Came… at her bidding?
Now Gwen realized the horrible, unbelievable, yet irrefutable truth. Willa had somehow pulled them back to the past. Poor Stefano! Her cousin had died here. For what?
With a cry, she hurled herself at Willa, but her enemy sidestepped her. Gwen fell heavily as the bitch howled to her guards.
The door flew open and men poured into the garden, quickly surrounding Gwen, their eyes flashing cruel devotion to their mistress.
A guard pulled her up, but she twisted away, fighting as best she could, kicking and yelling, wishing her hands were free, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Just before she was overwhelmed, blue flames shot from the water, and Gwen saw Willa fling a cloth over the bowl, snuffing it out.
“Idiots!” Willa shouted. “Do not stand there gaping. Take her to the dungeon!”
*
“I received word my lord husband, Berengar II, margrave of Ivrea, has crowned himself king of Northern Italy.” Willa stood in the torch-lit corridor, wearing Adelaide’s amethyst crown. “I am now the queen. Show your respect.”
Shocked by Willa’s audacity, Adelaide could only glare at her.
Willa raised an eyebrow, waiting, then angrily snapped her fingers and the guards stormed into Adelaide’s cell. Strong hands gripped her, forcing her to her knees.
“So, once again, you shall be called Princess Adelaide, for when you marry my son––”
“I will never marry your son!”
“If that be the case,” Willa rolled her eyes at the jailers, “then I think I shall give you over to my guards, along with this blasphemer. Mayhap the prospect of gang rape will change your mind, although, alas,” Willa crooked her finger toward someone down the hall, just out of Adelaide’s line of sight, “that one’s fate was sealed when she assaulted my lord husband. And I will not tolerate a blasphemer posing as a servant of God. Bring our new prisoner forth.”
Adelaide couldn’t believe her eyes as they dragged a bound and gagged Brother Godwyn into her cell.
Willa’s eyes narrowed. “This dungeon is full to brimming, so I am giving you a companion, Princess Adelaide. The bitch has angered me beyond all reason, but mayhap she will yet reconsider what I have asked of her and divulge the truth. Ah, I think the two of you have much to consider. Gang rape or marriage with my son for you, eh? For her, a private discussion with me, or rape and then burning at the stake – or mayhap all three. And besides, this blasphemer’s presence might yet serve me well, for my husband told me she paid you a visit the last time she was here.”
“Berengar merely imagines––”
“Shut your mouth! Do not deny she is your friend.” Willa stared hard at Adelaide. “Think well on it, Princess. I shall allow the whore-monk to die quickly if you change your mind about my dear son, Adalbert.”
There was sarcasm in her tone, and Adelaide recalled how Willa demeaned her son in public. Nonetheless, she felt no pity for him. He was a worm.
The jailers released Adelaide, one of them kicking Godwyn in the side before exiting the cell. Her muffled yelp of pain mingled with Willa’s laughter.
The door closed with a boom.
Stunned, Adelaide continued to kneel in the dark. Then she shook herself into action, scrambling on hands and knees across the floor toward Godwyn.
*
“Hold still, Godwyn. I will remove your gag.”
Gwen couldn’t stop shaking. The cell was dark, black as the rage in her heart, yet she could just make out a faint line of light: the edges of the door slat. Sons of bitches! She wanted to throw herself against it, to lash out at the guards who had abused her, groped her.
“Please, you must hold still.” Adelaide’s voice was low, pleading.
With a supreme effort, Gwen kept motionless.
The queen’s fingers gently explored her face, searching for the gag, yet despite her care, she accidentally grazed Gwen’s eye.
In pain, Gwen wrenched backward, her cry muffled against the gag.
“Forgive me,” Adelaide said as she pulled it off.
Gwen sat up and worked her jaw. “Fucking bastards!” she shouted in English, hoping her captors could hear. “Assholes!”
“I think you must have cursed them well,” Adelaide whispered with a smile in her voice. “Never have I heard rougher sounds, but they deserve no less.”
The queen struggled with the rope binding Gwen’s wrists. There was a sudden give, the knots unraveling as they both tugged and twisted.
