Biarlass' mystery

By Flavio Declame

The year is 1900 in the territories of the Pinerolo lowlands, where the flow of days is marked by the sun's rays and the rhythms of life by the use of animals. However, time and places are dimensions that are destined to be disrupted with the discovery of a corpse, triggering a chain of events capable of forever changing the life and future of an eighteen-year-old farmer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Aug 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667459837

Book preview

Flavio DECLAME

The mystery of Biarlass

HOGWORDS Editions

THE MYSTERY OF BIARLASS

August 1900

The Pieve

––––––––

She was just a girl, young, bloodied, motionless and almost certainly dead.

It wasn't what Censo had imagined as he walked down the steps of the Biarlass. He saw a leg closed in an unnatural position between the iron bars, the rest of the body half submerged, blood still flowing...

Fresh blood.

Everything would have expected, except this.

And to think that, more or less an hour earlier, his day had started in an absolutely identical way to many others: a normal day.

Because from the bloody girl onwards, nothing was normal anymore.

Just an hour before...

Censo had gotten out of bed reluctantly. It was dawning and his first thought was for the day ahead. He liked working in the fields even if it didn't excite him, but he was born a farmer, son, grandson of farmers and at the Pieve there weren't many possibilities for someone who intended to give his life a different direction.

He tried to free his mind from the thoughts that punctually arose every morning and let his gaze wander around the spartan room.

She stopped him when he framed the window.

Dawn was almost complete. A dawn at the end of August, clear, already cool, waiting for the blast of sun that still burned the skin in the middle of the day. He put on his canvas breeches and shirt, he would wash his face in the kitchen where the bucket with water was.

He took another look from the window: the Pieve was waking up.

The Pieve is a strange country. A group of houses choreographed by a stupendous church. All on one side, as if the majesty of the building acted as a counterweight and they, somehow, had to create a balance towards the east. Almost all of them overlooked the central street, where the passage of the bealera was the leitmotiv of life in the Pievesi.

In the meantime Giovanni was waiting for him in the kitchen. As always, his brother got up first, punctually starting the day with the saucepan of water to make coffee. Every morning the same rite and census, like every morning, he couldn't help but think of who was missing.

Their father, Joseph, was missing.

A father cannot die like this. The years had passed, but the pain still felt constantly. A real blow between head and neck; too young he and Giovanni to suddenly find everything on their shoulders. Simply the day before the father was the pillar of the family, the day after he was gone. He had collapsed in the stable with the milk pail in his hand, without even a cry, a gasp. Nothing. The doctor said the heart, a heart that could, that still had to last so long to allow them to become men, instead of finding the mountain collapsed on them in a minute.

A minute. Joseph's transition from full, healthy life to death had taken that long.

And together with the mountain, Teresa also collapsed.

Their mother, seeing him lying in the stable, had let out a piercing, heartbreaking scream, as if with that voice she could give life back to her companion of so many years. But life did not return to Giuseppe and she found herself curled up in a fetal position, in a world of her own.

A world that, from that moment on, was confined to the walls of his bedroom.

And it was this fall from his mother that had hurt him, if possible, even more: it seemed to him too great a punishment. In fact, losing his father and practically his mother on the same day was difficult to understand. Also because... there was something that didn't add up. It seemed that an incomprehensible aura, greater than pain, had enveloped Mother Teresa.

Beyond these doubts that had been haunting him for too long, the fact was that Giovanni, from that day on, found himself forced to take on the mantle of the house. He was only eighteen, and now, eight years later, his youth was slipping by without having really lived it. Years of work with his head down, worries, responsibilities, had transformed him too early into a man.

Not bad. In a moment, as a son, he had found himself the head of the family, father and mother. Not even military service. No interruptions. Several people had taken action in the town and had obtained his exemption as the only pillar of the family. I just work. Farmer and that's it.

At least it was a job he enjoyed. Passionate about the land. Even if, to be honest, it wasn't the only passion, but here work had nothing to do with it: Giovanni's passion was called Lucia.

