Brotherhood: The Recruits [16/?]
Brotherhood: The Recruits
Author: name_me_regret
AN: The title came to me that same night around midnight, but I had no chance to post the chapter. Then yesterday work was so exhausting that I went to sleep at seven and woke today at 5:30am. So, only now have I been able to post it. Hopefully, it’s alright, but eh, who cares.
Chapter Sixteen: The Perfect Flawed Plan
It was pitch black that night, since there were dark clouds that dominated the sky, and thus no moonlight to guide their steps. That would serve them in the long run, since even with torches, one had to be really close to see faces, but before that happened they’d get a crossbow bolt in the chest. Matteo took point, since he donned his Captain’s garb, and thus had a lesser risk of being questioned if he was spotted first. It was all part of the plan, which is the reason that one of his men was in each group; with the exception of Giovanni’s group who had Domenico, the worse at archery. They were all quite capable, and determined to see this through. Each of them would be placed strategically, and their armor would keep them from being discovered. The only one that ran the greater risk of being seen was Augusto, who was just as good as Giovanni since he’d trained with the slightly older man on the side during their two years of hiding.
So, Matteo’s group would come from the north, the back side of the compound, since that meant he would be positioned on a section on a lower roof and flanked on both sides by the higher roof, and thus be partially shielded from view.
Matteo waited anxiously beside Fabiola as they crouched down against the wall, and Augusto silently scaled the wall above them using indentations on its surface as he went. He had the crossbow and bolts secured on his back, and the bandolier of throwing knifes attached at his waist. As he crested the edge, he was hidden from view by the railing, but an opening in the stone allowed him to track the archers’ movements. When he was close enough to him and not in danger of the body falling into the courtyard below, did he strike. The throwing knife hissed through the air and found purchase in between his breastbone and piercing his light armor, and the guard staggered in shock on his face before he crumpled like a sack of potatoes.
The young man scrambled over the edge and dragged it out of sight, and swallowed back bile as it rose and threatened to spill past his lips. Augusto may have already killed before during the last attempt to kidnap Giotto, but had never been so close to a corpse. However, he refused to suffer the embarrassment of throwing up where Matteo would hear him, who had seen his share of death and probably caused more than Augusto ever had.
So, he moved the man’s dead weight without complaint, but naught without a bit of difficulty, and when he was stuffed securely in a corner he gave Fabiola and Matteo the signal. As the other two moved toward the main entrance, Augusto positioned himself in his spot but with the torch light at his back. He had his bundle of crossbow bolts at his side and the dead archers supply as well. Augusto saw the glint of torchlight reflected off the sword three times from the south, west and east locations and he quickly did his own signal. Now, all he had to do was wait for the eight on the ground to kill the guards at the gate without alerting the rest of the compound, and the four positioned on the roof would take out any stragglers before Matteo and the others were discovered.
The dark clouds overhead finally released its weight in water five minutes later as the torches all over were extinguished. Augusto was unmoving as he crouched in place and his sharp eyes watched two of the gate try to relight the torches as soon as the brief shower passed. Fabiola darted in between the four distracted guards and with four swipes of her sword; the men were dead before they hit the ground. It was easy enough to drag the bodies off and hide within some nearby bushes, while the rest slipped silently into the compound. Augusto saw everything from his position on the low hanging roof, and he was sure that if it hadn’t run the risk of exposing himself, Giovanni would have taken out the men with ease from his southern position, which was right above the gate. Augusto didn’t know how the man had managed to get up there without being seen, and kill the patrolling archer without alerting the ones guarding the gate.
Augusto spied a four man patrol heading in his sister’s direction as she moved along with Matteo covering her back. The young man aimed at the one at the back and he fell with a clank of his armor, but by the time they turned to investigate the noise, Augusto had loaded once more and killed a second. Before the last two could run for cover or sound the alarm, Fabiola and Matteo had come up behind them and quickly slit their throats. All four teams moved in this manner, leaving the dead in their wake. When there was no sign of life in the open courtyard and the surrounding buildings, all the eight on ground level converged on the main building. They couldn’t risk leaving anyone alive in case they alerted their presence to anyone waiting for them, or get reinforcements from the tower.
Fabiola and Matteo peered in through the windows on their side of the main building as the rest crouched close to the ground. The young man saw his sister and the Captain huddle together and have a one-sided discussion as Fabiola would nod or give Matteo hand gestures. Augusto understood her perfectly even from where he was crouched on the roof, since at times she moved her hands in certain ways to convey some things. He had learned to read her hand gestures, since they’d always understood each other without the use of words. During the years of her torture, they had drifted apart and had never understood it until he knew the truth.
His sister lifted her head and Augusto knew she was looking at him, and it was confirmed when she lifted her hands to gesture thirty, but whether there were thirty men with Ottavio or with Ottavio it equaled thirty. Regardless, that as still too many for the eight down below and there was also the dilemma on how to get them to come outside. Once more, the element of surprise would have to be employed, and they just had to figure out how to do it.
Fabiola seemed to have an idea as she gestured to Matteo, and tried to explain her plan. Finally, after they struggled to communicate, the Captain understood and signaled the archers to be ready. Augusto watched Fabiola’s lithe figure dart away from their group and go around to the back of the house. He couldn’t see her from where he was, but before she had moved away from the others he’d seen her withdraw two smoke bombs from her pouch. The young man wondered if she planned on throwing them in a back room. That way it would only seem like there was a fire, because he knew she'd never place Giotto in such danger. So, using the smoke bombs was the only thing she could use to smoke them out, and making them believe there was a fire. Ottavio, despite all the damage he’d done, was sure to genuinely care for the boy, and would get him to safety.
When Augusto saw the smoke billowing from under the door and any open windows, he readied his crossbow while at the same time noted that he had twenty-five projectiles left. It would be enough with a clear shot, but this plan would ensure that there would be too much movement as they ran out of the building. When their allies engaged them in combat, it’d be harder to get a shot in without risk of hitting their own. Even with Giovanni and Augusto’s excellent aim, it’d be hard pressed not to hit Matteo’s men or the mercenaries, and so he’d join the fray as soon as the fighting started. If he was correct in his assumption, the rest of the archers would do the same, and also make sure not to let anyone live or they’d bring reinforcements.
Augusto managed to kill two before there was too much fighting to distinguish friend from foe. He took the twenty bolts that he had left and attached them at his back, since he’d wasted five just trying to hit the two he’d managed to kill. As he hopped down to a lower roof, Augusto cursed as a projectile slammed into his shoulder, and in the haze of pain he tumbled off the roof. The wind was knocked out of his lungs with the impact, and he could vaguely hear someone scream his name before everything went black.
~o~
Fabiola had been fighting furiously against a much larger opponent when he heard Matteo scream her brother’s name, and her eyes snapped to where she’d heard the scream. Augusto was unconscious on the ground on the other side of the compound with a knife in his shoulder. She jumped away from an attack as the one she was fighting tried to injure her while she was seemingly distracted. Only when she saw Matteo defend her downed brother did she engage the bastard again, viciously ending the fight so she could help Augusto.
She stopped in her tracks before she made it, and then dashed off in another direction. There were only two things that would stop her from going to her brother’s side, and the first was if she was dead, and the second was if her son’s life was in danger. This is the reason she ran off, since she spotted Ottavio and in his arms was a squirming Giotto. He was trying to push away from Ottavio, and when that didn’t seem to work he was pulling his hair and hitting his face. Ottavio was red faced and fumbling to keep a hold on the boy and his sword at the same time, and trying to walk forward was out of the question.
Fabiola was quick and noiseless as she came up behind him and lifted a foot to kick him in the back of his knee, thus making his leg give way. He scrambled to keep his balance and in the process he lost hold of Giotto. The boy proved himself to be Matteo’s son as he landed on his feet and immediately raced away from the fighting. Fabiola didn’t follow after the boy, knowing that as long as he kept hidden then nothing would happen to him. The boy would not make a sound, since he didn’t speak and would wait quietly until one of his parents came for him.
Meanwhile, Fabiola was left confronting Ottavio who had risen to his feet, and the only sign that she was afraid was her sword hand trembling. However, she would not fail at this, not this time. She would not allow this man to harm her son ever again.
“Our son is beautiful, Fabiola,” Ottavio called out as he swung his sword at her, which she blocked and quickly countered. He stumbled back in surprise, pressing a hand to his stomach which came away bloody. “You’ve learned a few tricks.” She flashed him a snarl and launched herself at him, taking the offensive and forcing him to defend. They exchanged a few blows and although she had the advantage of speed, he was stronger and every time their swords connected, she was driven back. It was starting to look like she might lose and everything she had worked for seemed futile, and hopeless.
