The Angel of Soriano: A Renaissance Romance by Stella Marie Alden Page A

for her.”
    No doubt the conversation would’ve resulted in sword play if Dideco hadn’t suddenly turned pale and vomited over half of the table.
    As is the way of such things, almost all did the same. Soon the room was full of those either holding their stomach, retching, or rolling on the floor in filth.
    Poison? “Antonio, sound the alarm! Now!” Bernardo stood and raced over bodies.
    The young captain who’d been sitting closest to the entrance, shot out of the hall. Soon clanging resonated from the bell tower. Bernardo jumped over the last of the writhing bodies and out the door.
    He paused at the foot of the tower and put a hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “Tell the garrison what you saw. Divide into four groups. Make sure the gates are all down. I’m to the parapets.”
    He prayed that the extensive training would yield good results as he climbed the ladder or they might all be dead by morning.
    From the castle’s highest tower miles above the valley, he scoured the dimly lit scene for any sign of an army approaching. No torches, no flickers of light, no sounds. At his house not far away, a light flickered in a window where Fulvio no doubt was being woken and dragged away from a warm wench. He heaved out a deep sigh of relief and climbed down.
    Should this have been a true invasion, their defenses might not have been sufficient. He’d need to station guards at more of the primary roads.
    Although quite certain there was no danger other than that in the kitchen, he trotted back into the main hall. His family was already abed upstairs, no doubt along with their honored guest, Pierpaolo.
    Many of the help were ill as well but those who were not aided the rest.
    He found one of his favorite maids and asked, “How bad? How many have died?”
    She curtsied despite the misfortune, “None, signore. Most just moan and hold their stomachs, and puke.”
    “Tell all, noble and serf, I’m going for an herbalist.”
    “Si, signore. Grazie.” The girl hurried back to her duties.
    He mounted at the stables and stopped at the main portcullis, which to his relief was down.  Antonio saluted. “Are we under attack?”
    Bernardo answered as truthfully as he dared. “It would seem not. Best to stay alert, however, until morning.”
    As an afterthought, he added. “You’re from around here. No?”
    The man nodded, “Si, Si, Not far at all. Bastia. Lived here all my life.
    “Do you know of an herbalist... ah ... named Uncle Pino?” He felt a bit foolish using the name, but could remember no other.
    “Oh yes, a great and learned man.” His head bobbed up and down, and he grinned.
    “Do you know where I can find him?”
    The man hesitated. “You mean him no harm?”
    “God’s blood, no. I need his services or we may all die from the piles of vomit accumulating in the keep.”
    A map was drawn with stick into the dirt, Bernardo nodded his thanks, and the gate was raised. Then he squeezed his thighs encouraging his horse, Monstro, forward.
     

Chapter 9
     
    Despite the throbbing pain in her face, ankle, and ribs, Aurelia smiled. She recognized the winding road where hazelnut trees grew so thick that branches brushed against the sides of the cart. They traveled alongside the high stone wall for several miles until the donkey stopped at the end of the road and brayed.
    No doubt forewarned of their arrival, Uncle Pino stood at the gated entrance, a proud Roman, dressed in short tunic. The iron bars creaked open, allowing their cart access. It wobbled across the flat stones into a large open area surrounded on three sides by opulent gardens. To the front of them, the large brick keep loomed three stories overhead.
    After locking the gate, Pino approached and eyed her appearance with a deep frown but thankfully said nothing. Praying he’d not give her away, Aurelia turned, grabbed her sack out of the back, and hopped off.
    She knelt on her good leg with head lowered and said, “Forgive me, master. I’ll never drink