Too bad he hadn't told him in so many years. Courage to sell, maybe to face an angry bull, but not to make a statement.

Sin.

Lucia also lived very close by. She was the daughter of Giors and Margherita, they had the tavern that practically bordered their house. They had always known each other and for this very reason she gave the impression of not considering him as a possible boyfriend. Of course, they often talked to each other, laughed, joked, but it seemed to derive only from the fact of being old friends.

And then... who didn't like Lucia? The young men vied with each other in being funny, the jokes flew at the tavern, until Giors, partly for laughs and partly seriously, blocked every unrealistic action of the young men of the Pieve in the midst of a hormonal storm.

And what about Matilda? Lucia's younger sister.

Matilde... Censo stopped: it was happening again... Every time Matilde appeared in his mind it always happened; a temporary suspension of abilities with the associated sudden loss of train of thoughts. Every time. Puff, like a light went out. Matilde managed to erase everything else, nothing existed anymore. She was fantastic, sunny, beautiful, cheerful...

He and Matilde had grown up together and it was she he wanted by his side, it was her he dreamed of having beside him every time he woke up...

Same fate for him and Giovanni. Two sisters, two brothers, two hidden loves. Two stories that could have existed and instead didn't take flight. Indeed, they had never even spread their wings.

Enough. Better change your thoughts, Censo told himself.

As he dressed, he tried to concentrate on what awaited him for the day, and the idea didn't put him in a particularly good mood. Digging up and harvesting potatoes was boring enough compared to other jobs on the land, but it had to be done and it might as well be enjoyed. Sometimes, in moments of maximum pessimism, he had even touched the temptation to take ship and go in search of a new life...

Someone at the Pieve had done it.

L’America...

Thoughts that didn't last long: the prospect of never seeing Matilde again immediately erased any wish to escape overseas.

Following these morning meditations he went on to check on his mother's condition. He saw that she was still asleep and then went down to the kitchen for a quick breakfast with Giovanni.

Knowing that Census would go to the fields, this underwent a modification from the usual ritual. In addition to the coffee, Giovanni had prepared something more substantial. The two brothers didn't talk much, but they loved and respected each other. Censo had recognized him as the head of the family, he trusted his choices. Giovanni had proved to be a sensible man, with his head on his neck, and the awareness of the burden he had taken on at a young age led Censo to have even greater respect for him.

They planned the day together, then after breakfast Censo went to the stable and detached Nina from the manger, put the harness on her and hitched her to the cart.

La Nina was one of the reasons that his day's work seemed less burdensome to him. She was a massive, docile, elderly mare but still so strong and vital that she amazed him every day with her resistance to work. He was really fond of her. Nina followed him, seconded him without having to give her so many commands: she looked at him as if she were reading his thoughts. Sometimes she looked him so straight in the eye that she expected him to start talking at any moment.

He checked that he had everything he needed: the small plough, the hoe, the bucket and the crates. He took the haversack that Giovanni had prepared for him together with the small bottle of wine from the press: bread, cheese, a piece of salami and jumped on the cart, hoping to find along the way the conviction that at the moment he didn't have in large quantities.

However, he realized that the water bottle was empty; it was his faithful companion in the days in the fields, he couldn't leave without it. He was getting off the cart to go to the well and pull the bucket when he thought: it doesn't matter, while I'm passing by the Biarlass I'll stop and fill it.

Fantastic Biarlass. It was a large fountain and it had existed, thought Censo, since time immemorial. Very fresh, clear water arose. The peasants brought the cows to drink on their return from the pasture or they stopped to get water or even just to watch it rise and channel towards the Pieve.

The Biarlass had water all year round. The groundwater was always pushing, there must have been a sea below. Every time Censo passed close to him, he felt a sort of gratitude for the great resurgence: he felt it like an old grandfather, like a root from which the Pieve had sprouted.