Ottavio feinted at hit at her right side, and when she went to block, he twisted his wrist and his sword cut her deeply on her left side. Fabiola cried out in shock and pain, clutching at her wound but her sword was still up. She would not surrender, not this time. The man, at seeing her defiance, chuckled and casually circled her as her weapon followed his trek and they could now both see her hand trembling. “Despite everything that’s happened, I still want you at my side, Fabiola.” He twirled the sword easily, showing that he had more practice than she, and that perhaps she would never be a match for him. Whether it was because his skill surpassed hers or because her fear of him hindered her was unclear.
He moved so fast that she could do nothing but watch as her sword was knocked out of her hand, and she met his fierce black eyes with frightened caramel. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, Fabiola.” He moved his sword away and held out his other hand toward her. “Just take my hand, and you, Giotto, and I can form a family.” She knew he was being sincere and that if she took his hand, everything would be better, and perhaps he would make a great father. They could be happy.
However, this man had raped her. He had killed her father, and what’s more, he had kidnapped Giotto and terrorized her son. So, there was no way she could live with him and look at him every day knowing all the harm he had done to her and her family. Then there was the fact that Augusto would never forgive her, and that she was in love with Matteo. Fabiola shook her head and spat at his feet, showing him at least with actions what she felt about his proposition.
Ottavio sighed as he closed his eyes, dropping his hand at his side and said nothing for a moment. “Then it ends here,” he proclaimed, lifting the sword and pointing it in the middle of her chest. “Because I would rather kill you than see you in the arms of that figlio di puttana, Matteo da Vigo.” Fabiola winced as she pressed harder against her bleeding side, and when he lifted the sword she could only close her eyes and accept her fate, hoping her brother and Matteo would get Giotto out of here.
There was the sound of running footsteps, and then someone getting tackled. Fabiola’s eyes snapped open in surprise and saw that Matteo had saved her once again. Both men rolled around the ground for several moments, trying to hit each other and looking like a couple of boys involved in a schoolhouse brawl. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Fabiola might have allowed herself a laugh at the sight. However, soon they separated with Ottavio’s knife plunged into Matteo’s thigh as the man rolled away with a grunt of pain.
They recovered their feet and circled one another and even if she wanted to stay and find out who would win this fight, she needed to go find Giotto. She was afraid he may have gotten caught up in any fighting happening nearby. So, with one last longing glance at the former Captain, she hurried off in the same direction that the boy had run to.
She found him huddled in between two buildings, in a small space that only someone as small as him could have fit. Fabiola beckoned him forward, and he crawled slowly and silently out of the niche and into his mother’s arms. The woman sighed in relief at having her boy back with her, and promised never to allow anyone to separate them. She realized that the one person that could do such a thing was Ottavio, who was at that very moment fighting Matteo. Fabiola straightened and hurried back the way she had come.
It was something she would never forget, as she rounded the corner of the main courtyard where the battle was taking place, and the deafening noise of the fighting wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of her son’s scream.
“Papa!”
Fabiola’s mouth was open in horror as she saw Matteo fall to Ottavio’s sword. The boy was trying to wiggle out of her grip but she had a firm hold of him, and she started to walk forward until she was running. Both mother and child fell at his side, Fabiola immediately trying to staunch the flow of blood to his stomach wound but there was so much blood.
“Fabiola, take care of our son,” he coughed, blood bubbling up out of his mouth. She knew there was no hope as tears spilled down her face, and she leaned down and kissed him despite the blood.
“I love you,” she rasped, her throat scratchy from disuse. Fabiola knew then that this truly would be the last thing she ever said. The man smiled, mouthing the words in return before his eyes fluttered closed. Fabiola bit back the wail of grief that wanted to rip from her throat and pulled her sobbing son off Matteo’s body as he fought against her. She placed her face against his baby smooth cheek and made a soft mewl-like sound to try and comfort him. He wrapped his legs around her waist while burying his face into her shoulder, and as she stood, she faced the man that had taken Giotto’s father away from him.
Ottavio had a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he moved the bloody stained sword from side to side. Fabiola took up the dead man’s weapon and held it in a defensive position, because she wouldn’t attack while she had Giotto in her arms, and she wouldn’t put him down. He circled her like a tiger stalking its prey, and when he got too close she slashed at him but he easily danced away from the reach of her sword.
“Are you ready?” asked the black haired man, a cruel grin twisting his features. He darted forward on the offensive as Fabiola stumbled back, managing to parry a hit every now and then and when she couldn’t, turned away so Giotto wouldn’t be harmed. They were mild cuts and they stung as the sweat from her body entered the open wounds. When she felt like a single cut more and she’d dissolve into ribbons, he stopped seven feet from her as she panted with her sword still in her hand. “Still not ready to give up?” he asked. He lifted his empty hand again toward her, once more giving her the option of taking his offer. This time she sprang forward with her sword and the tip cut deeply into his palm. “Cazzo!” Ottavio cursed and snapped his hand back, cradling it to his chest as blood stained his uniform. “Have it your way, troia!”
~o~
He moaned as he regained consciousness, the movement causing nausea to coil in his stomach and became aware that a pair of hands was dragging him somewhere. Augusto blinked dark brown eyes and his dim surroundings were blurred for a few seconds before everything came into sharp focus. He was in an alleyway, and the one that had dragged him away from the fighting was Giovanni. As he tried to regain his coherency, an enemy soldier came in their direction, and he tried to assist a distracted Giovanni by using a throwing dagger but his aim was off and it only grazed the soldier’s thigh. However, it was enough distraction for Giovanni to twist around with sword in hand and drove it all the way to the hilt up into his ribcage. As he was shoving the dead man off his sword, Augusto yanked out the dagger out of his shoulder with a grunt of pain, and examined it.
Most of the torches had gone out during the brief bout of rain, but there were some that had been re-lit before them and their allies had eliminated the soldiers in the courtyard. Thus he was able to use the light of the torch in the alleyway to see the Farnese crest engraved on the dagger. “Figlio di puttana,” he hissed angrily before wiping it off and sheathing it in his own sheath for the time being. Augusto wanted it with him, so when he got close enough, he’d use the bastard’s own weapon to plunge into his heart. Augusto was very aware of where the heart was, since he’d studied designs of the human body to be able to paint people better. Now, it would serve him in insuring that he properly delivered the death blow.
Augusto wrapped his shoulder with bandages he had as tight as he could without cutting off circulation, and left the alleyway to join the fighting. Giovanni had been forced to leave him and assist Lorenzo, but Augusto had insisted that he was fine. As he drew his sword and joined the fray, he noticed that one of the mercenaries had been killed, and maybe a dozen on the enemy’s side. However, that was still too many for the eleven of them that were left. Also, Fabiola and Matteo were nowhere to be seen, and it was making him nervous as hell.
He finally spotted his sister through the fighting on the other side of the compound. Giotto was in her arms as the two year old clung desperately to his mother. Ottavio had them cornered, while Fabiola swung her sword at him to keep him from coming any closer. He was filled with panic and fear, since he was too far away and there were too many in his path, and wondered where Matteo was. The man was supposed to protect his sister and Giotto. It was obvious he couldn’t do it, and he didn’t know why he’d ever approved of-
The young man was cut off mid-thought as Ottavio jumped away from Fabiola’s sword and he was finally able to see the body on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Matteo. He felt a rush of coldness settle over his heart, because he knew the man was dead. Then a fierce hatred filled him, because once again Ottavio had hurt their family. He had killed Fabiola’s only love, Giotto’s father, and... and Augusto’s friend.
Giovanni and Lorenzo were the ones closest to him when it happened, but even they couldn’t fully follow the carnage he unleashed on the soldier’s in his path. Augusto himself didn’t even remember doing it, and all he remembered thinking was that he had to get through all the fighting; and he suddenly was. As Ottavio turned, Augusto didn’t think as he lunged at the man, and his own dagger sank with a satisfying squelch in his chest. They both tumbled to the ground with Augusto on top of his ex-friend.
Ottavio stared up at him as if surprised by his appearance, and then his mouth twisted into a bloody grin. “Did you ever imagine when we were kids that we’d one day wind up here?”
Augusto’s hand tightened in a white knuckled grip around the hilt. “Those days are nothing but a bitter memory now!” he spat angrily.
The dying man lifted a shaking hand to grip the front of his shirt, bloody fingers staining the material, but he was too weak now to shake him. “Giotto is my son!”
“No!” Augusto snarled; twisting the dagger as Ottavio’s mouth opened in a silent scream of pain as blood dribbled out. “Matteo is Giotto’s father!” He ripped out the weapon and stabbed him again, but by then Ottavio was already dead.
