The crowd cheered. Every able-bodied man signed up for José’s war effort. Together, new recruits blended in with our soldiers. As a great mass we marched south, stopping to speak in more cities. Bringing more people with us. Until we found ourselves at the doorstep of Rome, a great horde ready to take back the heart of our country.

Fifty-One

April 1849

On the morning before we left on our campaign for Rome, José pulled me aside. “I should tell you that it would be a good idea for you to go back to Nizza to be with the children.”

“And I should tell you, you are a fool to think that after all this time I would actually listen to an order like that.”

José snorted. “I know, but I thought I would try anyway. I don’t know how we are going to get you in the ranks.”

“You’re the general; they have to listen to you.”

At this point my husband openly laughed. “Not in this matter they won’t. You are a woman; they won’t accept you.” He kissed me on the forehead. “I have to inspect the munitions. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

I absentmindedly stroked my loose hair as I watched my husband leave. As my fingers slipped through the strands a thought occurred to me. I searched through the supplies for a pair of scissors. Finding one, I took a deep breath and cut.

That afternoon I slipped into the stables while the men loaded provisions for the battle. My hair was cut short and I wore men’s clothing. None of the soldiers looked twice at me. “Boy, can you pick up…” José paused and looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed. “Anita?”

I saluted him. “Private Garibaldi at your service.”

“Your hair!”

“I know.” I beamed. “None of the soldiers even noticed me.”

He led me outside by my elbow. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I had to, if I wanted to come with you. I’m not going back to Nizza. I was thinking I could have a medical station.”

He wiped a tired hand over his face. “All right.”

As we progressed toward Rome we picked up every able-bodied person we could, but it still wasn’t enough. Our numbers, all dressed in red, totaled only 6,300.

“It’s not enough,” Medici warned as we prepared to leave for the city. “The French still have seven thousand plus a full battalion of field guns. I know the French general, Oudinot, will take advantage of every opportunity he can.”

“Oudinot is cocky,” José said. “He believes the Italians can’t fight, and that’s where he’s wrong. We’ll surprise him with our strength.”

Medici opened his mouth to argue, but a young man spoke up. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

José and Medici turned to this boy, who stood before them in an old blue coat that was too long in the arms. He pushed back the sandy blond hair that fell over his face. “And who are you?” José asked with his hand on his sword.