“I thanked God for your visit and your escape from this terrible place,” Adelaide continued. “I am sorry you are back under these circumstances. I must commend you, though, for however you got out, you caused quite a stir.”
Gwen rubbed her sore wrists. “Yes, I did,” she answered. Aware of an edge in her voice, she strove for calm.
“I understand how you must have suffered when they captured you. They abused me as well, with words and deeds.” She paused. “Even before Willa brought you here, I knew you were a woman. The last time I, er, when you hugged me, I felt your body. I knew. And please forgive me for my delight at your return, but you have become my dearest friend in this dark place. I have been bereft, and I have needed you so.”
Gwen hugged Adelaide, worried. “We need each other now. My name is Gwendolyn Godwyn, by the way. Please, call me Gwen.”
The queen responded quietly, “Gwen, yes, yes. Thanks be to God. I’m now certain all shall be well.”
Gwen sighed. Adelaide’s delight at seeing her, along with her faith in the future, were little comfort. She couldn’t imagine how they were going to get out of this mess. “You’ve been very brave throughout this ordeal.”
“No, not me,” Adelaide replied quietly. “Stefano was the brave one. He shouldn’t have died.”
“True, and you shouldn’t have been forced to live alone in this dark hole for weeks on end,” Gwen added softly. “You were both stronger than anyone should ever have to be.”
The queen choked back a sob, and Gwen held her close, letting her cry. After several minutes of rubbing Adelaide’s back, hoping to soothe her, she whispered, “Shhh, it’s going to be all right. We will figure this out, but we should rest now. Lean against me and try to sleep.” Gwen rocked Adelaide until her breathing became deep and regular.
With time to think at last, Gwen stared into the blackness, pondering the insane things Willa had said, along with the mind-boggling images she’d seen in the water. She couldn’t deal with it now. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and rested against the stone wall. Her head hurt, and she recalled the blow she’d taken, her capture, Barca.
Her eyes flew open. Had he been killed? Worried, she replayed every detail of the fight in her mind. What was the outcome? Was there anything she could have done differently?
Gwen shook her head and tried to cast aside her doubts. She realized they did her no good, but her fear for Barca and the others remained. Eventually, her mind turned to the tunnel, willing Warinus, Ranulf – and hopefully Barca – to get here soon. And she wondered if there was anything she could do in the meantime to move things along.
She thought about how Willa’s men eyed her when they heard her depraved plans. How much time do we have? A knot rose in her throat. They had to start digging from this end – right now.
The bottom door slat scraped open, and Gwen jumped. Half asleep, Adelaide sprang up, then scrambled on hands and knees to grab the things passed through, and Gwen had the presence of mind to study the layout of the cell while there was a little light.
“Please, I beg you,” Adelaide implored the jailer, her mouth near the slat. “You’ve given only one serving. We are two now.”
“That’s all you’ll get. Make do.”
“Wait, sir!” Gwen got down on the floor near the queen. “Please, we are both suffering with our monthlies.” Adelaide looked at her, startled, but Gwen shook her head and forged on. “We have need of rags and a bucket or two of water.”
The door slat
closed.
“I don’t understand,” Adelaide whispered. “I’m not––”
“Shhh, I have a plan.” Gwen took the queen’s arm and moved her away from the door. “We have been tunneling. Father Warinus and two others are almost here. We must start from this end, near the back wall. We’ll use the buckets to dig – if we get them – otherwise, we’ll use our bare hands.”
“A tunnel? Almost here? Oh, bless you, bless you all!”
Gwen ran her hands over the flooring and found a seam, then started working at the grit and mortar between the stones, prying and digging with her fingers. Adelaide immediately joined her.
Whatever they’d been served smelled delicious, but it would have to wait.
*
Exhaustion overtook Gwen, and she slipped into a sweet sleep, dreaming of Alberto. She saw him on bended knee, his dark hair gleaming in a candlelit room, the stray silver strands in his hair catching the light and twinkling like stars, in magical effect. The stuff of dreams. He held himself proudly before someone, a helmeted man in full armor, receiving the tap of a broadsword on his shoulders, the mark of knighthood.