Augusto felt a hand at his back and turned defensively, but deflated when he saw that it was only Fabiola. She had Giotto’s face buried against her shoulder to keep him from seeing anything that would scar his young mind. Augusto unfastened Ottavio’s sheath from around his waist before he pulled the dagger out of the dead man’s chest. He straightened from where he’d been straddling the corpse and secured the sheath at his own waist, and then he slipped the weapon in without cleaning the blood off.
There wasn’t anyone else alive besides the ten of them, but during the fighting one of the torches had been knocked over and the stables had been set ablaze. So, the only thing they’d be able to do was throw their dead on the make-shift pyre before the smoke attracted unwanted attention. When it was time to burn Matteo’s body, Fabiola was dry-eyed as she lovingly caressed the cold cheek, but Augusto could see the anguish in her honey colored eyes. She flicked out her knife, which he noticed belonged to the former Captain, and cut several locks of hair. Fabiola put them in a handkerchief after hastily tying it with a blood-red ribbon, and then stored it all in her pouch.
“There’s someone approaching!” Giovanni’s shout startled her out of her thoughts, and Fabiola longingly gazed at the man’s still face once more before grudgingly nodding. She turned away from them so she wouldn’t have to see them place Matteo’s body in the fire. Instead, she hurried over to where Domenico was distracting Giotto so he wouldn’t be witness to the hurried funeral pyre. Fabiola lifted Giotto in her arms before clasping Domenico’s hand as equals then parted ways. The remaining men came to say their good-byes before they all ran to the horses they’d tied off outside the building.
The rain started up in tandem then and soaked everything and everyone in seconds, yet it only served to increase the heat so fiercely that it stole the breath right out of their lungs. Fabiola lifted her head toward the distance, her wet hair plastered to her face and through the limp strands she saw the approaching soldier’s on horseback, and knew that the ten of them wouldn’t be enough to take on such a large force.
Augusto’s shout made her snap toward him, and saw the four mercenaries that remained as they abandoned them to their fate. Fabiola put her thumb and middle finger to her lips and blew, and the shrill whistle caught her brother’s attention. When he turned to her, she motioned for them to go and he reluctantly nodded. Agostino and the others headed west and the siblings went north, but it seemed that their fight was yet to be over as half chased one group and the other half came after the twins. The six riders would still be too many for the twins, and especially since Fabiola wouldn’t be able to fight with Giotto on the saddle with her. Fabiola wouldn’t let anyone harm her child, and if she had to give her life to protect his; so be it.
The guards’ stallions kept up with theirs and seemed to be gaining on them. Augusto and Matteo had conversed when they had been alone about the outcome of this particular mission. Matteo had been rather frank on the probability of survival. Augusto had no doubt that he would kill Ottavio, especially with Matteo and his men at his side. However, if the near-by tower was alerted of the attack on the compound, then there was nil chance of them coming out of it alive. So, they had hatched a plan to keep Fabiola and Giotto safe. The clouds parted momentarily and the moonlight made the drops of rain sparkle like diamonds falling from the sky, and the young man knew what he had to do. Matteo was dead, so it would fall on Augusto to carry it out alone and protect their family.
The young man urged the mare alongside Fabiola, and the other turned to look at him. Fabiola seemed to know that he had something planned and the grief on her face was as clear as day. “Get to where Caterina is waiting!” She opened her mouth as if to speak, but even if Augusto was sure he might never hear her voice ever again, he didn’t need her words right then. “GO!” He smacked the horse on the romp and it gave a whine before charging through the path, underneath the three beams secured into the earth above their heads.
Meanwhile, Augusto only went past them two feet before coming to a sudden halt and turning his mare around. He withdrew the already loaded crossbow and shot the horse out from under the leader. The man was unfortunate enough to wind up underneath the massive animal as he screamed at the horse landing on his leg all the way up to his thigh.
It forced the rest of the nine riders to stop, since the path was too narrow for them to pass around the fallen animal and the beams overhead wouldn’t allow them to jump over both horse and rider. There was a path further back that lead to a small cliff above their heads, however, Matteo had gotten the thieves to secure it so as not to let anyone through. The thieves would do just about anything for a few fiorini. A group of five men were positioned above to Augusto’s left, hidden by the shadow of the mountain that was on the right.
There was no demand for surrender as they all prepared their crossbows to fire on him before he thought to make an escape, but Augusto merely lifted a hand in the air which he closed into a fist. The projectiles rained down on the unsuspecting men as the young man watched with a sort of detached coldness that alarmed him. Three riders were shot off their horses as the animals bolted out of the line of fire, and one of the horses was killed and knocked his rider back. Another wasn’t as fortunate as he was crushed under his dead stallion when it was killed.
Augusto calmly reloaded his crossbow as he urged his mare closer to the Captain still trapped under the horse, and he pointed before unloading it in his chest. He knew that with their leader now dead the other three left would retreat, and he wasn’t surprised when they turned tail and fled. When they had gone out of sight, Augusto waved up at one of the thieves, and when he had returned the wave they all disappeared from view.
The young man sighed and turned his horse around to go in the direction that Fabiola had gone, and hopefully reach her before they met up with Agostino and the others. Afterwards, they planned to leave Roma for some time, and perhaps even Italia altogether. Their rendezvous was under the Arco di Tito and whoever arrived first would wait until dawn before leaving via the Porta Pinciana, which was the gate close to their childhood home. It might seem reckless to anyone to return there, but that was the beauty of the plan. It would seem an absurd thing to do, so they wouldn’t expect it.
Dawn was rapidly approaching, but he was certain that he’d get there before Fabiola and Caterina left, and then they’d leave Roma for good. As he was almost there, a figure hailed him from under the shadows of the arch and realized that it was Fabiola. He was momentarily concerned when he didn’t see Giotto or Caterina, but calmed when he spotted them under the shadows of the arch. Augusto dismounted and rushed forward to hug and kiss his sister’s cheek before doing the same to Caterina, and carefully kissing a sleeping Giotto. The poor child must have been exhausted by the whole ordeal. He glanced around in confusion. “Where are Giovanni and the others?” he asked in concern. They were supposed to be there with a cart and supplies for the trip.
Fabiola looked pained for a moment and glanced helplessly at Caterina. The woman spoke up because Fabiola couldn’t get the words out. “You and Fabiola are the only ones I’ve seen all night besides the patrols.”
Augusto was about to answer, but was cut off by the quick approach of footsteps. The young man sent Caterina with Giotto back to hide in the shadows as Fabiola came to stand at his side; both their hands on the hilt of their weapons. A thin man in clothes that were closer to rags was running in their direction with something clutched to his chest. As he saw the twins, he quickened his pace and Augusto and Fabiola drew their weapons.
The man stopped ten feet away from them as his chest heaved with exertion. “The nightingale soars on a warm summer breeze,” he called out, stunning the siblings. They had prepared a phrase to use in case something drastic happened, and they had to use a messenger for whatever reason. That way, they’d know that any message was authentic.
“But beware for the cat may pounce; hidden within the branches of the trees,” Augusto finished the phrase to prove that they were whom he had to relay the message to. Augusto was worried as to why Giovanni or one of the others had used a messenger, and even more so being this beggar. “Tell me what happened.”
The ragged man glanced warily behind him as if he expected an attack to come at any second, and his behavior was making Augusto very uneasy. He glanced at Fabiola as the woman ran her fingers almost daintily along the handle of her dagger. “A man in dented armor was fleeing from soldiers wearing the same uniform, and pulled me into an alleyway to evade them. He said that it was too dangerous for him to meet his friends, and that I should deliver a message, but had me memorize that phrase first.” The beggar looked over his shoulder again before glancing at the two of them. “The man would not give me his name, but he said that you should leave Roma without them. They managed to get away, but they were already exposed. He said to tell his wife and son that he loves them very much, and that he’s sorry.”
He shuffled from foot to foot nervously. “He ran out into the street to distract the soldiers so I wouldn’t be seen. Also, he...he said there would be payment on your end when I delivered the message.”
It was Fabiola that stepped forward and withdrew several fiorini from the pouch that had been attached to her belt. She gave him fifty as he greedily took them and fumbled with the empty pouch he had and all the while he wouldn’t release what he had clutched to his chest. As he was putting the last fiorini, Fabiola held out her pouch and shook it so the coins clinked and jingled against one another, and smirked as she saw his eyes snap up and fix firmly on the small money bag.
Augusto immediately took over, understanding what she wanted to say. “How would you like to earn more money?” The beggar nodded eagerly and Augusto grinned. “I need some information...”
