by Lory Kaufman
The remaining five attackers had swung their horses back around and, without hesitation, were charging again. It became a slashing, banging, cutting and spearing battle of attrition.
The fight for the cannon was not so grand. Only two men with poleaxes against eight men on horses and a bowman, not fifty paces away. Within a minute, all the cannoneers lay bleeding, dying or dead. When the attackers rode toward the cannon's horses, the animals bolted, breaking their leads. The mounted cavalry caught one horse quickly and had to chase the other.
More easily caught was Hansum. He was the most vulnerable. Feltrino rode ahead of Hansum and blocked his way. The infantryman jumped in front of Hansum and slashed at the air to make Feltrino back his horse up. The brave defender then jumped back to confront the two other attackers. He swung his poleaxe at the closest one and it hit his shield. He pulled it back again over his head to make another blow, but never delivered it. The other horseman had gotten behind him and slashed him on the back with his sword. Though the chainmail held, it threw him off balance and then the haunch of the attacker's horse ran into the poor man as he passed. He stumbled and the other rider's heavy sword came down and caught him right on the top of his head. His helmet split and the man fell to his knees right in front of Hansum.
"Perche?" was all the man could say before blood and brains spurted out of his skull. He fell to the ground dead.
Hansum screamed at the grisly sight. Feltrino got off his horse, sword in hand. Hansum looked to the infantryman's fallen poleaxe and leaned toward it. One of the prancing hooves of the horses came down on it, holding it fast. Feltrino looked at Hansum through his closed helmet. Then he sheathed his sword, lifted his visor and looked at Hansum.
"Feltrino!" Hansum gasped. Feltrino removed one of his gloves and held up the hand. It was short a thumb. But Feltrino didn't look angry or revengeful. He bowed slightly to Hansum.
"Master Monticelli," he said, respectfully. "You are my prisoner, Signor."
***
Just when you think things couldn't get any worse . . . Guilietta becomes very ill. Hansum, who cannot be with her, is worried sick for her. He has a dream of them communicating the way he communicated with his friends back in the twenty-fourth century - by implant telepathy. But is it a dream?
He wanted to be near her, commune with her. He began to imagine being able to touch his temple, as he had done in his previous life, so he could talk to her. He allowed himself this fantasy.
"My darling, I am ever here for you," Hansum said low, as if he were using his implant. "I am your slave, your devoted."
"Romero. My Romero. Where are you, my Romero? I hear your voice. I see you in my mind, like a window to another place. Is this a dream? Is this Heaven?" Hansum opened his eyes in surprise. It was just like the semi-telepathic experiences he'd had back home. But this was impossible. "Where have you gone, my love?" Guilietta's voice asked in his head again. "You've disappeared. Please come back to me." Dream or hallucination, it didn't matter. Hansum closed his eyes again and drew up his knees, tight to his chest.
"I'm here, my love. Don't be afraid."
"I can see you again. Oh, thanks be to God, I can see you again."
"And I you, my love. How are you, dearest?"
"I was in pain, husband, but now I am calm. And you?"
"The Podesta is not allowing me to leave the palace. I am okay, but worried for you, my darling." Tears poured from Hansum's eyes. "Oh, Guilietta, I miss you so much."
"Oh, my poor darling, to be without each other at this painful time. Be brave, my Romero, like I know you are." The image of Guilietta smiled in Hansum's mind. Hansum smiled too, thinking of the dream's irony. The dream had questioned whether he was a dream. "Father says . . . they all say, you are devils."
"No, my love. We are not. I am only a man. Just a man. A man who loves you."
"And I love you, Romero. But why do they say such things?"
"Because they see we are different. And they are right in that. But I am not a devil."
"Then what are you?"
"I am a man, Guilietta. I am a man from a different time. From the future. Why God has sent me here, I don't know. How to get back? It's a mystery. I will clear up this fear everyone has of me, and we shall be together soon, my beautiful Guilietta."
"I fear not, husband. I fear not. I am dying." Hansum didn't like this daydream anymore. He pulled his knees even closer and wept openly. "Come to me, my darling," Guilietta's voice said. "Hold me while I go to God." Hansum heard a low male voice in the background of the dream. It sounded like the Master.
"She's talking to herself," Agistino's voice said. "What's she saying?"
"Maybe she sees St. Peter," said a voice sounding like Nuca's.
"He's right on the ceiling with Michael," the Signora's voice wept. Then Hansum saw Guillietta wince in pain. "Oh my baby," shrieked the Signora's voice, and there was the sound of someone collapsing.
"Help take the mistress to her bed," the man's voice said, frantically. "Then send Ugilino for Father Lurenzano. He's gone back to his church."
"Come to me, my darling," Guilietta's voice whispered desperately. "One last kiss before I meet Jesus. I am content that your voice is the last thing I'll hear."
"No Guilietta. You're not dying. You mustn't die!"
"I am done, my love, but I am happy."
"You mustn't die, Guilietta. I love you. I need you. I've always loved you. Before we met, I loved the idea of you. I need more of you."
"We had the time on the wall, with the moon and cool breeze showing us we were alive." Guilietta said.
"I want that time again," Hansum wept. "You cannot go. I've not had enough."
"Who's to say what's enough? Not those who say it."
And then there was silence.
Want to know more about the world of
The Verona Trilogy?
Most futuristic novels don't give you the back story of their civilizations. They just plop the reader into the middle of the characters' lives and start the story rolling. The writer lets the readers infer much of how the civilization works from what happens around the characters. I do pretty much the same thing. After all, it's the characters and the story that is important, and the quality of its telling. But behind the scenes, writers of future fiction have to work out a general history for their world to rationalize why things are the way they are. I thought, why not share the back story? Some readers might find it interesting.
If you are one of these readers, you are invited to go to
www.lorykaufman.com
and click on the BACK STORY link.
This is where you will find out the answers to questions like:
• Why are only three hundred million people on Earth in Lory's 24th-century world?
• Why does the community of New York, (one of the biggest cities on the planet in 2347) have only thirty thousand people on it, and why isn't it on Manhattan Island anymore?
• Why is the planet's average size living community sixty people?
• What is a steady-state economy?
• Why does every human on the planet have a personal A.I. (artificial intelligence) from birth?
. . .and much more.
We'd also love to hear your thoughts about the story and its future. A link for contacting us is on the website too. See you there.
Cheers,
Lory Kaufman
About the Author
"I write Post-Dystopian fiction. After society's collapse, which is imagined in so many great dystopian stories, humans will either fade into history, with the dinosaurs, or, if it learns the right lessons, society will go on to construct a civilization to last tens of thousands of years. The Lens and the Looker, and the rest of The Verona Trilogy, are the exciting adventures of young people doing the latter." -Lory Kaufman
On the artistic side of Lory's career, he's written, acted and directed children's theatre and musical theatre. He enjoys art, especially sculpture. He loves science fiction
and historical fiction and he has been deeply involved in the green movement all across North America. All this shows through when you read his work. Lory has three grown children and works and lives in Kingston, Ontario, Canada.