With his legs dangling from the wagon he set off. A small touch of the reins to Nina who set off with her slow and steady step, taking the road that led to the church.

And as he always began to think, it happened to him every time. He saw an interesting detail and began to think. Was it good? An evil? Maybe.

The Pieve church, for example, struck him every time he looked at it. He saw it so beautiful, imposing, as soon as the profile protruded from the houses something immediately led him to think above, of the presence of something special in the sky. And he always arrived at the usual conclusion: he would have liked to be more educated, to know more, to know why those walls fascinated him so much, they bewitched him to the point that at Sunday mass, God forgive him, he spent his time looking at the paintings and the decorations on the walls and a little less to follow the parish priest's sermons...

A smile escaped him thinking about how witty that priest was in his reflections, and at the same instant it occurred to him that the new century that had just begun, it was August 1900, had brought no change in his life. In the words of the people, he remembered it very well from the previous year, the advent of the twentieth century seemed to bring with it a new sap, it had to be a gateway to a new world, a force it was thought would arrive to change the days that were always the same , transform them into something more stimulating, however... here is the new stimulus: to go with Nina to dig up potatoes.

Patience.

Rounding the bend he passed the railway, the sight of the tracks made him suddenly change the course of his thoughts and the train took the place of the church. The construction of the line to Saluzzo had brought the passage of progress to the Pieve, a way to see the world more accessible, less distant. For some, because the majority after all hadn't digested it yet...

The initial fear had been all for the fires that could have been triggered by the lapilli of the smoking monster, then since there hadn't been any fires, the deleterious effect on any abortions of grazing cows shifted, abortions that obviously would have brought them to their knees. the small family economies based on the few specimens in possession. Then, seeing that not even abortions had such a devastating effect, indeed, there was even no news about them, a regime of ill-digested tolerance towards the train was established, given by the innate refusal towards any type of change and progress that united good part of the population.

Censo was thinking a lot, he knew it very well. Everything he saw made him think.

Maybe too much.

And while she was thinking of the most disparate things, here she... here Matilde appeared. It was useless, he had it so much in his blood that it appeared in front of him when he least expected it. Like this. It just came to him. They were both just turned eighteen. He felt that sooner or later he would have the courage to say something to her that weren't the words of a kid like they always did. Woh! He had been shaving his beard for three years now, when he was a few days old he was a grown man, the time of being children was over.

And Matilda! Matilde had been a woman for a long time! He often found himself thinking of its fantastic shapes, his mind wandering, wandering...

Jumping from one thought to another he arrived at Biarlass. The atmosphere was the same as always. The fresh morning air seemed even more crisp in that enchanted place. He jumped off the wagon and hitched the Nina to a plant. As soon as he took a couple of steps he was attacked by a strange sensation, he couldn't describe what kind, simply a sense of strangeness, as if something out of place had come to change the familiar vision of the place.

He was going down another step with the cask in his hand when he saw her. To tell the truth, he saw something he couldn't immediately define, then he was sure of it: it really was a leg. Instinct told him to run away, then he plucked up the courage and went down even closer. The leg was squeezed between the two iron bars, naked, the other was bent and disappeared under the water, like the rest of the body. It was a twisted figure in an unnatural position.

Terror invaded him. He thought a thousand things without being able to move. He was petrified by that vision and realized that there was an abundance of blood on the thigh. He had seen enough. He flew up the slope gaining the road as if he had the fire behind him and rushed towards the church to warn the parson.

Who knows why in that moment of terror the first impulse was to run to Don Pietro? He didn't know and didn't care that much.

Luckily for her, she found him coming out of the rectory with the breviary. It was his habit, early in the morning, to take a stroll reading the day's prayers. Censo didn't even give him time to say hello, he attacked him with a cascade of words that were intended to inform him of the fact, but in reality they probably proved to be difficult to understand.