~o~
“Hanged?!” Caterina shrieked, making Giotto cringe where he was playing close by and cover his ears. The woman stood and guided him out of the room to go play with Givovanni’s son, who was the same age as him. When she was sure he’d gone, she went back to sit where she had been. “They cannot possible hang those nice young men!” The beggar had gone to gather information on the four men, and he was the perfect spy since while clothed in rags, he disappeared into the background. It was this way that he could easily eavesdrop on the guards’ conversations, and that’s how he’d learned that Matteo and his men had been accused of treason and conspiracy against the church. A letter had been sent off before they’d attack detailing their false crimes, and as well of their plans to attack the compound. The latter was the only true crime, and it hadn’t helped that they were spotted close to the area. Anything they may have tried to say to excuse their presence there would be easily discredited, since they’d been off duty and far from their usual patrol routes.
Augusto shushed the maid with a stern look, since he didn’t want Giovanni’s wife to hear. Just before the rescue, the man had relocated his family to a safe-house. The siblings had no other place to go since their plan to escape Roma had been ruined by the other’s capture, and they couldn’t possibly leave them to their fate. Giovanni’s wife had been shocked when they had knocked urgently at dawn, but she’d made no protest and let them in before they were spotted. Although they hadn’t said anything on the four men being captured, Augusto suspected she knew simply because they’d appeared alone. However, he refused to let her know of what awaited her husband, and even more important was keeping her son from knowing.
The man had been gone most of the day and now it was nearing nightfall. “When and where are they being hanged?” Augusto demanded. There was no way he was letting another friend die for them.
“I-it’s in two days at the Piazza Navona.” The beggar, whose named he refused to give them, shifted nervously as he licked his dry lips. “I need my money now, per favore.” Augusto stared at him suspiciously for several moments. The man hadn’t looked this nervous since he’d first delivered Giovanni’s message. Fabiola also sensed the same thing and at an imperceptible nod from him, she lunged at the beggar, and slammed him into the ground as she put a knife against his throat. The man cried out in fear and pain, and Augusto heard Caterina gasp at the violence. However, she didn’t say anything since she’d already understood long ago that at times fighting violence with violence was the only way to survive.
Fabiola easily held the man down, who was really just skin and bones. Augusto crouched down beside them, picking at his fingernails with his own dagger. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I really need you to give me the right answer.” He turned the dagger away from his nails to point at the man, and at the same time Fabiola adjusted her position over him she was sitting on his chest as her legs had his arms pinned. “Did you tell anyone where we were?”
His panicked eyes darted between the siblings before moving to Caterina’s trembling figure. “I h-had no choice!” he sobbed pathetically. “One of the guards caught me eavesdropping, and forced me to tell him everything!” He tried to lift his shirt but Fabiola had his arms pinned, so Augusto reached over to yank it up. The young man saw the blood soaked bandages wrapped around his stomach and cleaner ones secured around his chest. Although the bindings hid them from view, it was likely there was heavy bruising, and it meant they’d broken his ribs. The bandaging was hastily done, which meant his torturers had done it themselves before sending him here to lay a trap for them.
“When are they coming? Is the information a trap?” He reached out and dug his fingers against the wound and the man screamed. “When and where are they being executed?!” Fabiola straddled his chest more firmly and squeezed her thighs together until he was sobbing from the pain.
“Tomorrow at noon in the Piazza del Popollo!” Fabiola glanced at her brother and when he nodded, she removed the knife and allowed the beggar to stand. As he regained his feet, the man clutched at his mid-section with a pained gasp. “When I leave and give them the signal,” he demonstrated for them, “they’ll come in to arrest you.” He glanced hesitantly at the siblings. “I’m so sorry...”
Augusto interrupted his apology as he turned toward Caterina. “Go get Helena and the kids ready to leave. Only take some food and clothes.” The woman hurried out of the room to do as she was told, and he hoped that Helena wouldn’t question it. When she’d gone, the young man sighed and turned away from the injured man. Fabiola surged forward, wrapping slender fingers around his mouth at the same time as she drove her knife up to the hilt in the older man’s chest. He bucked against her, but he was immobilized against Fabiola and the wall at his back. She twisted the knife as his muffled whimper died in a wet gurgle against her mouth before he went limp in death. Fabiola released his corpse so it fell to the floor and wiped her bloody hand as well as the knife on a handkerchief.
“Do you think the information was false?” he asked her. Fabiola looked down at the corpse, his face frozen in a mask of fear and she shook her head. “Very well, and now we have to think on a way of getting out of the house alive.” Augusto stared at the man and the rags he was wearing. “I may have an idea. Get his clothes off him so I can put them on.” Fabiola glanced warily at him, and he sighed. “You’re better with kids than me, so it’ll be better that I go out there.” He took the offered rags. “I’ll give you time to flee.” The woman nodded before straightening, and she embraced her brother before quickly moving away. Fabiola didn’t want to think that this was the last time she would see him, and instead hurried away to make sure the others were ready.
They would be watching both doors in case the fugitives tried to flee, but the second story window that was to the south was just level with the top plateau of the cliff. After the soldiers came in to arrest them, Fabiola would throw in a kerosene lamp rigged like a Molotov, and afterwards it wouldn’t be long for the whole house to catch fire. So, after making sure that Caterina, Helena and the children were out on the cliff face, Fabiola started to spread kerosene all over the first floor, and then up the stairs. Once she threw in the lantern, there would be no way to follow them up the stairs, and she only prayed that Augusto wouldn’t try to get in the house and escaped another way. After Fabiola had secured the two women and the kids somewhere safe, she’d meet Augusto at the rendezvous point. She knew that Augusto wanted to have her safe with the others, but she wouldn’t hide while he went to save Matteo’s men. She had already lost Matteo, and she was hell bent on trying to prevent their friend’s execution.
Augusto left the house wearing the man’s rags, as well as the tattered scrap of cloth he called a hat. It would be tricky to impersonate the beggar because he had long, stringy white hair coming out from under the dirty head covering. So, Augusto had cut the dead man’s hair as close to the scalp with cutting the skin, and used some pins he found to secure it on the inside of the hat. Augusto also made sure to imitate his walk, which was an awkward sideways shuffle. It worked for the young man since he could slouch forward and hide the bulge his bandolier of throwing knives made which was strapped to his waist. Fabiola had taken his sword since he wouldn’t be able to hide it, but he had a thin stiletto blade strapped along his arm, hidden by the sleeve. Augusto was grateful that the clothes were loose and baggy.
It was ideal that it was night, since during the day they’d realize right away that it wasn’t him, and he was vying for the hope that they’d dismiss him as soon as he gave them the signal. As he walked toward the north, he discreetly glanced toward the east and saw four riders standing just out of sight of the house, and he’d already seen the two at the west through a window earlier when he was looking for the pins. He’d exited through the front to draw attention away from the backdoor in case Fabiola tried that exit, since he had no idea what she had planned. He would just ensure that he bought her time.
When he was within firing range instead of giving the signal, he deftly threw two throwing knife at the two ahead of him. One of the soldiers fell dead and the Captain’s horse was killed and he was flung off. He heard the whiny of the horse and the pounding hooves of two enemies approaching from the west. Augusto jumped on the downed captain, killing him with the stiletto before grabbing the crossbow bolt he had strapped to his back. He twisted around where he’d been sitting on the man’s body, and fired the already loaded weapon, hitting one of the approaching riders but scrambled away from the other as he slashed at him with his sword from up on his saddle. As he rode past, Augusto loaded the crossbow, turned and shot him in the back. The man fell with a cry of pain and Augusto rushed forward and sank the stiletto in the disoriented man’s throat. He yanked it out with a spray of blood that splattered half his face, and his head snapped up when he heard screaming.
The safe house was on fire, and the other four guards from the east that had entered were now running out as their skin was burned off. They were rolling around trying to put out the flames, but soon they’d gone still and only the roar of the fire could be heard. Augusto hoped Fabiola and the other’s weren’t inside and he had the crazy thought of how it was possible that their houses or hiding places always ended up burning. Of course, they would have ensured that the compound where Ottavio had held Giotto kidnapped burned to the ground either way.
A shrill whistle made him look up toward the cliff, and the young man was relieved when he finally spotted Fabiola, Caterina with Giotto in her arms, and Helena cradling her own son against her chest. He was glad that they were safe and sound, and he waved at them before they disappeared from sight. Augusto shed the rags to reveal his regular clothing underneath, and mounted one of the horses of the dead soldiers’ before leaving the area. It would be dawn in a few hours, and after he met up with Fabiola they had to plan on how to best storm the Piazza di Popollo to save their comrades; their brothers. The siblings refused to abandon their friends, and if they died during their attempt to save them, they would.-
~o~
Piazza di Navona - This piazza was built on the site of the Stadium of Domitian, which was constructed during the 1st century. Located at the southwest end of the piazza was the ancient speaking statue of Pasquino. Unearthed and erected in the Piazza in 1501, the statue was used by citizens as a sign post for social parodies and anonymous derogatory comments, which were attached to it for all to read.
Piazza del Popolo - People’s Square; a famous square that once resided near the Porta Flaminia, near the northern gate Aurelian Walls.
