men around her clap all the harder, and some even whistle sharply. Eleonora makes her way in the scorching heat to the front of the crowd. The closest to Garibaldi are the walking wounded—the men without a limb or an eye or bandaged around the chest. Nine or ten mounted officers in red shirts stand at attention behind the General, and on the horse next to his there is his wife, Anita, wearing a cavalry officer's tunic.
Suddenly, without calling attention to herself, Anita dismounts and takes a few tottering steps. To the untrained eye, nothing would seem wrong. Anita might be five months pregnant but she has spent her life in the saddle; she reportedly even taught the General to ride years ago, when he was just a sailor come ashore in Brazil. Eleonora, however, saw her mother take such steps when she miscarried her brother. As Anita collapses on her knees and the mounted officers watch in consternation, Eleonora runs up behind her. Slipping her arms under those of Anita, she eases her forward by a few feet to get out of range of the horses' hooves, then motions to a staring soldier to take her neck scarf to the nearby fountain and wet it. She manages to prop Anita on the marble lip of the fountain pedestal and then run the soaking cold cloth repeatedly over her face until she at last opens her eyes. She is pale in the strange way of the olive-skinned when they are weak and fatigued.
"I want to hear what Giuseppe is saying," Anita is muttering. "Don't tell him anything's wrong." She squints at Eleonora. "I know you."
"Yes. From the hospital. The day you came with the General to see us."
Anita wobbles into a standing position with Eleonora's assistance. "What will happen to the hospital now?" she asks.
"We need to hide the wounded. The French are set to enter the city at dawn tomorrow."
Anita winces—from pain or displeasure. "So we can expect that as we go north the Austrians will try to cut us off."
Eleonora notes Anita's use of "we"—as if she were in any condition to go anywhere.
"Fortunately, the American Consul Brown gave Mazzini a passport this morning so that he can flee," Anita adds. "And there's an American painter here who worked for three days to produce safe-conduct passes for us."
"A certain Freeman?"
"That's the name they said."
"I know him!"
As Garibaldi finishes his speech and dismounts from his horse, the men who have been standing the closest, practically under the snout of his horse, and listening with glistening eyes to every word, tell him what has happened to Anita. Eleonora sees the immense concern on his face as he makes his way to the fountain, his long hair damp from the heat and his beard unkempt and unending.
"She can't travel," she tells him lowly.
"Is it true, Anita?" he asks, taking in her figure from head to foot. He is a man trying to fathom the woman he loves.
"Yes, it's true," Eleonora intervenes. "This is a difficult pregnancy."
"I have to go with you, Giuseppe," Anita says dispassionately. "I'm too prized a prey for them here. Bring me my horse."
"Your horse, n—now?" asks Eleonora, worried.
"Many of these men will die during the march. I have to set an example, do what I can for them." Anita takes heavy steps towards her stallion.
"I thank you for your help," says Garibaldi after a moment, his gaze—like Eleonora's—trained on Anita's belaboured gait.
"No need for that."
Then, as the General turns to follow his wife, she adds, "But sir, I would appreciate having your promise."
His mouth opens slightly in surprise, only to change almost immediately into a chivalrous nod at her to speak her mind.
"There are two volunteer soldiers with you who…I care… deeply about."
"Not one but two?" Despite the circumstances, amusement darts across Garibaldi's face. Then, serious—very serious—, he adds, "And what, Ma'am, can I promise you? Haven't I just promised all there is…blood and death?"
Eleonora bows her head. "That's right, sir, two," she confirms. "I'd just like to hear from you personally, sir, that you will all be back to Rome." Her eyes close, her face collapses, and tears gush forth. She feels Garibaldi embrace her heaving shoulders.
The next time she looks, the volunteers are filing past her on their march out of the city. Her nose is running like the fountain next to her. More tears veil her sight, more volunteers pass.
She sees Luigi's young ardent face again, looking at her from the execution stand. Today is the first time in years she's cried.
Rome, Italy - July 6, 1849
James Freeman was doing his best to help Nicholas Brown to protect Americans in the city, encouraging them for example to fly flags off their balconies. Turning now into the labyrinth of narrow streets in the direction of the Consulate, which was none other than Brown's private apartment, he was thinking about his wife and if she was safe enough there in Florence, when he nearly collided with Eleonora Serlupi.
"But what are you doing here?" he exclaimed, giving her a fond hug. "Rome's too dangerous, Eleonora. Oudinot is committing atrocities."
"Even at the hospital, James. We've hidden the wounded we could, but his men won't leave the dying alone. And they've stopped paying the nurses. The women can't buy bread for their families anymore."
"New of Princess Belgioioso? Margaret Fuller says she's keeping away from the hospital."
"She's gone into hiding, although she spent last night at the bedside of a dying young writer whose wounds got infected, a certain Mameli. Up to now the French haven't dared touch her…touch her physically …on account of her being an old friend of the Buonapartes."
Freeman shook his head. "That won't save her in Rome."
"Oh she knows that. She's planning to head towards the Orient."
"You should ask her to take you with her."
"No, James. It's not the moment for me to go, not yet. Any news of Garibaldi?"
"The French are on his heels, but they're taking their time. They'd like to see him fall into the hands of the Austrians up north—you know, get their allies to do some of the dirty work." He took her arm. "Too dangerous stopping on the street like this. Have you got some time? Good, then come with me to see Nicholas Brown, our Consul, who's just resigned. His son tells me he's sick."
She remembered Anita mentioning him...and of course James himself. There'd been no mention of illness, however.
"He's not only a friend of Mazzini's but also a burning anti-slavery abolitionist. Comes from his Rhode Island background."
"Rhode Island?"
"A state in America."
She hurried behind him along the sidewalk of the narrow cobble-stoned street. "James, I get the feeling that the French are looking for me."
"Why?" Freeman's head jerked in surprise.
"Some soldiers, and a French civilian with an ugly mark on his face, came into the hospital this morning," Eleonora said, breathless from their fast pace. "The civilian seemed to be guiding the others. He wanted to see all the patients and then he asked them if they'd seen two volunteers. The description he gave of them fit my friends Sandor and Goffredo. Some traitor told them that those two often came round to see one of the nurses. That's when the soldiers set about questioning the other nurses and I ran away. I can't understand what they want from me."
"Neither do I, but I don't like the sound of it," Freeman replied darkly. "Here we are. That standing carriage and the mass of trunks piled in the wagon behind it are probably Brown's. Most of his family's left already. His son said to go straight up."
A burly young dark Italian opened the door. In the hall stood a much thinner and paler fellow who looked just as young. He held a filthy cap in both hands and his breeches were too short for him. Freeman