"Stop Good God! Stop and explain calmly!». Don Pietro braked the swollen river while Censo, taking a long breath, tried to collect the images that were tormenting his brain. He found himself able at least to articulate meaningful words, he related what he had seen or thought he had seen, until Don Pietro, grasping the situation, set off running without waiting any longer.

Our good priest was no longer young, but his legs were long and strong, his cassock lifted, his running still so fast that Census, at his eighteen years of age, had to do everything to keep up with him, impeded as he was by the hooves.

When they both reached the Biarlass they found Nina agitated, she was pulling on the reins as if she wanted to uproot the plant. Don Pietro finished the run down the steps. Based on what he understood he was prepared to see something strange, but what appeared in front of him left him stunned.

Obviously it wasn't the first time he stopped to admire the body of water with its shades of light, the shade of the plants, only this time he didn't have time to thank the Creator of such beauty that the hair stood on end neck as if he had seen a ghost. Because what he faced was for Don Pietro the beginning and for Censo the continuation of a nightmare: the girl was really there, she hadn't been an invention sprung from a boy's imagination.

To their utter amazement they saw the girl move, pull her face out of the water and rise from her contorted position exposing her ragged clothes, wet hair, waxy face, a strange stain on her neck and blood smearing her legs.

«Oh Lord!», Don Pietro escaped as he tried to take her in his arms, but she jerked backwards.

From this point on the nightmare took a new, unexpected, terrifying path.

What up to that moment could have had all the characteristics of an accident or worse, of a near-murder, took a path of no return, which neither Censo nor the poor parson could ever have imagined. In the sudden jerk that the girl made to escape Don Pietro's help, she moved about two steps away from them, but not towards the steps, she walked on the water.

He walked on the water.

They weren't crazy. Both of them were looking at her. He walked on water.

They were speechless. Dry throat, blocked breath. Both were well aware that beyond the bars the depth was at least one meter, sometimes even more with the high edge.

He could not stand above a meter of water.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, nobody found the strength to speak, until the girl turned around and, continuing to walk, headed towards the center of Biarlass. About ten paces away she turned, looked at them and let out a laugh that almost made them faint.

Why saying laughter is wrong; it was rather a guttural, animal-like, terrifying verse, which gave them the impression of coming from an indefinite place, which had nothing human about it.

After that it disappeared.

Not that it had gained shore: it disappeared.

Censo did not move. He was not only paralyzed, he felt as if his body was no longer responding to anything. He could not tell if it had been a dream or if the absurdity he had witnessed had been real.

Then he looked at the parson.

He hadn't yet recovered from the breath, but on his face he had the expression of a lost man: the security that had always characterized him no longer existed. Terror seemed to have seized every muscle of his and the inability to get a sound out of his mouth was a logical consequence. Every time Censo thought back to that moment afterwards, he could never understand how long they had stood looking at the water without doing or saying anything.

One minute?

Due?

Ten?

Who knows...

At one point Censo shook hearing the neighing of Nina who continued to agitate tied to the plant.

In the meantime Don Pietro had also recovered. He had managed to get his brain working again and articulate sounds that were meant to be words.

It's not possible... he repeated like a litany, like a desperate rosary, like a mantra derived from the incomprehensible.

While he was intent on this, they heard the arrival of a cart from the road, another farmer was leaving to go to work in the fields and Don Pietro decided to hide in the reeds.

Don't tell him I'm here too... he said to Censo, whoever it is and if he asks you something, tell him you stopped to get some water.

Luckily for them it was Tista, one of the few bears in the town, not inclined to gossip, gave Censo a half-grunt and headed straight towards San Rocco.

Don Pietro came out of his shelter. He seemed to have regained at least a modicum of his usual confidence. He stood in front of Censo, took him by the shoulders and said: We haven't seen a real thing!

Censo was silent a moment longer then he felt his mouth almost scream.

«I saw her... She saw her!».

We thought we saw Censo, we just thought!.

The young man approached the bar that had supported the girl's leg and saw a dark mark.

«This too?», passing the finger that got dirty with red. It was the young woman's blood that hadn't even congealed yet.

