminably. The silver-green foliage of the hundreds of olive trees is visible against the pale sky, undulating in the salt-tinged breeze. Alfonso breathes deeply and returns his gaze to Gabriella. “I didn’t realize anyone was here.” He gestures at the barn and beyond. “I wanted to take a closer look at this part of the property. I had no idea it was so extensive.”

  He notices that Gabriella is clenching her fingers. He senses she is flustered, no doubt unaccustomed to visitors in her work area. “Now that I am here, would you mind showing me about?” He makes an effort to keep his voice polite, but with an inflection of authority that will make Gabriella understand that it is not so much a request but a subtle demand to which he expects compliance.

  She nods, picks up her skirts, and steps gingerly through the path strewn with hen and pigeon droppings. Alfonso follows at a leisurely pace. He half-listens as she points out the fig and plum trees, the persimmons and the medlars, and the various pots and urns filled with aromatic herbs. They arrive at the barn and its outside enclosures, where several goats are nibbling on the grassy stubble. A few cows stand flank to flank, their ears and tails twitching at the flies, their large eyes dark and vacuous.

  “I’d like to see the condition of the stables.” Alfonso motions for Gabriella to lead the way. He is repulsed by the overpowering smell of manure but feels a stirring at its rawness. Gabriella hesitates. She nods and picks up a knitted shawl lying on a dilapidated wicker chair and drapes it over her shoulders.

  Her eyes are bewitching. Shimmering river stones, dark brown with slivers of light. And her face, smooth and peach-toned, like a fine terracotta vase, devoid of the imperfections of the typical peasant-made pottery. Her face reminds Alfonso of a soft, unmarred beach, glistening in the sun. She doesn’t have the thick, dark features of many of the peasant girls and women he has seen walking along the road, their faces weathered and lined.

  As they enter the stables, a mule shuffles in its enclosure, nostrils flaring. Gabriella retrieves a small apple from her apron pocket. The mule neighs and nudges her hand roughly. Gabriella frowns, and Alfonso clears his throat impatiently. She draws her shawl tightly around her and moves on.

  The smell of animal dung is more intense inside the stables. It doesn’t seem to bother Gabriella in the least, but Alfonso finds it smothering, and he stifles his urge to gag. He is not really interested in the sheep, the goats, the mule, or the new piglet that Gabriella tells him was procured at the fall fair in Locri, which they will feed and fatten for next year’s slaughter.

  He is more than happy to leave the stench of the pigsty, with its remnants of squash rinds and vegetable peelings, bruised pears, quinces, and apples. They come to the far side of the barn, its floor scattered with hay. One wall is lined with orderly bales of hay, and on the adjacent side, roughly hewn planks lead up to a hayloft. Alfonso follows Gabriella’s gaze. A rectangular opening in the loft wall lets in a shaft of light. There is a cot close to the window.

  “This is one of Luciano’s favourite spots,” she tells him. “He loves the animals and spends hours with them. Occasionally, he sleeps here at night, and more often than not, he ends up napping here in the afternoon.” She smiles. “So that’s where his new vest has gotten to. I’ll go and fetch it. I won’t be but a minute.” She lifts her skirts slightly as she proceeds up the stairs. Alfonso doesn’t hesitate. He follows, taking the steps two at a time.

  Gabriella, grey woollen vest in hand, turns, her eyebrows furrowing. Alfonso catches her eyeing the space between him and the stairwell. She takes a step forward. He shifts his position so that the space is blocked.

  “Signorina Gabriella,” he murmurs, extending his hands to her arms. “I have some news to share with you. Don Simone has made mention of the preoccupation you and your father have felt over the exchange of the church lands. Please, don’t be worried. As the new proprietor, I have already decided that you and your family may remain in my employ. You and your father seem to be quite capable in maintaining the crops and animals. And Don Simone will remain in Camini in his present capacity as priest.” He flashes a smile that he hopes she will find reassuring. “We are to finalize the papers this evening, upon Don Simone’s return.”

  Alfonso feels Gabriella stiffening and he realizes he has been pressing her arms. Could it be that she has been untouched by a man? He releases his hold on her. Gabriella is batting her eyes, but unlike that trollop Clara, hers are completely innocent.

  “Everything will remain as before, I assure you, Signorina Gabriella,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “I realize how hard it would be for your father to find employment if dismissed at a moment’s notice, especially at this time of year. He would be hard-pressed to provide for you and your little brother.” He steps toward her and she inches back, her pretty eyebrows furrowing.