Author: name_me_regret
AN: The title came to me that same night around midnight, but I had no chance to post the chapter. Then yesterday work was so exhausting that I went to sleep at seven and woke today at 5:30am. So, only now have I been able to post it. Hopefully, it’s alright, but eh, who cares.
Chapter Sixteen: The Perfect Flawed Plan
It was pitch black that night, since there were dark clouds that dominated the sky, and thus no moonlight to guide their steps. That would serve them in the long run, since even with torches, one had to be really close to see faces, but before that happened they’d get a crossbow bolt in the chest. Matteo took point, since he donned his Captain’s garb, and thus had a lesser risk of being questioned if he was spotted first. It was all part of the plan, which is the reason that one of his men was in each group; with the exception of Giovanni’s group who had Domenico, the worse at archery. They were all quite capable, and determined to see this through. Each of them would be placed strategically, and their armor would keep them from being discovered. The only one that ran the greater risk of being seen was Augusto, who was just as good as Giovanni since he’d trained with the slightly older man on the side during their two years of hiding.
So, Matteo’s group would come from the north, the back side of the compound, since that meant he would be positioned on a section on a lower roof and flanked on both sides by the higher roof, and thus be partially shielded from view.
Matteo waited anxiously beside Fabiola as they crouched down against the wall, and Augusto silently scaled the wall above them using indentations on its surface as he went. He had the crossbow and bolts secured on his back, and the bandolier of throwing knifes attached at his waist. As he crested the edge, he was hidden from view by the railing, but an opening in the stone allowed him to track the archers’ movements. When he was close enough to him and not in danger of the body falling into the courtyard below, did he strike. The throwing knife hissed through the air and found purchase in between his breastbone and piercing his light armor, and the guard staggered in shock on his face before he crumpled like a sack of potatoes.
The young man scrambled over the edge and dragged it out of sight, and swallowed back bile as it rose and threatened to spill past his lips. Augusto may have already killed before during the last attempt to kidnap Giotto, but had never been so close to a corpse. However, he refused to suffer the embarrassment of throwing up where Matteo would hear him, who had seen his share of death and probably caused more than Augusto ever had.
So, he moved the man’s dead weight without complaint, but naught without a bit of difficulty, and when he was stuffed securely in a corner he gave Fabiola and Matteo the signal. As the other two moved toward the main entrance, Augusto positioned himself in his spot but with the torch light at his back. He had his bundle of crossbow bolts at his side and the dead archers supply as well. Augusto saw the glint of torchlight reflected off the sword three times from the south, west and east locations and he quickly did his own signal. Now, all he had to do was wait for the eight on the ground to kill the guards at the gate without alerting the rest of the compound, and the four positioned on the roof would take out any stragglers before Matteo and the others were discovered.
The dark clouds overhead finally released its weight in water five minutes later as the torches all over were extinguished. Augusto was unmoving as he crouched in place and his sharp eyes watched two of the gate try to relight the torches as soon as the brief shower passed. Fabiola darted in between the four distracted guards and with four swipes of her sword; the men were dead before they hit the ground. It was easy enough to drag the bodies off and hide within some nearby bushes, while the rest slipped silently into the compound. Augusto saw everything from his position on the low hanging roof, and he was sure that if it hadn’t run the risk of exposing himself, Giovanni would have taken out the men with ease from his southern position, which was right above the gate. Augusto didn’t know how the man had managed to get up there without being seen, and kill the patrolling archer without alerting the ones guarding the gate.
Augusto spied a four man patrol heading in his sister’s direction as she moved along with Matteo covering her back. The young man aimed at the one at the back and he fell with a clank of his armor, but by the time they turned to investigate the noise, Augusto had loaded once more and killed a second. Before the last two could run for cover or sound the alarm, Fabiola and Matteo had come up behind them and quickly slit their throats. All four teams moved in this manner, leaving the dead in their wake. When there was no sign of life in the open courtyard and the surrounding buildings, all the eight on ground level converged on the main building. They couldn’t risk leaving anyone alive in case they alerted their presence to anyone waiting for them, or get reinforcements from the tower.
Fabiola and Matteo peered in through the windows on their side of the main building as the rest crouched close to the ground. The young man saw his sister and the Captain huddle together and have a one-sided discussion as Fabiola would nod or give Matteo hand gestures. Augusto understood her perfectly even from where he was crouched on the roof, since at times she moved her hands in certain ways to convey some things. He had learned to read her hand gestures, since they’d always understood each other without the use of words. During the years of her torture, they had drifted apart and had never understood it until he knew the truth.
His sister lifted her head and Augusto knew she was looking at him, and it was confirmed when she lifted her hands to gesture thirty, but whether there were thirty men with Ottavio or with Ottavio it equaled thirty. Regardless, that as still too many for the eight down below and there was also the dilemma on how to get them to come outside. Once more, the element of surprise would have to be employed, and they just had to figure out how to do it.
Fabiola seemed to have an idea as she gestured to Matteo, and tried to explain her plan. Finally, after they struggled to communicate, the Captain understood and signaled the archers to be ready. Augusto watched Fabiola’s lithe figure dart away from their group and go around to the back of the house. He couldn’t see her from where he was, but before she had moved away from the others he’d seen her withdraw two smoke bombs from her pouch. The young man wondered if she planned on throwing them in a back room. That way it would only seem like there was a fire, because he knew she'd never place Giotto in such danger. So, using the smoke bombs was the only thing she could use to smoke them out, and making them believe there was a fire. Ottavio, despite all the damage he’d done, was sure to genuinely care for the boy, and would get him to safety.
When Augusto saw the smoke billowing from under the door and any open windows, he readied his crossbow while at the same time noted that he had twenty-five projectiles left. It would be enough with a clear shot, but this plan would ensure that there would be too much movement as they ran out of the building. When their allies engaged them in combat, it’d be harder to get a shot in without risk of hitting their own. Even with Giovanni and Augusto’s excellent aim, it’d be hard pressed not to hit Matteo’s men or the mercenaries, and so he’d join the fray as soon as the fighting started. If he was correct in his assumption, the rest of the archers would do the same, and also make sure not to let anyone live or they’d bring reinforcements.
Augusto managed to kill two before there was too much fighting to distinguish friend from foe. He took the twenty bolts that he had left and attached them at his back, since he’d wasted five just trying to hit the two he’d managed to kill. As he hopped down to a lower roof, Augusto cursed as a projectile slammed into his shoulder, and in the haze of pain he tumbled off the roof. The wind was knocked out of his lungs with the impact, and he could vaguely hear someone scream his name before everything went black.
~o~
Fabiola had been fighting furiously against a much larger opponent when he heard Matteo scream her brother’s name, and her eyes snapped to where she’d heard the scream. Augusto was unconscious on the ground on the other side of the compound with a knife in his shoulder. She jumped away from an attack as the one she was fighting tried to injure her while she was seemingly distracted. Only when she saw Matteo defend her downed brother did she engage the bastard again, viciously ending the fight so she could help Augusto.
She stopped in her tracks before she made it, and then dashed off in another direction. There were only two things that would stop her from going to her brother’s side, and the first was if she was dead, and the second was if her son’s life was in danger. This is the reason she ran off, since she spotted Ottavio and in his arms was a squirming Giotto. He was trying to push away from Ottavio, and when that didn’t seem to work he was pulling his hair and hitting his face. Ottavio was red faced and fumbling to keep a hold on the boy and his sword at the same time, and trying to walk forward was out of the question.
Fabiola was quick and noiseless as she came up behind him and lifted a foot to kick him in the back of his knee, thus making his leg give way. He scrambled to keep his balance and in the process he lost hold of Giotto. The boy proved himself to be Matteo’s son as he landed on his feet and immediately raced away from the fighting. Fabiola didn’t follow after the boy, knowing that as long as he kept hidden then nothing would happen to him. The boy would not make a sound, since he didn’t speak and would wait quietly until one of his parents came for him.
Meanwhile, Fabiola was left confronting Ottavio who had risen to his feet, and the only sign that she was afraid was her sword hand trembling. However, she would not fail at this, not this time. She would not allow this man to harm her son ever again.
“Our son is beautiful, Fabiola,” Ottavio called out as he swung his sword at her, which she blocked and quickly countered. He stumbled back in surprise, pressing a hand to his stomach which came away bloody. “You’ve learned a few tricks.” She flashed him a snarl and launched herself at him, taking the offensive and forcing him to defend. They exchanged a few blows and although she had the advantage of speed, he was stronger and every time their swords connected, she was driven back. It was starting to look like she might lose and everything she had worked for seemed futile, and hopeless.