The parson dragged his hand over the iron, looked at the reddish traces on the skin and with the firmest voice possible tried to take control of the situation.

Do not say anything. Censo, don't say anything to anyone, do you understand correctly? To nobody!.

«I saw her... WE saw her!». Censo seemed unable to say more.

"We didn't see anything, Censo, how should I tell you? Good God I'm your parish priest, listen to me!».

The boy's legs were still shaking, his tongue like a piece of wood, but he managed to say, Who was it?

He only met the priest's lost gaze.

"I don't know, believe me, I don't know. I only know that it must remain our secret, whatever it is.'

I want to make sure I'm not crazy, I was just going to dig up potatoes...

«Then there are two of us who are crazy, Censo... Listen carefully: what are we going to say to the people? Did we see a ghost? That a girl who used to seem dead came back to life and walked on water? That her blood is here but she disappeared with a scared laugh?'

Hearing this brought back to him the sound, the verse that had given him goosebumps and that he would never forget for the rest of his life. Even looking back on it, he couldn't figure out where it was coming from. The only sure thing is that there was nothing human about it.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. Absolutely nothing human.

«Come, Censo...». He felt the parson's hand take him by the arm and try to take him to the road, but he still couldn't move.

«Let's get out of here, maybe by dint of thinking about it we'll convince ourselves that we had a bad dream...».

Censo slowly climbed all the steps. When they got out they didn't know what to do. The parish priest still looked at him stunned, after a silence equal to an eternity he said to him: «Now I will go back to the rectory and I will sit at the table to have breakfast. I'm not very hungry but I will make an effort to do what I do every morning. Then I'll go pull the bells for mass first. Everything as always. Do you understand what I want to tell you? Everything as always. Mass, confessions, blessings, weddings, baptisms and funerals. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you? That you too will have to go back to your life and forget about Biarlass. It won't be easy, but you will have to succeed. In some time the memory will begin to fade and you will no longer know if we dreamed or saw a real thing. Did you understand me correctly?'

Censo hadn't followed the parish priest's reasoning well, he couldn't understand what was right to do or not to do, what he had seen, who that girl was.

It was the laughter that didn't leave him...

He nodded yes to Don Pietro, he no longer cared to understand, he just wanted to get away from that place, that's all.

He approached Nina, who was still showing signs of nervousness, and detached her from the bar.

But we didn't dream, did we? Just tell me I'm not crazy...

Don Pietro didn't feel like repeating it for the umpteenth time, he too was more exhausted than he wanted to show.

You were going to the fields, weren't you? Take the Nina back and go do what you have to, forget it, act as if you've never stopped at the Biarlass...

Censo stared at him without saying anything more, filled the barrel from the tube, jumped on the cart with his legs dangling and took the direction of San Rocco.

The parish priest looked at him for a long time. When he was well beyond the chapel he set off towards the church, first slowly, then with a quicker step, then running, as one flees from bad things.

Meanwhile Censo, as if hypnotized, watched Nina sway with her tired mare's step, the reins slack, the direction of one who knew very well where to go. Without realizing how he got there, he found himself in the field. He unloaded the little plow and began.

In the evening he could not tell how the day had passed. He returned home, he had done what he had to, the potatoes were on the cart, but he was unaware of how the hours had passed. His stomach was rumbling and it occurred to him that he hadn't had lunch.

Entering the kitchen, he heard Giovanni upstairs talking to his mother, he went up the stairs to say hello to her as he always did when he came home, but as soon as he saw her he immediately realized that something was wrong with her. His gaze was particularly blank, he didn't answer, he just kept touching his leg as if it were hurt.

Giovanni threw him a greeting, as they did to ask each other how the day had gone, but he didn't wait for an answer because, looking at his mother, he immediately said: «I don't know what's wrong with you today. He's been acting strange since this morning shortly after you left. It's not normal and I don't know what to do. If tomorrow it's still like this, I'll go and call the doctor.'