  “Don Simone tells me that his only recourse would probably be to separate your family; perhaps a convent for you and an orphanage for your little brother, the nearest of which, I understand, is situated in Gerace.” Alfonso feathers Gabriella’s cheek with his palm. Her face has lost its peachy tone, and she is trembling. “You wouldn’t want to be the cause of your family�
��s separation, would you?”

  He sees a flicker in her dark eyes; the vein at the base of her neck is throbbing. Her mouth has opened at his mildly spoken words. She makes an impulsive dash to one side, but again he thwarts her. With one fluid movement, he has her flat on the cot and he is sitting beside her, holding her arms back above her head. When she opens her mouth to scream, Alfonso leans over to stifle her with his own mouth.

  She tries to squirm beneath him, then goes limp. He wants to taste more of her mouth, but he releases her momentarily, and as she struggles to regain her breath, he rasps, “Don’t be afraid, Signorina Gabriella. This arrangement will be to everyone’s best interests.”

  He lets go of one hand and runs it impatiently under the folds of her skirt, until he has made contact with her stockinged leg. She cries out then, but he knows as well as she that there are no ears about to hear her, save those of the animals. Her father is not expected until sundown, and Don Simone will be detained until at least the supper hour.

  Her grunts and her jerks excite him. He finds the edge of her stockings and tears them off, using his body to press against hers, and his other hand to clamp both her hands back on the cot above her head. He presses his lips to hers again, thrusting his tongue inside. She gags, and he releases her, looking down hungrily at her wild-eyed expression.

  He clenches his jaw and begins to run his hands along her calves, up around her thighs and buttocks. He hears himself groan. With one hand, he yanks at her bodice. He buries his face in her heaving bosom, and without her mouth clamped, she begins to scream. Without hesitation, he releases his hold on her wrists and slaps her. He hears her suck in her breath. His own breath quickens.

  “Now, Gabriella, that could have been avoided. Has no one taught you your place?” He has deliberately omitted the “Signorina.” She is a peasant, after all. There is no longer any need to pretend at polite conventions of speech. He gazes at the side of her flaming face. His nail must have caught a corner of her mouth, there is blood oozing from her swollen lower lip. He shifts his position to unbuckle his belt. From her petrified expression, Alfonso is convinced she is untouched. The thought of being her first lover makes him gasp. He slips his trembling hand under her skirts again and begins to pull at her undergarments, anxious to begin his exploration. Her breath is ragged now, and as she begins to sob, he continues to press down upon her.

  After his self-imposed abstinence, Alfonso feels dizzy with the prospect of initiating a maiden to the carnal realities of life. The dank earthy smells of the animals around him are intensifying his urges, and he yanks off his belt, muttering a curse at the awkwardness of trying to manipulate it with one hand, while keeping Gabriella pinned down.

  “What in devil’s name is going on here?” a voice thunders below.

  “Papà,” Gabriella screams, “Help me!”

  Alfonso jumps up, his fists clenching. Gabriella’s father is leaping up the stairs, his face contorted in fury.

  “You goddamned piece of shit,” Lorenzo cries, hurling himself at Alfonso. “The church’s lands are not enough for you? You have to take the virtue of an innocent girl as well? Bastardo!”

  He rams his fist into Alfonso’s stomach. Alfonso grunts and stumbles back but recovers in time to block Lorenzo’s next punch. Lorenzo is intent on killing him, he realizes, catching sight of the old man’s eyes. They are bloodshot, and his mouth is twisted in a rabid grimace. His leg shoots up to catch Alfonso in the groin, but Alfonso breaks away from Lorenzo’s hypnotic gaze fast enough to deflect the hit to his thigh.

  Grimacing, Alfonso steps back; this gives him the few seconds he needs to recover. He is not entirely inexperienced when it comes to settling a score in a physical manner; he has, on occasion, reserved this method for gambling partners who reason with their coglioni instead of their brains.

  Bracing himself, he takes as much air as his lungs will hold and then rams into Lorenzo. Lorenzo gasps and then collapses, his head hitting the edge of the stairwell with a loud crack.

  Alfonso watches as the forces of gravity propel the twisted body down the stairs, the blood from the gash on Lorenzo’s head streaking each step, until the body slumps like a potato sack on the ground. Lorenzo looks like a crumpled doll that has been flung by an invisible hand.

  Alfonso blocks Gabriella from leaping down the stairs. He feels her fists beating onto his back, but he doesn’t move or flinch. He watches as Lorenzo’s body twitches and then stills.

