Ciara Cadici Ch 04

She lay in the bath when her chambermaid came in.

Hurt, she looked at her maid.

'Where were you?' She said accusingly. When it had passed, all her servants had been gone. How could this have happened to her in her own house? She thought she was safe, but when she least expected it, the moment of her reckoning had come. She felt betrayed.

'I was at mass,' the girl replied, surprised. 'The friar had called for a mass in the private chapel for all the servants, to pray for the army of the king and the duke, that they may find safe passage, and that they may find victory, the day after tomorrow.'

Mass? So that's where everybody had gone, Ciara thought. 'And did you never stop to think the duke or I would need you here?' Ciara continued.

'The duke?' the maid said, confused. 'The duke left the city this morning, to join his troops.' She thought her mistress knew that. 'I'm sorry I left you alone, Madonna.'

Slowly, it started to dawn on Ciara. Giuliano had told her he went to the signoria with her uncle, Philippe and her father in law. Yet he had apparently told THEM that he went to command his troops.

There had been nobody in the house when Giuliano had made his move. He must have been behind the friar with the call for mass too. There were no witnesses. In fact, everybody was convinced that the duke wasn't even here.

She started to feel dizzy. What could she do? If she told of her assault, her uncle probably wouldn't believe her. Would her father in law, and Philippe? Thinking the duke left the city his morning?

And what if they did? Philippe would be besides himself. He would not rest until the duke was dead, she was sure of it. But if that happened...

She shuddered. The Milanese army would never fight for them. Her father in law would loose more than half of their forces, giving the Fratelli's the upper hand. And they, they would not rest untill they held Florence, her itself turning thinner and thinner on their limited supplies.

Slowly, she realised her fate. She couldn't tell. She could tell no one what had befallen her today. It would tear her up if she didn't, but it would end in disaster if she did.

Inquisitively, the maid looked at her misstress. Why was she upset? She let her eyes trail over her lady's arms. She had bruises. All of a sudden she was overcome with worry. 'What happened, Madonna?', she said, trying to catch Ciara's eyes. Something had happened while they were out the door. 'You are hurt'.

Slowly, Ciara stood up in the bath, turning away from her.

'Nothing' she replied, after a silence.

'Please hand me my robe'.

****

That evening, they had dinner. Again nobles and political friends had been invited to discuss tactics.

She was quiet. Her whole her body ached. The whole course of the mean she tried to distract herself of her own thoughts, trying not to let what happened to her, consumer her.

Finally, the guests left. When she and Philippe entered the bedroom, she tried to escape his attention. As Philippe was undressing himself, she quickly took off her dress in the corner, changing in her nightgown.

She lifted the blankets and tried to step into bed and dive under the sheets, when Philippe all of a sudden turned to her.

'You were quiet today,' Philippe said.

'Was I?' She said, sitting on the bed, with her back to him. She tried to avoid his gaze. 'I'm just tired.'

But Philippe heard something in her voice, as if something was not right. He heard she needed comforting.

'Come here,' he said, extending his hand.

Instinctively, she pulled her hand away from him, turning away. She didn't want him to see her bruises. But it was too late.

'What's that on your wrist?' Philippe said, his voice all of a sudden serious. He took her hand.

'It's nothing,' she said, again trying to pull away. But he wouldn't let her. He took her arm and pulled it towards him.

He looked at the dark spots on her wrists, neatly spaced, as if fingers had depressed deep into her skin.

Apparently it was clear for him in an instance that Ciara had not made these marks by herself. 'Who did this?' he said, his voice cold. Who had dared handle his wife in such a way?

'No one,' Ciara said, suppliantly. 'Please Philippe, just go to sleep.'

He ignored her and forcibly took her other arm. The same bruises on her other arm.

'How did this happen,' Philippe said, voice laden with tension. 'A man did this. Tell me what happened.'

'It's nothing, Philippe,' Ciara said again, desperate. 'Let me go.'

'You tell me who did this!' Philippe said, now losing his patience. 'Why don't you tell me?' Angrily, he pulled her closer to him. 'What did he do to you? Did he touch you?'

She tried to free herself from his grasp again, but he wouldn't let her. Instead, he jumped on his knees on the bed and climbed over her, pinning her wrists on the bed, as she sobbed.

'Ciara, you tell me now,' he said, enraged. 'Did he touch you!'

She didn't answer. 'You're hurting me,' she said, crying.

Outside of himself, Philippe snatched the ribbons of her nightgown and crudely spread her nightgown open, so she was naked under him. She screamed as he still held her tight, pinned to the bed. He looked down on her body, her taut breasts, flat belly, knees pulled up, clenched tight together.

He saw what she tried to do and, as if controlled by a power greater that himself, forced his knee between her legs. He let go of her wrists as he used his hands to force her thighs apart.

As he spread her thighs, the darkblue bruises of violently obtruded hands became visible on her white skin. Shocked, Philippe fell back. Ciara cried and curled up in a ball.

'Who did this,' Philippe said after a silence, voice cracking.

'I can't tell you,' she said, sobbing. 'I'm sorry. You must believe me'.

He gathered her up and took her in his arms, holding her close. He broke down in tears. 'Who, how many,' he said, broken.

'Just one,' Ciara whispered. 'Oh Ciara, Philippe said, pushing her head to his shoulder and hugging her tight. 'What have you been through'.

'I can't tell you,' she said. 'I'm sorry. I can't explain it to you now. I will tell you, later, I promise. But I can't tell you now.'

And crying, they fell asleep, entangled in each others arms.

****

Two days later, Florence was freed. The army of the French and the Duke had reached Florence on the morning of the second day, and the Fratelli's had suffered an overwhelming defeat.

The gates opened and the citizens sprawled outside, leaving the confinements of their city for the first time again.

The battlefield lay open before her. Slowly, as if in a trance, she walked forward, realising what had happened here. The fields were littered with bodies and war materials. Philippe stood next to her, but they hadn't talked since that terrible night.

Her father in law had survived, having come to embrace them after his victory. The duke of Milan and several important marshalls hadn't shown up yet.

Slowly, Philippe and Ciara walked over the field. Nuns, physicians and helpers were checking the dead and finding the wounded, taking those who still lived to hospital, so they could be saved.

Philippe trailed his eyes over the destruction around them.

'We are victorious, Ciara,' he said. 'We are safe. Can you tell me now?'

All of a sudden, she stopped in her steps. Tears started sliding down the side of her face.

'Yes,' she said, voice broken. Slowly she raised her arm, pointing.

Philippe whirled around to see. At the end of her extended finger, lay the lifeless body of the Duke of Milan.

*********

The end.