«Did she hurt her leg?», she asked Giovanni.

"I do not know. This morning when I heard her scream she was still in bed, but she doesn't tell me anything. I don't think she was hurt, how could she have done in bed?».

Censo didn't answer, he looked at his mother and only one wish came to him.

To go to sleep.

Go to sleep at seven in the evening to hope to wake up in the morning like after a bad dream. Open your eyes again and discover that the normal world is still there, that life goes on as always, that people are alive when they are alive and dead when they are dead, that they are not resurrected, do not walk on water, do not disappear in the mist and above all do not they laugh like that.

They don't laugh like that.

He found a trivial excuse and went to bed. Giovanni didn't ask any questions, even if it seemed very strange to him.

Everything was strange that day, he thought.

October 1693

Where Biarlass witnessed

––––––––

The echo of the battle had not yet died down; the Piedmontese and alliance troops had suffered a terrible defeat. How many there were dead who were starting to decompose in the countryside around Marsaglia a Pieve they didn't know, or not entirely. They knew that the clash had been very hard, but what the extent of the losses was, however much imagination one possessed, was really difficult to perceive and conceive.

What was worrying now was the news that had reached the village.

Catinat was about to move the army south, it seems he wanted to focus on Saluzzo. This meant only one thing: that he would destroy everything that stood in his way. And given that Pieve and Scalenghe were on the road to Saluzzo, the equation was extremely simple.

He would have razed them to the ground, full stop.

What they didn't imagine is that it would be so sudden. They almost found the army at home, they barely had time to flee towards the countryside and the woods before the bloodthirsty troops of the general arrived.

Maria was terrified. She followed the cries of her father who ordered her to hurry, but she couldn't move. Augusto wasn't actually her father, but he had raised her as a real daughter when her mother died. Augusto was really a good person, he and Pina had been the only ones in the country to take care of that little girl left alone in the world.

He was thinking only of Tonio, Maria. He had gone to work near Alexandria for a month, he took care of the sowing in a large farmhouse and they paid well. To get married you needed money... Of course, he had planned to return as soon as possible, but it certainly couldn't be soon. At least he was far away, Maria tried to console herself, and he probably wasn't even aware of what had happened to Marsaglia...

She was alone with her father.

A little illogically, they took the road towards the Viotto hamlet, who knows why. Most of the people who had already fled had taken the direction of the woods, while they, on the other hand, took exactly the opposite direction, with the intention of leaving the road a little after San Rocco and heading towards the countryside. They had loaded a few things onto a small cart that was pushed by hand, detached the only cow from the manger, all with Augusto continuing to shout at her to hurry up, not to waste time.

Maria had the cow by the halter, the father pushing the cart faster than she could go. The cow walked slowly, it wasn't a horse. As they approached the Biarlass, Tero suddenly occurred to her. How could he have forgotten that? Tero. A mutt with an all black tail and the rest of the body as white as milk. An affectionate, faithful little dog. He was tied to the chain, how could he follow them?

The thought of Tero had awakened her from her torpor and made her immediately make up her mind. He looked at his father, he was twenty steps ahead, he was puffing from the fatigue of the loaded cart, he didn't have time to turn around every moment, he did occasionally, of course, but not so often. Arriving at the Biarlass she tied the cow's rope to the bar and ran towards the house. In the main street of the Pieve he still saw one in the distance who was fleeing, but the street was now practically deserted.

I'm the last one, she thought.

Arrived in front of the door she heard the dog who by now had lost the desire to bark her fear, she felt the resignation in the lament and as soon as she saw her she started jumping so much that it was difficult for her to even detach him from the chain. It took a moment to calm him down but, as soon as he was free, he ran through the gate and the bridge onto the bealera.

Maria did the same thing and started running. At the church she turned around. And that's when he saw them.