Ottavio feinted at hit at her right side, and when she went to block, he twisted his wrist and his sword cut her deeply on her left side. Fabiola cried out in shock and pain, clutching at her wound but her sword was still up. She would not surrender, not this time. The man, at seeing her defiance, chuckled and casually circled her as her weapon followed his trek and they could now both see her hand trembling. “Despite everything that’s happened, I still want you at my side, Fabiola.” He twirled the sword easily, showing that he had more practice than she, and that perhaps she would never be a match for him. Whether it was because his skill surpassed hers or because her fear of him hindered her was unclear.
He moved so fast that she could do nothing but watch as her sword was knocked out of her hand, and she met his fierce black eyes with frightened caramel. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, Fabiola.” He moved his sword away and held out his other hand toward her. “Just take my hand, and you, Giotto, and I can form a family.” She knew he was being sincere and that if she took his hand, everything would be better, and perhaps he would make a great father. They could be happy.
However, this man had raped her. He had killed her father, and what’s more, he had kidnapped Giotto and terrorized her son. So, there was no way she could live with him and look at him every day knowing all the harm he had done to her and her family. Then there was the fact that Augusto would never forgive her, and that she was in love with Matteo. Fabiola shook her head and spat at his feet, showing him at least with actions what she felt about his proposition.
Ottavio sighed as he closed his eyes, dropping his hand at his side and said nothing for a moment. “Then it ends here,” he proclaimed, lifting the sword and pointing it in the middle of her chest. “Because I would rather kill you than see you in the arms of that figlio di puttana, Matteo da Vigo.” Fabiola winced as she pressed harder against her bleeding side, and when he lifted the sword she could only close her eyes and accept her fate, hoping her brother and Matteo would get Giotto out of here.
There was the sound of running footsteps, and then someone getting tackled. Fabiola’s eyes snapped open in surprise and saw that Matteo had saved her once again. Both men rolled around the ground for several moments, trying to hit each other and looking like a couple of boys involved in a schoolhouse brawl. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Fabiola might have allowed herself a laugh at the sight. However, soon they separated with Ottavio’s knife plunged into Matteo’s thigh as the man rolled away with a grunt of pain.
They recovered their feet and circled one another and even if she wanted to stay and find out who would win this fight, she needed to go find Giotto. She was afraid he may have gotten caught up in any fighting happening nearby. So, with one last longing glance at the former Captain, she hurried off in the same direction that the boy had run to.
She found him huddled in between two buildings, in a small space that only someone as small as him could have fit. Fabiola beckoned him forward, and he crawled slowly and silently out of the niche and into his mother’s arms. The woman sighed in relief at having her boy back with her, and promised never to allow anyone to separate them. She realized that the one person that could do such a thing was Ottavio, who was at that very moment fighting Matteo. Fabiola straightened and hurried back the way she had come.
It was something she would never forget, as she rounded the corner of the main courtyard where the battle was taking place, and the deafening noise of the fighting wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of her son’s scream.
“Papa!”
Fabiola’s mouth was open in horror as she saw Matteo fall to Ottavio’s sword. The boy was trying to wiggle out of her grip but she had a firm hold of him, and she started to walk forward until she was running. Both mother and child fell at his side, Fabiola immediately trying to staunch the flow of blood to his stomach wound but there was so much blood.
“Fabiola, take care of our son,” he coughed, blood bubbling up out of his mouth. She knew there was no hope as tears spilled down her face, and she leaned down and kissed him despite the blood.
“I love you,” she rasped, her throat scratchy from disuse. Fabiola knew then that this truly would be the last thing she ever said. The man smiled, mouthing the words in return before his eyes fluttered closed. Fabiola bit back the wail of grief that wanted to rip from her throat and pulled her sobbing son off Matteo’s body as he fought against her. She placed her face against his baby smooth cheek and made a soft mewl-like sound to try and comfort him. He wrapped his legs around her waist while burying his face into her shoulder, and as she stood, she faced the man that had taken Giotto’s father away from him.
Ottavio had a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he moved the bloody stained sword from side to side. Fabiola took up the dead man’s weapon and held it in a defensive position, because she wouldn’t attack while she had Giotto in her arms, and she wouldn’t put him down. He circled her like a tiger stalking its prey, and when he got too close she slashed at him but he easily danced away from the reach of her sword.
“Are you ready?” asked the black haired man, a cruel grin twisting his features. He darted forward on the offensive as Fabiola stumbled back, managing to parry a hit every now and then and when she couldn’t, turned away so Giotto wouldn’t be harmed. They were mild cuts and they stung as the sweat from her body entered the open wounds. When she felt like a single cut more and she’d dissolve into ribbons, he stopped seven feet from her as she panted with her sword still in her hand. “Still not ready to give up?” he asked. He lifted his empty hand again toward her, once more giving her the option of taking his offer. This time she sprang forward with her sword and the tip cut deeply into his palm. “Cazzo!” Ottavio cursed and snapped his hand back, cradling it to his chest as blood stained his uniform. “Have it your way, troia!”
~o~
He moaned as he regained consciousness, the movement causing nausea to coil in his stomach and became aware that a pair of hands was dragging him somewhere. Augusto blinked dark brown eyes and his dim surroundings were blurred for a few seconds before everything came into sharp focus. He was in an alleyway, and the one that had dragged him away from the fighting was Giovanni. As he tried to regain his coherency, an enemy soldier came in their direction, and he tried to assist a distracted Giovanni by using a throwing dagger but his aim was off and it only grazed the soldier’s thigh. However, it was enough distraction for Giovanni to twist around with sword in hand and drove it all the way to the hilt up into his ribcage. As he was shoving the dead man off his sword, Augusto yanked out the dagger out of his shoulder with a grunt of pain, and examined it.
Most of the torches had gone out during the brief bout of rain, but there were some that had been re-lit before them and their allies had eliminated the soldiers in the courtyard. Thus he was able to use the light of the torch in the alleyway to see the Farnese crest engraved on the dagger. “Figlio di puttana,” he hissed angrily before wiping it off and sheathing it in his own sheath for the time being. Augusto wanted it with him, so when he got close enough, he’d use the bastard’s own weapon to plunge into his heart. Augusto was very aware of where the heart was, since he’d studied designs of the human body to be able to paint people better. Now, it would serve him in insuring that he properly delivered the death blow.
Augusto wrapped his shoulder with bandages he had as tight as he could without cutting off circulation, and left the alleyway to join the fighting. Giovanni had been forced to leave him and assist Lorenzo, but Augusto had insisted that he was fine. As he drew his sword and joined the fray, he noticed that one of the mercenaries had been killed, and maybe a dozen on the enemy’s side. However, that was still too many for the eleven of them that were left. Also, Fabiola and Matteo were nowhere to be seen, and it was making him nervous as hell.
He finally spotted his sister through the fighting on the other side of the compound. Giotto was in her arms as the two year old clung desperately to his mother. Ottavio had them cornered, while Fabiola swung her sword at him to keep him from coming any closer. He was filled with panic and fear, since he was too far away and there were too many in his path, and wondered where Matteo was. The man was supposed to protect his sister and Giotto. It was obvious he couldn’t do it, and he didn’t know why he’d ever approved of-
The young man was cut off mid-thought as Ottavio jumped away from Fabiola’s sword and he was finally able to see the body on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Matteo. He felt a rush of coldness settle over his heart, because he knew the man was dead. Then a fierce hatred filled him, because once again Ottavio had hurt their family. He had killed Fabiola’s only love, Giotto’s father, and... and Augusto’s friend.
Giovanni and Lorenzo were the ones closest to him when it happened, but even they couldn’t fully follow the carnage he unleashed on the soldier’s in his path. Augusto himself didn’t even remember doing it, and all he remembered thinking was that he had to get through all the fighting; and he suddenly was. As Ottavio turned, Augusto didn’t think as he lunged at the man, and his own dagger sank with a satisfying squelch in his chest. They both tumbled to the ground with Augusto on top of his ex-friend.
Ottavio stared up at him as if surprised by his appearance, and then his mouth twisted into a bloody grin. “Did you ever imagine when we were kids that we’d one day wind up here?”
Augusto’s hand tightened in a white knuckled grip around the hilt. “Those days are nothing but a bitter memory now!” he spat angrily.
The dying man lifted a shaking hand to grip the front of his shirt, bloody fingers staining the material, but he was too weak now to shake him. “Giotto is my son!”
“No!” Augusto snarled; twisting the dagger as Ottavio’s mouth opened in a silent scream of pain as blood dribbled out. “Matteo is Giotto’s father!” He ripped out the weapon and stabbed him again, but by then Ottavio was already dead.
Augusto felt a hand at his back and turned defensively, but deflated when he saw that it was only Fabiola. She had Giotto’s face buried against her shoulder to keep him from seeing anything that would scar his young mind. Augusto unfastened Ottavio’s sheath from around his waist before he pulled the dagger out of the dead man’s chest. He straightened from where he’d been straddling the corpse and secured the sheath at his own waist, and then he slipped the weapon in without cleaning the blood off.