“Arise, Duke Alberto,” the man intoned.
Alberto stood and turned to Gwen, smiling, his dark brown eyes filled with warmth and love. Then they happily walked outside to a yellow sports car and drove away, Gwen at the wheel.
Soon, they were barreling down a two-lane road. Highway 1. The California coast. Blue-gray ocean beyond, sparkling sea green waters close to shore. Gwen reached over to Alberto. Her breath caught. The passenger seat was empty!
The car sped faster and faster, out of control, crashing through a fence and plunging over a cliff, careening toward the water.
Gwen felt herself falling, falling, a feeling of weightlessness in her gut. The ocean was coming straight at her, the waves rising to meet her, and she screamed. Just before hitting the water, her body lurched, and she jolted back to wakefulness, sweating, heart pounding.
She couldn’t let go of her fright, closing her eyes again and trying to relive the dream, to find Alberto and change the ending, but then she heard Adelaide’s gentle whisper, “Gwen, I am here. Fear not. We shall escape.”
“I know,” Gwen lied. I don’t know, she thought, still held prisoner by her nightmare, by time itself, by the lack of control she felt and the deep dread it had conjured.
*
Barca staggered into the small clearing where they’d made camp the night before, confronting Ranulf, who had an arrow trained at his chest. Father Warinus stood just behind, holding his sword.
“Barca!” Warinus exclaimed. “Where is Gwendolyn?”
“Help me, please,” he croaked, clutching his head, blood running between his fingers. He leaned against a tree for support, his knees wobbly, his stomach churning.
The priest scrambled to help, questions pouring out of his mouth. “You’re injured! Where is Gwen? What happened?”
Barca’s legs gave out, and he sank to the ground. “They’ve taken her up to the keep.”
“They’ve captured her?” Father Warinus cried out. “Merciful God, Willa’s got her?”
“How did this happen?” Ranulf asked.
“The village had been alerted,” Barca winced at the throbbing in his head, “and they were told to look out for a whore-blasphemer dressed as a monk. They took her to Castle Garda – alive.”
“Oh, no.” Father Warinus crossed himself.
“There’s a fellow with me.” Barca gestured toward the woods. “Let him come in. He supports our cause. Memmo, come in.”
Scowling, Ranulf looked to where Barca was pointing. “Who’s Memmo?”
The village man stepped out from behind a tree, cap in hand, and bowed.
Warinus eyed him suspiciously, and Ranulf glowered.
“Father, good soldier,” Memmo said, “Garda Village is my home. I am a fisherman by trade, and no fighter, but I have eyes and ears and enough common sense to know what’s right and what’s not.”
“And?” Ranulf prompted.
“Let him speak,” Barca said. “He has my confidence.”
The man shuffled his feet, then looked directly at Father Warinus. “My village knows well enough what Berengar is up to, and many disagree with him, but there is little we can do. And besides, his wife Willa is greatly feared. We dare not provoke her wrath.” He nervously twisted his cap. “We’ve all been watching for a return of the robbers, wanting justice, but it wasn’t until two days past that I spied the work you were doing up on La Rocca and understood why the tools were taken.”
Barca heard the priest suck in his breath and saw Ranulf’s knuckles go white on the grip of his bow.
“I’ve told no one,” Memmo quickly offered as he used his cap to wipe the sweat covering his brow. “If you mean to bring harm to Berengar, he’s already gone. If you mean to rescue the queen, and the woman who wears the cowl, then I’d be pleased to help any way I can.”
“And we need him,” Barca interjected. “Memmo says they left me for dead when they took Gwen. I thank God he was up early and heard the scuffle. She was brave. She killed one, mayhap two of our enemies.” He gave them a grim smile, proud of her hard-won abilities. “Forgive me, but I… I couldn’t stop them… I failed to protect her. I’m sorry.”
Warinus looked to have aged a full decade, but Ranulf bore his usual, tough demeanor, still eyeing Memmo with skepticism.
“So, why is he here?” Ranulf challenged, jerking his head toward the fisherman.