There were about ten armed knights, they arrived from the side street which, through a courtyard, led directly into the fields towards Airasca. They were probably army vanguards and had the task of evaluating the consistency of the possible defense of the countries they were about to plunder and destroy. Obviously it was a simple scruple, they already knew that resistance would be non-existent. Catinat was a man of war, as ruthless as he was aware of the halo of terror he carried with him. He was well aware that, after the Cavour massacre, no country would have attempted to keep its doors closed again and would have left the field free for looting.

The big problem was that, at the same time Maria saw them, they saw her.

Three soldiers broke away from the others and galloped in his direction.

Maria couldn't know it, but those three men had been in the war campaign for a long time, they had seen and done terrible things. After participating in the battle of the Marsaglia, whatever orders they still had to execute, their conscience would not have put up the slightest resistance. The perception threshold for the darkest atrocities was now so high that they no longer even considered the problem. Among other things, it was the same conscience that had remained terribly silent even when they had massacred, as already mentioned, the entire population of Cavour. Men, women, children slaughtered after all sorts of violence, total looting of all lootables, and at the end, the burning of the town with the intention of completely erasing it from history and memory.

Seeing her and chasing her was only one logical consequence.

Maria only realized at that moment the danger she was running. She ran like crazy, turning quickly behind the church. Maybe they won't follow me, he thought. He kept running along the road, saw the cow still tied to the bar and two other things he never wanted to see: his father running back and behind him the three horsemen who, having turned beyond the church hill, were about to reach her.

Augusto screamed, but out of breath, hooves pounding on the road, her heart about to leave her chest, she understood nothing.

The moment she reached it, the three arrived.

The first said nothing, made no unnecessary gestures, quite simply, as if he were drinking a glass of water, he pierced his father with the sword, killing him instantly.

Maria couldn't even scream. Her father watched her from the dust, the spasms still made his arms and legs move, but by now she had understood that he was dead. The soldier's sword had entered between his ribs and exited his back: it had struck him with a single blow.

Meanwhile the other two had dismounted and were surrounding her.

Maria was quick, she had strong muscles, but her escape didn't last long: they blocked her in an instant.

She felt the first one squeezing her arms from behind, it seemed like she was going to break them, the pain took her breath away, but not to the point of not feeling the terrible stench of the soldier.

The second arrived and stood in front of her, took her face with a hand that seemed to be made of wood, and grinning brought his mouth closer to kiss her.

The pestilential breath almost made her vomit.

The one who had killed the father was watching the scene laughing. Having just killed a man seemed to have shaken him no more than swatting a mosquito on the neck. Maria, with the force of desperation gathered all her strength, lifted her knee and hit the soldier between the legs.

Obviously a gesture he hadn't expected. With a cry and a series of curses, or so it seemed to her, she doubled over in pain as the laughter of her two cronies brutally wounded his pride.

This small attempt at defense obviously didn't change the course of events, Maria's fate was already written, but it gave the French such a rage that he pursued his plan with such impetus that even the two cronies were a little amazed.

While one still held her by the shoulders, the aching soldier recovered and with a single tug tore her corset apart. The sight of her breasts made him feel less pain, so much so that with another uncork he took off her skirt and underwear.

Maria knew what she was about to undergo. Many times Tonio had entered his room through the window after climbing the wisteria and then spent most of the night in his bed. But he knew that thing done with sweetness and passion, not with the violence, brutality and wickedness of the three soldiers.

Because they all used it.

Her luck was to feel something snapping in her head like a whiplash after the first one had raped her. He felt as if he was sinking into earth, into water, and an absurdly great need to laugh. And he did. A guttural, terrifying laugh that would have shocked anyone, but obviously not men used to anything. She felt faint, or maybe die, she went from one state to another at the sound of her terrible and absurd laugh, so she didn't hear the other two who almost tore her apart. She would have bled to death anyway, but perhaps someone from above wanted to lend her a hand by accompanying her into unconsciousness.

Once the violence ended, their good heart of gentlemen suggested throwing her over the bars, directly into the water.

