A Bolt from the Blue

When I looked at her quizzically, she went on. “Why, I am more a confessor to my customers than any priest. By looking at a man’s soiled linens, I can tell if he is a glutton or a drunkard… if he is celibate or licentious, or if he beds women other than his wife. And yet my lips are sealed, safe as if he had gone to a confessional. But unlike many priests, I keep all my secrets to the grave.”

I gave this revelation careful measure before regarding her in good-natured dismay. “I had never considered such a thing,” I said with a shake of my head. “But you may be assured that in the future, I shall treat my linens as the open book they are!”

She grinned again and settled back down to rest. For myself, I took the time that followed to reflect upon the recent suspicions I’d had regarding her loyalty. It had taken more than a bit of bravery to face down the armed bandit, and as much courage to dispatch him, rather than leave him to die an agonizing death. And all through this journey, she seemingly had devoted herself to keeping Tito and me from harm.

Could the same woman who had acted with such valor also have betrayed a frightened young duchess, surrendering her to certain death?

I told myself, no. Too much about her words and deeds marked her as one to be trusted… but then, it was the cleverest of fiends who often appeared the most kind. If only I could read people with the same ease Rebecca claimed to read bed linens, I thought with a sigh.

The remainder of the journey passed in relative silence, for Rebecca had passed from sleep to deeper stupor. I noted in some alarm that her face had gone pale while her cheeks burned brightly. I used what remained of our water to bathe her brow and moisten her dry lips, while I urged Tito to greater haste.

It was with a heavy sigh of relief that, near noontide, I finally spied the spires and buildings of Milan in the distance.

Giving Tito direction, our first stop once we rumbled into the city was at Signor Luigi’s tailor shop.

“What grave mischief are you at now, my, er, boy?” he demanded of me, his bushy brows shooting upward at the sight of the unconscious woman lying in the wagon bed.

Not waiting for a reply-after all this time, Luigi was far too familiar with my often dangerous exploits to be surprised by much-he summoned his two apprentices. Between the four of us youths, we managed to carry Rebecca inside and settle her upon a bench. Then, shooing away the other two boys, the tailor swiftly unwrapped the makeshift bandage and examined her wound.

“Was this done by an arrow… or perhaps a bolt?”

“She was shot with a crossbow defending us most bravely,” I told him. “More than that, I cannot say for the moment… but I beg that you help her.”

“Pah, why am I always the first you come to, and yet the last you confide in?” he protested, but without any true rancor.

Disappearing behind the curtain that separated the shop from his personal quarters, he reappeared a moment later carrying a basin of water and two jars. Opening one, he poured a measured amount of a white powder into the water and used the concoction to bathe the wound. Though the bleeding was long stanched, I saw that the gash was swollen and alarmingly red.

As he worked, Rebecca began to stir, staring with bleary eyes about her. “Where am I?” she protested and tried to stand.

Luigi put a firm hand on her shoulder to hold her still. “You are in my tailor shop, my good woman, brought here by these two boys who decided your well-being was more important than my business. If you will sit quietly, I will tend to your injury and gladly send you all on your way.”

With the wound cleaned of dirt and splinters, he opened the second jar. While Tito and I wrinkled our noses in protest, he slathered the familiar foul-smelling ointment with a heavy hand before tying a clean cloth about the injured arm. Afterward, he shoved the jar into my hands.

“Make certain someone applies the salve no less than twice a day, and give her herbed wine for the fever. And now, I have done all I can do.”

I tucked the jar into my tunic and gave the tailor a quick hug. “Many thanks, signore. We shall take her to her daughter, who will care for her. And when all is done, I promise I shall give you an account of all that led to this.”

“Pah, I shall believe that when your master pays his latest bill,” he retorted, though his black eyes gleamed with keen humor. Giving the washerwoman an exaggerated bow, he added, “It was a pleasure, my good woman… and I strongly advise that you stay clear of young Dino in the future, lest you find yourself in far worse straits the next time.”