There wasn’t anyone else alive besides the ten of them, but during the fighting one of the torches had been knocked over and the stables had been set ablaze. So, the only thing they’d be able to do was throw their dead on the make-shift pyre before the smoke attracted unwanted attention. When it was time to burn Matteo’s body, Fabiola was dry-eyed as she lovingly caressed the cold cheek, but Augusto could see the anguish in her honey colored eyes. She flicked out her knife, which he noticed belonged to the former Captain, and cut several locks of hair. Fabiola put them in a handkerchief after hastily tying it with a blood-red ribbon, and then stored it all in her pouch.
“There’s someone approaching!” Giovanni’s shout startled her out of her thoughts, and Fabiola longingly gazed at the man’s still face once more before grudgingly nodding. She turned away from them so she wouldn’t have to see them place Matteo’s body in the fire. Instead, she hurried over to where Domenico was distracting Giotto so he wouldn’t be witness to the hurried funeral pyre. Fabiola lifted Giotto in her arms before clasping Domenico’s hand as equals then parted ways. The remaining men came to say their good-byes before they all ran to the horses they’d tied off outside the building.
The rain started up in tandem then and soaked everything and everyone in seconds, yet it only served to increase the heat so fiercely that it stole the breath right out of their lungs. Fabiola lifted her head toward the distance, her wet hair plastered to her face and through the limp strands she saw the approaching soldier’s on horseback, and knew that the ten of them wouldn’t be enough to take on such a large force.
Augusto’s shout made her snap toward him, and saw the four mercenaries that remained as they abandoned them to their fate. Fabiola put her thumb and middle finger to her lips and blew, and the shrill whistle caught her brother’s attention. When he turned to her, she motioned for them to go and he reluctantly nodded. Agostino and the others headed west and the siblings went north, but it seemed that their fight was yet to be over as half chased one group and the other half came after the twins. The six riders would still be too many for the twins, and especially since Fabiola wouldn’t be able to fight with Giotto on the saddle with her. Fabiola wouldn’t let anyone harm her child, and if she had to give her life to protect his; so be it.
The guards’ stallions kept up with theirs and seemed to be gaining on them. Augusto and Matteo had conversed when they had been alone about the outcome of this particular mission. Matteo had been rather frank on the probability of survival. Augusto had no doubt that he would kill Ottavio, especially with Matteo and his men at his side. However, if the near-by tower was alerted of the attack on the compound, then there was nil chance of them coming out of it alive. So, they had hatched a plan to keep Fabiola and Giotto safe. The clouds parted momentarily and the moonlight made the drops of rain sparkle like diamonds falling from the sky, and the young man knew what he had to do. Matteo was dead, so it would fall on Augusto to carry it out alone and protect their family.
The young man urged the mare alongside Fabiola, and the other turned to look at him. Fabiola seemed to know that he had something planned and the grief on her face was as clear as day. “Get to where Caterina is waiting!” She opened her mouth as if to speak, but even if Augusto was sure he might never hear her voice ever again, he didn’t need her words right then. “GO!” He smacked the horse on the romp and it gave a whine before charging through the path, underneath the three beams secured into the earth above their heads.
Meanwhile, Augusto only went past them two feet before coming to a sudden halt and turning his mare around. He withdrew the already loaded crossbow and shot the horse out from under the leader. The man was unfortunate enough to wind up underneath the massive animal as he screamed at the horse landing on his leg all the way up to his thigh.
It forced the rest of the nine riders to stop, since the path was too narrow for them to pass around the fallen animal and the beams overhead wouldn’t allow them to jump over both horse and rider. There was a path further back that lead to a small cliff above their heads, however, Matteo had gotten the thieves to secure it so as not to let anyone through. The thieves would do just about anything for a few fiorini. A group of five men were positioned above to Augusto’s left, hidden by the shadow of the mountain that was on the right.
There was no demand for surrender as they all prepared their crossbows to fire on him before he thought to make an escape, but Augusto merely lifted a hand in the air which he closed into a fist. The projectiles rained down on the unsuspecting men as the young man watched with a sort of detached coldness that alarmed him. Three riders were shot off their horses as the animals bolted out of the line of fire, and one of the horses was killed and knocked his rider back. Another wasn’t as fortunate as he was crushed under his dead stallion when it was killed.
Augusto calmly reloaded his crossbow as he urged his mare closer to the Captain still trapped under the horse, and he pointed before unloading it in his chest. He knew that with their leader now dead the other three left would retreat, and he wasn’t surprised when they turned tail and fled. When they had gone out of sight, Augusto waved up at one of the thieves, and when he had returned the wave they all disappeared from view.
The young man sighed and turned his horse around to go in the direction that Fabiola had gone, and hopefully reach her before they met up with Agostino and the others. Afterwards, they planned to leave Roma for some time, and perhaps even Italia altogether. Their rendezvous was under the Arco di Tito and whoever arrived first would wait until dawn before leaving via the Porta Pinciana, which was the gate close to their childhood home. It might seem reckless to anyone to return there, but that was the beauty of the plan. It would seem an absurd thing to do, so they wouldn’t expect it.
Dawn was rapidly approaching, but he was certain that he’d get there before Fabiola and Caterina left, and then they’d leave Roma for good. As he was almost there, a figure hailed him from under the shadows of the arch and realized that it was Fabiola. He was momentarily concerned when he didn’t see Giotto or Caterina, but calmed when he spotted them under the shadows of the arch. Augusto dismounted and rushed forward to hug and kiss his sister’s cheek before doing the same to Caterina, and carefully kissing a sleeping Giotto. The poor child must have been exhausted by the whole ordeal. He glanced around in confusion. “Where are Giovanni and the others?” he asked in concern. They were supposed to be there with a cart and supplies for the trip.
Fabiola looked pained for a moment and glanced helplessly at Caterina. The woman spoke up because Fabiola couldn’t get the words out. “You and Fabiola are the only ones I’ve seen all night besides the patrols.”
Augusto was about to answer, but was cut off by the quick approach of footsteps. The young man sent Caterina with Giotto back to hide in the shadows as Fabiola came to stand at his side; both their hands on the hilt of their weapons. A thin man in clothes that were closer to rags was running in their direction with something clutched to his chest. As he saw the twins, he quickened his pace and Augusto and Fabiola drew their weapons.
The man stopped ten feet away from them as his chest heaved with exertion. “The nightingale soars on a warm summer breeze,” he called out, stunning the siblings. They had prepared a phrase to use in case something drastic happened, and they had to use a messenger for whatever reason. That way, they’d know that any message was authentic.
“But beware for the cat may pounce; hidden within the branches of the trees,” Augusto finished the phrase to prove that they were whom he had to relay the message to. Augusto was worried as to why Giovanni or one of the others had used a messenger, and even more so being this beggar. “Tell me what happened.”
The ragged man glanced warily behind him as if he expected an attack to come at any second, and his behavior was making Augusto very uneasy. He glanced at Fabiola as the woman ran her fingers almost daintily along the handle of her dagger. “A man in dented armor was fleeing from soldiers wearing the same uniform, and pulled me into an alleyway to evade them. He said that it was too dangerous for him to meet his friends, and that I should deliver a message, but had me memorize that phrase first.” The beggar looked over his shoulder again before glancing at the two of them. “The man would not give me his name, but he said that you should leave Roma without them. They managed to get away, but they were already exposed. He said to tell his wife and son that he loves them very much, and that he’s sorry.”
He shuffled from foot to foot nervously. “He ran out into the street to distract the soldiers so I wouldn’t be seen. Also, he...he said there would be payment on your end when I delivered the message.”
It was Fabiola that stepped forward and withdrew several fiorini from the pouch that had been attached to her belt. She gave him fifty as he greedily took them and fumbled with the empty pouch he had and all the while he wouldn’t release what he had clutched to his chest. As he was putting the last fiorini, Fabiola held out her pouch and shook it so the coins clinked and jingled against one another, and smirked as she saw his eyes snap up and fix firmly on the small money bag.
Augusto immediately took over, understanding what she wanted to say. “How would you like to earn more money?” The beggar nodded eagerly and Augusto grinned. “I need some information...”
~o~
“Hanged?!” Caterina shrieked, making Giotto cringe where he was playing close by and cover his ears. The woman stood and guided him out of the room to go play with Givovanni’s son, who was the same age as him. When she was sure he’d gone, she went back to sit where she had been. “They cannot possible hang those nice young men!” The beggar had gone to gather information on the four men, and he was the perfect spy since while clothed in rags, he disappeared into the background. It was this way that he could easily eavesdrop on the guards’ conversations, and that’s how he’d learned that Matteo and his men had been accused of treason and conspiracy against the church. A letter had been sent off before they’d attack detailing their false crimes, and as well of their plans to attack the compound. The latter was the only true crime, and it hadn’t helped that they were spotted close to the area. Anything they may have tried to say to excuse their presence there would be easily discredited, since they’d been off duty and far from their usual patrol routes.