“He just told you – oh, God, my head.” Bolts of pain shot through Barca’s skull, and he leaned sideways and heaved, grabbing his wound again, moaning, his brain swimming with unease. “Christ, it hurts.”
Warinus pried Barca’s hands away and inspected his wound.
“As I said, I would like to help,” Memmo responded. “After the men left with your woman and their dead, I went to look more closely and found Barca. I was able to rouse him and offered my assistance. He told me how to find you. I helped him walk here.”
“Thank God for you,” Father Warinus said, feverishly rummaging in his saddlebags.
“Does anyone else know about this, Memmo?” Ranulf asked pointedly. “Anyone from town?”
“No, I got Barca out of there before anyone else arrived.”
“Are you certain no one followed you?”
“Yes.”
Barca made the mistake of nodding in agreement and winced.
“I once suffered as you, my son,” Warinus said. “I was thrown from my horse, hit my head on a rock, and saw double for days.”
“Yes.” Barca felt his guts twisting and retched again. “Double.”
The priest removed a cloth from his bag. “I shall bind your head, and you will be fine, but you must rest today.”
“No. I must try to find his lordship,” Barca argued weakly.
“The hell you must,” Ranulf shot back. “He’ll kill us for losing Gwen.”
“It won’t come to that,” Father Warinus countered. “Moreover, I know Lord Alberto very well – may God bless his trying soul – and he is no brute. You make him sound akin to Berengar, and Alberto is no such villain.”
“With all due respect, Father,” Ranulf said, “I doubt you are well-versed in military discipline.”
The priest sighed at the scout. “My son, let it go. We must stop arguing and continue with the tunnel.” He looked through the trees toward La Rocca. “Are we close, Ranulf? Can we make it inside today?”
“We must. There is no other choice.”
“Then let us not tarry,” Warinus said, strapping on his sword. “Once we rescue the queen, we must get her away, then go inside and try to find Gwendolyn. With God’s help, we shall succeed in both endeavors.” He faced the fisherman. “Memmo, go back to your boat and remain out of sight. I’ve seen a cove south of town, where there is a rock as big as a cottage.”
“Yes,” he said. “I know the place. I will wait there.”
Father Warinus nod
ded. “Be alert for my whistle. If all goes as planned,” he crossed himself again, “bring the boat around, and we will accompany the women across the lake to safety.” He looked to the soldiers. “Barca, stay here with the horses, while Ranulf and I dig. As soon as the women are in the boat, Ranulf will join you. You two must act as decoys. Lead any trackers away from us. The women and I shall make for his lordship’s territory, by way of Mantua, if possible. Are you in agreement?”
They both nodded.
“Then, my sons, go with my blessing,” Warinus said, making the sign of the cross over them. “Remember, once we’re off, you two must ride in all haste to find Lord Alberto.”
“Father, you have our word,” Ranulf said, locking gazes with Barca.
Barca was about to nod again, but his head ached miserably and he caught himself in time. He hoped for the strength to carry on, hoped above all their plan would succeed, and he would be given the opportunity to ride out and report good news to his lord.
*
Father Warinus was filled with renewed vigor and a supreme sense of conviction. Drawing himself up, he gave each man a fiercely determined smile. “Now, God willing, we shall go and free a queen, and find our brave she-monk, before she, before…”
Closing his eyes, he found himself wavering. No, no, I must not falter! He worried that Willa was calling Gwendolyn a blasphemer, then visualized Stefano’s head. He feared she would be no more merciful with her new captive and it was possible she could do something even worse.
“As long as there is life in my body, Gwen shall not burn,” he whispered fiercely, hearing the other men respond, “Amen.”
Chapter 4
16 August, 951, Castle Garda, Italy
Footsteps. Scraping. The door opened and two buckets were pushed inside the cell without comment.
Gwen scrambled to see everything before the room went dark again. One bucket was about half-filled with water, the other with rags.
She grabbed the water bucket. Just as the door closed, she carefully poured some of the water on the spot where they had already removed a paving stone, then tossed the rags away, and positioned the second bucket sideways.
Italian Time Travel 02 - Time Enough for Love Page 5