Italian Time Travel 02 - Time Enough for Love

by Morgan O'Neill

  “Hold me so I don’t fall,” Gwen whispered.

  “As you will.” The queen fumbled in the dark, then took hold of Gwen’s arm. “What are you going to do with the buckets?”

  “I’m going to break this one. We can use the wood for digging.” Feeling with her foot, Gwen gauged the exact location of the bucket and jumped on it, but the thing skirted sideways and she would have crashed to the floor but for the queen’s steadying hand. She readjusted her stance, this time with the bucket pinned against the wall, and leapt again. She landed squarely, causing it to creak. “Once more should do it.” She jumped several more times. “They’re well made, I’ll give them that.” Gwen puffed, swiping her brow. On the sixth try, the wood gave way, screeching in protest as the sections split apart.

  The high door slat opened. “What is going on in there?” the guard shouted angrily, peering into the gloom.

  “Nothing, good sir,” Adelaide replied. “The new prisoner is unhappy about being locked up, is all.”

  “Tell her she’ll get nothing but a whip against her back if she doesn’t calm herself.”

  “I will see that she behaves.”

  “You had better, else your royal back shall feel my lash as well.”

  Gwen saw Adelaide cross herself, just as the door closed with a snap.

  “Oh, I’ll behave.” Gwen grinned. “The job should go much faster now.”

  Together, the two women tore away wood from the bucket and returned, on hands and knees, to renew digging, this time with better tools than mere fingers.

  They worked more paving stones away from the hole already begun. Gwen dug and was soon lying on her belly, her head and arms farther and farther inside the hole, while Adelaide used the second bucket to dump the excavated dirt under the cot.

  Hopefully, no one would come in and find Gwen’s butt sticking out of the hole. Better yet, no one would look in on them at all, until after they were well on their way to freedom.

  The hours dragged on. She switched duties with the queen from time to time, taking much-needed breaks, only once stopping altogether when the evening meal was brought.

  Gwen sat back, stunned. Had it already been twenty-four hours since they’d started digging? Covered with sweat and grime, she was more weary than she’d ever been, her arms and shoulders knotted with pain. “I have to stop. My arms just won’t work anymore.”

  “Yes, yes. Come and rest,” Adelaide responded. “Let me rub your shoulders. You have been so strong. When you’re in the hole, I’ve only your knees to hang onto now. We have tunneled beyond our cell wall, surely. How much farther do you suppose we’ll have to go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I pray it is not too far.”

  Gwen let her mind drift as the queen worked her muscles, easing away her aches. But worries nagged at her. The cell smelled dank and earthy, the source of the scent piled in heaps under the bed. They would never be able to hide it, should someone become curious and look inside.

  “I shall go into the hole tomorrow,” Adelaide offered.

  “No,” Gwen said, “I’ll be all right––”

  Adelaide grasped Gwen’s arm and sucked in her breath. “Did you hear?”

  Gwen looked up, listening for the guard, but there was no sound.

  “I’m sure I heard something.” Adelaide’s hand was trembling.

  Short, heavy, chopping sounds echoed from the hole.

  “It’s them!” Gwen’s energy flooded back as she dropped to the floor and stuck her head inside the tunnel.

  “Here.” Adelaide shoved two pieces of wood into Gwen’s hand. “Hurry, reach down as far as you can and bang them together so they might hear you.”

  Gwen leaned in and tapped several times, then stopped to listen. Could they hear her? What was the SOS code? Long, short, long, or the other way around? No, they wouldn’t understand it, anyway.

  Clunk. Clunk.

  Were they digging again? Or responding?

  Gwen tried a rhythm. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap.

  Clunk, clunk, clunk. Clunk, clunk.

  She wrenched around. “They’ve heard us! They’re coming. Quick, hold my legs while I dig.”

  Working furiously, her aches and fatigue forgotten, Gwen adjusted her angle as she tunneled toward the sounds. She didn’t bother to get the loose dirt out of the hole, just pushed it aside. Finally, she dropped the pieces of wood and began clawing at the soil with her bare hands.

  Suddenly, she felt the dirt give way and the tip of a shovel surged through the gap. She pulled back, barely avoiding its sharp edge.

  “Hello?” she called out as loudly as she dared.

  “Gwendolyn?” It was Ranulf.

  “Yes, yes, they put me with the queen. I’m sending her down. Be ready.” Gwen twisted and whispered over her shoulder, “Help me up.”

  With a surge of strength, Adelaide pulled her out of the hole. “God grant this will work.”