The launch of the body was not the best. Falling over the bars, one leg got stuck and only the trunk with the head ended up under the water. Deciding that they had already been too considerate, they didn't finish the... job.

And Maria found herself half-buried forever in her last abode of water.

The Biarlass.

None of the three had paid attention to the medallion that the girl was wearing tied around her neck and that in the fury of stripping her had fallen on the grass. The string had been torn along with the corset and no one had worried about the strange object: at that moment they were thinking of something else.

The three were still laughing when, getting back on their horses, they set off towards the village of the Pieve to complete their reconnaissance task. The bulk of the army was now about to enter the town, ready to plunder and then set fire to everything.

October 13, 1693 was not a good day for Pieve and Scalenghe: they were practically razed to the ground. What the fire had failed to do, the mines had done. Catinat kept his fame unchanged. Once again precise, cruel, implacable. He carried out the orders received from the king with the rigor and fussiness that his position required, probably also putting a lot of his effort into it.

There was nothing left.

The inhabitants had nothing left.

Not the houses, the animals, the poor everyday things. Nothing.

Many of them, who hadn't had time to flee into the woods or countryside, no longer even had a life.

Like Maria and her father.

October 13, 1693 was certainly not a good day for the inhabitants of Scalenghe and our Pieve.

And here is Theresa...

Censo did not sleep that night, that famous night. After turning very well without feeling sleep approaching, he decided to get up. He looked out the window that overlooked the main street of the Pieve. The bealera was there to keep company with her subdued and reassuring rustle of still water. The old wisteria that adorned the facade of the inn now seemed such a twisted figure that it no longer had anything of the plant, it was a tangle of branches that started from a very old stump, ran along a good part of the facade and reached as far as the roof.

For a moment she caught his attention, taking him away from his fixed thought. Who knows how old that wisteria was... Surely many and it fascinated everyone.

He remembered that one day Giors had set out to charge armed with a sharp ax with the serious intention of cutting him clean.

«I'm tired of that devil... - he would say to the customers of the tavern - he's already reached the tiles, he's lifting them all...».

He raised it several times, but at the moment of lowering it the determination failed, with the result that the old man continued his life undaunted.

The digression on the wisteria unfortunately didn't last long, the overbearing return to reality didn't have to wait long. He was trying to reason, to skim the story, to reduce it to the bone, but with little result. He had only managed to give birth to a resolution, but he didn't know how much he would be able to respect it: to force himself to be normal, to behave as always, even if he knew it would be very difficult to make it coincide with reality. There are experiences that mark life, that change it, that cause all beliefs, the way of life, of conceiving everyday life, suddenly to be turned upside down and left behind.

And there is no longer any certainty.

A few days meanwhile they flew away without leaving a trace. Censo couldn't have said how he had used the time, what he had done: time had simply slipped. Giovanni hadn't fully realized how much his brother was different, or rather, he had become aware of a certain change, but he thought that the cause was very simple and linked to his age and his sympathy for Matilde.

He must be in love, she thought.

Sometimes he tried to test the waters with a few jokes and some easy teasing, but Censo didn't give him satisfaction and so, not finding fertile ground to continue, he got tired and let it go.

However, Censo was truly in love with Matilde. But not a little: he was really lost. He had also tried to make him understand it, but partly his young age, partly the fear of feeling teased, partly the lack of words for never having faced a similar situation, all the firm resolutions to speak clearly they had been shipwrecked more than once as soon as she had come upon her.

They were close friends, though. Their neighboring houses, the only wall separating the two courtyards, had always been used to seeing each other. As children, even afterwards, they had always played outside, near the bealera, in that space between the two stone bridges and the large wash house. It was the only one after the church one, and it was a special place. Even if it could not be considered a place suitable for boys, Censo liked it very much.

He liked to hear the songs of the women, the gossip, the good-natured teasing, the true or less true news that the gossips passed on. And it was hard work, this was perceived even without having ever done it, but there was a climate of joy that involved everyone.

He had