  “Papà! Papà!” Gabriella’s hysterical streams are close to his ear. He turns and with a back hand silences her. He picks her up and deposits her on the cot.

  “Stupid peasant,” he mutters. “If you had kept your mouth shut in the first place, none of that would have happened.”

  Gabriella doesn’t move. Her face is drained of all colour. She has fainted, he realizes, smiling. He bunches her skirts up around her thighs. The paleness of her skin makes him catch his breath as he closes his fingers around her anklebones, before caressing the swell of her calves, her delicate knee bones, and the firmness of her ivory thighs.

  Sweating, he stops and rises to remove his trousers. He swears when the opening of his trousers catches. He wrenches it until it opens, tearing it in the process, and the tension he feels as he is extricating himself from the material is unbearable. He kicks his trousers away from his feet and turns to tower over Gabriella’s still form.

  He positions himself over her, enjoying the slow torture he is putting himself through as he rubs himself along the length of her leg. The droplets on his face have turned to rivulets, and he opens his mouth to catch them as they slip down his face. He brushes back the hair that keeps falling in front of his eyes.

  The smell of the straw and the whiff of animal scents from the enclosures excite him. He drops down flat over her and begins to kiss the soft hollows of her neck. Her sudden gasps inflame him. He shifts, grunting, until he feels the rise of her bosom. He nudges her bodice down completely and his tongue begins circling over the pale mounds. Her body jerks for an instant, then stills.

  His lips close over one nipple. He feels himself quivering. Has he ever known such delirious pleasure? He wants to bite her, suckle her, take his time, but he knows he can wait no longer. He lifts himself slightly, using one hand to quickly spread her legs. He shudders, aware that he is already drooling. He wants to drive into her, pulse against her until he explodes. As the tip of his member brushes against her softness, he groans and pulls back, preparing his thrust.

  A sudden scream shatters the silence, and he realizes it is his own. Pain is searing through all the channels of his brain. It is radiating like burning embers around his neck, fragmenting his vision like the jagged shards of a smashed wineglass.

  Instinctively, he clasps the area that is on fire. The hand he retracts is slick with blood. He looks down. A dagger’s shaft is glistening in Gabriella’s hand. Rolling from the cot, Alfonso feels his body spasm as it empties its passion on the prickly, straw-packed floor.

  TONINO SHIFTS ON THE STRAW-COVERED FLOOR of the barn loft. In the scant illumination provided by a crescent moon, he can barely make out the faces of his comrades. Most of them have already succumbed to a deep sleep on the crude planks that serve as their beds. Their uneven snoring is magnified in the stillness of the night, distracting him from the putrid smells in the barn. Earlier, the General had allowed them a brief rest on the more arduous embrace of the forest floor. Despite the woollen coverlet he brought with him, Tonino felt the dampness seep into his muscles, and while he lay in discomfort, trying to accustom himself to the feel of a clump of hardened earth as his pillow and the unyielding ground beneath him, the impassioned words of the General came back to him the second night they had gathered in Pietro’s cellar.

  “I offer you neither rank nor honour, but toil, peril, battle, and then the sky for a tent, the earth for a bed, and God above as witness.”

  Tonino
feels goosebumps trail a path along his arms at the memory of Garibaldi’s steely delivery of that declaration, and the immediate hush that followed before a cry of solidarity burst forth from his followers, old and new. Including Tonino.

  He acknowledges that he has been gripped with the scarlet fever of being a Redshirt, and although his body pulses with a patriotic fervour that he knows he must tend to, another part of him trembles with the unfulfilled promise of love that he has knowingly cast aside. He thinks of the letter Gabriella should have received by now.

  Oh Gabriella, how I wish I could have told you everything before I left, especially that I had to leave so soon. But I knew that if I did, one look into the depths of your eyes would have made me crumble at your feet like a devoted slave. And perhaps I would have eventually hated myself for not allowing myself to become the man that I wanted to be; the man to fight for the cause of United Italy; the man to help bring change to this godforsaken territory we are struggling in. And even worse than hating myself, I would have died watching your love turn to hate. For how long would you be able to love a man who cowardly chose to think only of himself instead of the good that could come to many by joining the brave General Garibaldi in his cause to unify the whole of Italy? To free Rome from the French?

  My dearest Gabriella, trust me when I say that leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. But I swear on the grave of all our loved ones, that I will return to you after this mission is over, and we will never be separated again. We will have the life we were meant to have together, and land, and children, and happiness.