The Plague Doctor's Daughter

22. Matteo

"Bring out your dead!" The exclamation escaped from deep within the fog before its source even appeared. When the plague cart loaded with bodies came into view, Matteo pulled Giovanna the opposite way they needed to go. Although he knew she was most likely safe from getting sick, he wasn't taking any chances with his own health.

"We'll have to navigate the long way around," he said, ushering her further down the quay before turning up an alley. The change in route meant a few more minutes added to their walk, but Matteo didn't mind spending the extra time accompanying Giovanna home. For starters, it could well be needed for him to understand what she had just done.

"You have sentenced your husband to die," he said with evident disbelief as they walked between houses, their rough walls close enough to touch with outstretched arms.

Slightly ahead of him, Giovanna sniffled. "Only if God wills it."

"But it is a possibility," he reaffirmed.

"Yes, but what was I to do?" she asked, raising her voice and spinning around so quickly that he almost ran into her. "I must keep my father alive."

"I understand, but . . .," Matteo began to object with an argument against the morality of taking one life in exchange for another, but stopped himself. Who was he to determine the virtue in the girl's actions? In this case, he should have been the last person to make any sort of principled judgment. "No, no buts. In fact, I must ask for your forgiveness. Had I appeared yesterday morning as I had promised, I might have had time to interject in the examination of your husband's official documents. Perhaps I could have made them disappear or—"

"No, don't," Giovanna said, wiping her tear-streaked cheeks with the heel of her palm. With a frown, she shook her head. "What's done is done. They are my father and husband; therefore, they are my responsibility. I appreciate your continued attentiveness to my humble problems, but I'm sure you have much more important things to do with your time."

After a swift curtsey, she attempted to leave, but Matteo caught her hand before she could pivot away. The sound of men approaching—rushed and angry by the racket they made—put him in a state of inexplicable discomfort. Pulling Giovanna back, he motioned for her to stand still and quiet with her back against the wall.

"Get away! Leave me be!" yelled a man, the fear in his noble tenor palpable among the cacophony of harried footsteps.

"Who do ya' think ya' are giving orders to us?" asked another man gruffly.

With a pause in their approach, someone else laughed. "If you had wanted peace, you should've considered holdin' yer tongue against His Serenity."

"Look at 'im being all brave outnumbered four to one," cackled another before a punch rang out, and the recipient emitted an audible groan.

Matteo fingered the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheathe it, if necessary. Next to him, Giovanna looked back, her face pale and horrified.

"We must help," she mouthed.

Matteo shook his head 'no' even as the unmistakable slap of fists against flesh multiplied, echoing down the alley.

Giovanna squeezed her eyes shut, no doubt in an attempt to lock out the horrible noise. The pained expression on her face told Matteo that it was futile. She was experiencing every part of the unmistakable attack as though it were happening to her. Reaching for Giovanna's hand, Matteo gently squeezed her fingers in solidarity. He wished it were otherwise, but they had become unwitting witnesses to an ambush and leaving now would just risk calling attention to themselves. They'd have to wait out the attack's end and hope that the assailants left the way they came.