Free Juliet by Anne Fortier Page B

with trepidation as one of the bandits caught up with the cart—knife between his toothless gums—and reached out to grasp the wooden siding. Finding the necessary fierceness within his clement self, Friar Lorenzo swung the whip at the boarding pirate and heard him yelp with pain as the oxtail drew blood. One cut, however, was enough for the villain, and when Friar Lorenzo struck again, the other got hold of the whiplash and jerked the handle right out of his grip. With no more than the rosary and its dangling crucifix left for self-protection, Friar Lorenzo took to throwing bits of leftover lunch at his opponent. But despite the hardness of the bread, he was unable to prevent him from finally climbing on board.
    Seeing that the friar was out of munition, the brigand rose to his feet in gleeful triumph, took the knife from his mouth, and demonstrated the length of the blade to its trembling target.
    “Stop in the name of Christ!” exclaimed Friar Lorenzo, holding up his rosary. “I have friends in Heaven who will strike you dead!”
    “Oh really? I don’t see them anywhere!”
    Just then did the lid of the coffin swing open, and its tenant—a young woman whose wild hair and flaming eyes made her look like an angel of venegeance—sat up with all signs of consternation. The mere sight of her was enough to make the bandit drop his knife in horror and turn completely ashen. Without hesitation the angel leaned out of the coffin, picked up the knife, and thrust it immediately back into the flesh of its owner, as high up his thigh as her anger could reach.
    Screaming with anguish, the wounded man lost his balance and tumbled off the end of the cart to even greater injury. Her cheeks glowing with excitement, the girl turned to grin at Friar Lorenzo, and she would have climbed out of the coffin had he not prevented her.
    “No, Giulietta!” he insisted, pushing her back down. “In the name of Jesus, stay there and be quiet!”
    Slamming the lid over her indignant face, Friar Lorenzo looked around to see what had become of the other horseman. Alas, this one was less of a madcap than his mate and had no intention of boarding the rumbling wagon at its current speed. Instead, he galloped ahead to seize the harness and slow the horses, and much to Friar Lorenzo’s distress, the measure soon began to take effect. Within another quarter mile the horses were gradually forced into cantering, then trotting, and finally to a complete standstill.
    Only then did the villain approach the cart, and as he rode towards it, Friar Lorenzo saw that it was none other than the lavishly clad captain of the brigands, still smirking and seemingly untouched by the bloodshed. The setting sun gave the man a halo of bronze that was utterly undeserved, and Friar Lorenzo was struck by the contrast between the luminous beauty of the countryside and the sheer viciousness of its dwellers.
    “How about this, Friar,” began the villain, with uncanny gentility. “I grant you your life—in fact, you can even take this fine cart and these noble horses, no tolls paid—in exchange for that girl?”
    “I thank you for the generous offer,” replied Friar Lorenzo, squinting against the sunset, “but I am the sworn protector of this noble lady, and I cannot let you have her. If I did, we would both go to Hell.”
    “Bah!” The brigand had heard it all before. “That girl is no more of a lady than you or I. In fact, I strongly suspect she is a Tolomei whore!”
    An indignant shriek was heard from inside the coffin, and Friar Lorenzo quickly put his foot on top of the lid to hold it closed.
    “The lady is of great consequence to Messer Tolomei, that is true,” he said, “and any man that lays a hand on her will bring a war upon his own kin. Surely your master, Salimbeni, desires no such feud.”
    “Ah, you monks and your sermons!” The bandit rode right up to the cart, and only then did his halo fade. “Do not threaten me with war, little preacher. It