Augusto shushed the maid with a stern look, since he didn’t want Giovanni’s wife to hear. Just before the rescue, the man had relocated his family to a safe-house. The siblings had no other place to go since their plan to escape Roma had been ruined by the other’s capture, and they couldn’t possibly leave them to their fate. Giovanni’s wife had been shocked when they had knocked urgently at dawn, but she’d made no protest and let them in before they were spotted. Although they hadn’t said anything on the four men being captured, Augusto suspected she knew simply because they’d appeared alone. However, he refused to let her know of what awaited her husband, and even more important was keeping her son from knowing.
The man had been gone most of the day and now it was nearing nightfall. “When and where are they being hanged?” Augusto demanded. There was no way he was letting another friend die for them.
“I-it’s in two days at the Piazza Navona.” The beggar, whose named he refused to give them, shifted nervously as he licked his dry lips. “I need my money now, per favore.” Augusto stared at him suspiciously for several moments. The man hadn’t looked this nervous since he’d first delivered Giovanni’s message. Fabiola also sensed the same thing and at an imperceptible nod from him, she lunged at the beggar, and slammed him into the ground as she put a knife against his throat. The man cried out in fear and pain, and Augusto heard Caterina gasp at the violence. However, she didn’t say anything since she’d already understood long ago that at times fighting violence with violence was the only way to survive.
Fabiola easily held the man down, who was really just skin and bones. Augusto crouched down beside them, picking at his fingernails with his own dagger. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I really need you to give me the right answer.” He turned the dagger away from his nails to point at the man, and at the same time Fabiola adjusted her position over him she was sitting on his chest as her legs had his arms pinned. “Did you tell anyone where we were?”
His panicked eyes darted between the siblings before moving to Caterina’s trembling figure. “I h-had no choice!” he sobbed pathetically. “One of the guards caught me eavesdropping, and forced me to tell him everything!” He tried to lift his shirt but Fabiola had his arms pinned, so Augusto reached over to yank it up. The young man saw the blood soaked bandages wrapped around his stomach and cleaner ones secured around his chest. Although the bindings hid them from view, it was likely there was heavy bruising, and it meant they’d broken his ribs. The bandaging was hastily done, which meant his torturers had done it themselves before sending him here to lay a trap for them.
“When are they coming? Is the information a trap?” He reached out and dug his fingers against the wound and the man screamed. “When and where are they being executed?!” Fabiola straddled his chest more firmly and squeezed her thighs together until he was sobbing from the pain.
“Tomorrow at noon in the Piazza del Popollo!” Fabiola glanced at her brother and when he nodded, she removed the knife and allowed the beggar to stand. As he regained his feet, the man clutched at his mid-section with a pained gasp. “When I leave and give them the signal,” he demonstrated for them, “they’ll come in to arrest you.” He glanced hesitantly at the siblings. “I’m so sorry...”
Augusto interrupted his apology as he turned toward Caterina. “Go get Helena and the kids ready to leave. Only take some food and clothes.” The woman hurried out of the room to do as she was told, and he hoped that Helena wouldn’t question it. When she’d gone, the young man sighed and turned away from the injured man. Fabiola surged forward, wrapping slender fingers around his mouth at the same time as she drove her knife up to the hilt in the older man’s chest. He bucked against her, but he was immobilized against Fabiola and the wall at his back. She twisted the knife as his muffled whimper died in a wet gurgle against her mouth before he went limp in death. Fabiola released his corpse so it fell to the floor and wiped her bloody hand as well as the knife on a handkerchief.
“Do you think the information was false?” he asked her. Fabiola looked down at the corpse, his face frozen in a mask of fear and she shook her head. “Very well, and now we have to think on a way of getting out of the house alive.” Augusto stared at the man and the rags he was wearing. “I may have an idea. Get his clothes off him so I can put them on.” Fabiola glanced warily at him, and he sighed. “You’re better with kids than me, so it’ll be better that I go out there.” He took the offered rags. “I’ll give you time to flee.” The woman nodded before straightening, and she embraced her brother before quickly moving away. Fabiola didn’t want to think that this was the last time she would see him, and instead hurried away to make sure the others were ready.
They would be watching both doors in case the fugitives tried to flee, but the second story window that was to the south was just level with the top plateau of the cliff. After the soldiers came in to arrest them, Fabiola would throw in a kerosene lamp rigged like a Molotov, and afterwards it wouldn’t be long for the whole house to catch fire. So, after making sure that Caterina, Helena and the children were out on the cliff face, Fabiola started to spread kerosene all over the first floor, and then up the stairs. Once she threw in the lantern, there would be no way to follow them up the stairs, and she only prayed that Augusto wouldn’t try to get in the house and escaped another way. After Fabiola had secured the two women and the kids somewhere safe, she’d meet Augusto at the rendezvous point. She knew that Augusto wanted to have her safe with the others, but she wouldn’t hide while he went to save Matteo’s men. She had already lost Matteo, and she was hell bent on trying to prevent their friend’s execution.
Augusto left the house wearing the man’s rags, as well as the tattered scrap of cloth he called a hat. It would be tricky to impersonate the beggar because he had long, stringy white hair coming out from under the dirty head covering. So, Augusto had cut the dead man’s hair as close to the scalp with cutting the skin, and used some pins he found to secure it on the inside of the hat. Augusto also made sure to imitate his walk, which was an awkward sideways shuffle. It worked for the young man since he could slouch forward and hide the bulge his bandolier of throwing knives made which was strapped to his waist. Fabiola had taken his sword since he wouldn’t be able to hide it, but he had a thin stiletto blade strapped along his arm, hidden by the sleeve. Augusto was grateful that the clothes were loose and baggy.
It was ideal that it was night, since during the day they’d realize right away that it wasn’t him, and he was vying for the hope that they’d dismiss him as soon as he gave them the signal. As he walked toward the north, he discreetly glanced toward the east and saw four riders standing just out of sight of the house, and he’d already seen the two at the west through a window earlier when he was looking for the pins. He’d exited through the front to draw attention away from the backdoor in case Fabiola tried that exit, since he had no idea what she had planned. He would just ensure that he bought her time.
When he was within firing range instead of giving the signal, he deftly threw two throwing knife at the two ahead of him. One of the soldiers fell dead and the Captain’s horse was killed and he was flung off. He heard the whiny of the horse and the pounding hooves of two enemies approaching from the west. Augusto jumped on the downed captain, killing him with the stiletto before grabbing the crossbow bolt he had strapped to his back. He twisted around where he’d been sitting on the man’s body, and fired the already loaded weapon, hitting one of the approaching riders but scrambled away from the other as he slashed at him with his sword from up on his saddle. As he rode past, Augusto loaded the crossbow, turned and shot him in the back. The man fell with a cry of pain and Augusto rushed forward and sank the stiletto in the disoriented man’s throat. He yanked it out with a spray of blood that splattered half his face, and his head snapped up when he heard screaming.
The safe house was on fire, and the other four guards from the east that had entered were now running out as their skin was burned off. They were rolling around trying to put out the flames, but soon they’d gone still and only the roar of the fire could be heard. Augusto hoped Fabiola and the other’s weren’t inside and he had the crazy thought of how it was possible that their houses or hiding places always ended up burning. Of course, they would have ensured that the compound where Ottavio had held Giotto kidnapped burned to the ground either way.
A shrill whistle made him look up toward the cliff, and the young man was relieved when he finally spotted Fabiola, Caterina with Giotto in her arms, and Helena cradling her own son against her chest. He was glad that they were safe and sound, and he waved at them before they disappeared from sight. Augusto shed the rags to reveal his regular clothing underneath, and mounted one of the horses of the dead soldiers’ before leaving the area. It would be dawn in a few hours, and after he met up with Fabiola they had to plan on how to best storm the Piazza di Popollo to save their comrades; their brothers. The siblings refused to abandon their friends, and if they died during their attempt to save them, they would.-
~o~
Piazza di Navona - This piazza was built on the site of the Stadium of Domitian, which was constructed during the 1st century. Located at the southwest end of the piazza was the ancient speaking statue of Pasquino. Unearthed and erected in the Piazza in 1501, the statue was used by citizens as a sign post for social parodies and anonymous derogatory comments, which were attached to it for all to read.
Piazza del Popolo - People’s Square; a famous square that once resided near the Porta Flaminia, near the northern gate Aurelian Walls.