old woman did not seem to be listening, her focus still on the Russian.
"What did you say to the people in the hills?" "I asked questions." "You had to have done more than that." Taleniekov frowned, remembering. "I tried to provoke the innkeeper. I told him I would bring back others, scholars with historical records to study further the question of Guillaume de Matarese." T'he woman nodded. "When you leave here, do not go back the way you came.
Nor can you take my child's granddaughter with you. You must promise me that. ff they find you, they will not let you live." "We know that," said Bray. "We want to know why." "All the lands of Guillaume de Matarese were willed to the people of the hills. The tenants became the heirs of a thousand fields and pastures, streams and forests. It was so recorded in the courts of Bonifacio and great celebrations were held everywhere. But there was a price, and there were other courts that would take away the lands if that price were known." The blind Sophia stopped, as if weighing another price, perhaps one of betrayal.
"Please, Signora Pastorine," said Taleneikov, le i g forward in the chair.
"Yes," she answered quietly. "It must be told...
Everything was to be done quickly for fear of unwanted Intruders happening upon the great house of Villa Matarese and the death that was everywhere.
The guests gathered their papers and fled to their rooms. I remained in the shadows of the balcony, my body filled with pain, the silent vomit of fear all around me. How long I stayed there, I could not tell, but soon I heard the running feet of the guests racing down the staircase to their appointed meeting place. Then there was the sound of carriage wheels and the neighing of horses, minutes later the carriage sped away, hooves clattering on the hard stone along with the rapid cracking of a whip, all fading away quickly.
I started to crawl toward the balcony door, not able to think, my eyes filled with bolts of lightning, my head trembling so I could barely find my way. I pressed my hands on the wall, wishing there were brackets I could hold onto when I heard a shout and threw myself to the floor again. It was a terrible shout for it came from a child, and yet it was cold and demanding.
Chapter Fourteen
"Vieni subitol" The shepherd boy was screaming at someone from the north veranda. If all was senseless up to that moment, the child's shouts intensified the madness beyond any understanding. For he was a child... and a killer.
Somehow I rose to my feet and ran through the door to the top of the staircase. I was about to run down, wanting only to get away, into the air and the fields and the protection of darkness, when I heard other shouts and saw the figures of running men through the windows. They were carrying torches, and in seconds crashed through the doors.
I could not run down for I would be seen, so I ran above to the upper house, my panic such that I no longer knew what I was doing. Only running... running. And, as if guided by an unseen hand that wanted me to live, I burst into the sewing room and saw the dead. There they were, sprawled everywhere in blood, mouths stretched in such terror that I could still hear their screams.
The screams I heard were not real, but the shouts of men on the staircase were, it was the end for me. There was nothing left, I was to be caught.
I would be killed....
And then, as surely as an unseen hand had led me to that room, if forced me to do a most terrible thing-1 ioined the dead.
I put my hands in the blood of my sisters, and rubbed it over my face and clothes, I fell on top of my sisters and waited.
The men came into the sewing room, some crossing themselves, others whispering prayers, but none deterred from the work they had to do. The next hours were a nightmare only the devil could conceive of.
The bodies of my sisters and I were carried down the staircase and hurled through the doors, beyond the marble steps Into the drive. Wagons had been brought from the stables, and by now many were fdled with bodies.
Again, my sisters and I were thrown into the back of a cart, crowded with dead, like so much