  “Quickly now. My friend Ranulf is in the tunnel. Go feet first. Kick out the opening if you have to. He’s right there to catch you.”

  Gwen held onto Adelaide as best she could while the queen lowered herself into the tunnel. She heard thumping as the queen struck the bottom several times with her feet, then slipped several inches, twisting her wrists out of Gwen’s grasp.

  “Thanks be to God,” Adelaide said as she sank away, under control, supported from below.

  Moments later, Gwen heard a soft whistle, and she sat on the cell floor, dangling her legs into the void, then lowered herself, searching for a foothold. The tunnel was narrow, perfect for someone Adelaide’s size, but Gwen had to struggle to get down. Dirt fell around her face, getting in her eyes, ears, and mouth, and she had difficulty moving her legs. Sweating, afraid she’d get stuck in the hole, Gwen pushed against the sides of the tunnel with her hands and elbows as Ranulf worked. The dirt suddenly gave way, the opening widened, and he guided her feet to the rope ladder they had rigged so many days ago.

  Then she was out, blinking and sputtering, trying to shake off the grit. It was night and the stars had never looked so beautiful. Before her, Father Warinus grinned and hugged her, then offered her a wine skein. Gwen could see Adelaide already moving down the narrow path, Ranulf guiding her toward the water’s edge.

  “Gwendolyn,” the priest whispered exultantly, “we never dreamt you’d be in the queen’s cell. God must have struck them with incredible stupidity! We thought to trick them into opening the cell door, then fight our way to wherever you were being held. Lord knows if we would have succeeded.”

  “Father?” Gwen’s stomach twisted in anticipation. “How is Barca?”

  “Fine. He is with the horses and awaits Ranulf,” Warinus assured, leading her away from the tunnel.

  Gwen felt a surge of relief.

  Warinus gave a little laugh. “Barca was severely beaten about the head the night you were taken, but his is a particularly hard one, and he will be back to rights in a few days’ time.”

  “I’m so relieved. I was afraid he had been killed. What do we do now? Do we look for Alberto?”

  “No, not all of us. We have acquired an accomplice, a local fisherman.” Father Warinus continued to slowly lead her down the trail. “Memmo is his name, and he will ferry the three of us across the lake, but Barca and Ranulf shall ride out. They hope to fool any trackers in this way and find Lord Alberto.”

  Before Gwen could respond, a great horn blast pierced the air and, startled, she turned to look up over her shoulder at the torch-lit ramparts.

  She could hear voices, yelling, angry, and then someone shouted above the rest, “Alert! Alert! The queen has escaped!”

  “My God,” Father Warinus said. “I prayed we would have more time.” He grabbed Gwen’s arm. “Come, we must flee! We cannot delay!”

  *

  Holding a torch, Willa glared, unbelieving, at the open cell door, the hole in the cell floor, the broken bucket, and the one filled with fresh dirt, the heaps of excavated dir
t under the cot. Her heart hammered. Rarely had she known such fury, such unbounded wrath, and she turned to find her first victim.

  The jailer cowered before her.

  It took Willa a moment to collect herself, to hand off her torch, and breathe again, before asking the obvious, “Why did you not go after them? Even a miserable dog knows enough to follow prey down a hole.”

  The man’s gaze wavered, and he gulped. “It – the hole is too narrow, my lady. I, I tried, but could not fit.”

  “Stupid lout! Stupid, stupid lout!” Bunching her fists, she struck him once across the face, then again and again. “How dare you render me the fool!” She heard herself screaming, heard him cry out in response, and felt deeply satisfied by the pain she inflicted.

  Face bloodied, he shrank against the wall, fear filling his vile eyes. Good! she thought, then grabbed the hilt of a short sword belonging to one of her bodyguards and drew it forth.

  No one dared protest.

  “You shall fit if halved!” Willa swung the blade over her head, feeling a sensation akin to lust course through her body. She swept her arms down with all the strength she possessed. At the moment the sword hit the jailer’s head, her arms went numb with the impact, yet the rest of her body shook with a prolonged spasm unlike any she had ever known.

  Weak in the knees, sated, and dazed, it was all Willa could do to remain standing. She was barely aware as someone took the sword from her hand, as a foot was put to the corpse and the blade wrenched out, blood gushing from the cleaved head. Panting, she leaned against the wall and stared, unseeing, her ecstasy complete.

  “A-hem.” A bodyguard tried to get her attention.

  She willed her limbs to act, to regain some semblance of strength. “Yes,” she said, spitting out her words, “what is it?”

  He stood there for a moment, before stammering, “My… my lady, the prisoners. Would you have me mount a pursuit of the escapees?”

  Adelaide and the whore-monk gone! The reminder hit her hard, and she pushed herself off the wall. “Yes, you idiot, go.”

  Willa headed for the stairs, shouting over her shoulder to the others as she left. “And have somebody rid us of that mess. Make certain he is thrown to the dogs, or better yet, stuff him down that damnable hole. Yes, that is where he belongs! By God, he’s not deserving of a Christian burial.”

  *

  Huddling with Adelaide in the bow of a skiff, Gwen watched the fisherman help Father Warinus into the boat. As the priest took a seat in the stern, Memmo pushed away from the shore, then hopped over the side, and sat between the oars.

  Gwen searched the dark shoreline. Several minutes had passed since she’d heard the fading sounds of Ranulf. Would he and Barca draw the trackers away from them? She could only hope.

  The fisherman drew the oars back and took a stroke, then another, quiet and methodic. The heavens were thick with stars, the lake inky black and calm, reflecting the sky’s beauty. With a shudder, Gwen flashed back to how unnaturally dark the water looked in Willa’s garden.

  She glanced at the queen, wondering if she should reveal what had happened, concerned Willa would cause more evil. She rubbed her arms, thinking, If I tell her and they burn Willa at the stake, am I fine with it? Gwen squirmed, imagining the horror of such a death, but then decided she must give Adelaide a version of the truth, making no mention of time travel, or the twenty-first century.

  “My lady,” Gwen said, “there’s something I learned––”

  “Ladies, please,” Memmo whispered, cutting her off, “voices carry on the water. Speak not at all, until I give you leave to do so.”

  Nodding, Gwen settled back and watched La Rocca, huge and menacing, as it slowly receded in the distance. Minutes passed and she dangled her fingers in the water, welcoming its cool, velvety touch.

  Muffled sobs interrupted the quiet, and Gwen realized Adelaide had started to weep. Out of fear? Grief? With second thoughts about divulging what she’d seen in the garden, she wondered if it were selfish to burden Adelaide with such disturbing information. She glanced at Father Warinus, but he was staring off, lost in his thoughts.

  More time passed. Gwen closed her eyes, feeling strange, suspended between worlds of terror and calm. What would happen now?

  Looking back at La Rocca, she was sick with the realization Willa held the key to her time traveling. The longing to return home had never left, not even after she’d fallen in love with Alberto. She felt, suddenly, the pull of Willa’s terrible power, but she also knew she could never return to that bitch’s garden, the only gateway back home. The hope Gwen had secretly guarded seemed impossible now, beyond her reach. She was here to stay.

  But was she really? If Adelaide prevailed and Gwen could somehow force Willa to reveal her secrets, would round trips be as easy as hopping on a jet for a vacation? Could she live here with Alberto and still visit her family and friends?

  No, that’s crazy. Gwen’s spirits sank and, almost without thinking, she tugged her earlobe. The old Carol Burnett gesture, something her family loved to do, felt comforting, but incomplete. She wished she could let everyone know she was okay. She fought tears, tears for the anguish she knew they felt. Her thoughts turned to her mother. She worried about her the most.

  “Mom.” Her whisper was soft, imperceptible to those around her.

  She looked up at the cold, clear sky. The gulf between them was vast, as distant as the stars. But then, a new hope stole into her thoughts: she could find a way to send a message through time, something her mother, her entire family, would recognize and understand. But how…?

  “Ladies, we have reached a safe distance,” Memmo broke into her thoughts, the faintness of his tone forcing her to listen to what he was saying. “You may speak now, if you keep your voices very low.”

  Gwen stirred. Her plan, whatever it turned out to be, would have to wait. For now, she needed to take care of Adelaide.

  She was aware of the queen moving beside her.

  “Thank you, good sir.” Adelaide’s voice trembled. She turned to Gwen. “My heart is heavy. Forgive me. We have been liberated from that dreadful prison, but I cannot forget what happened to Stefano.”

  Gwen was silent for a moment, seeing Stefano as he looked standing before the tourists in Santa Lucia, his golden hair back-lit, dazzling. It was just before she had learned he was her cousin. Just before they were wrenched back through time in an earthquake. Had Willa caused the earthquake, too? “I can’t forget, either. I hope Willa pays for what she did to him.”

  “Yes, she will pay. Berengar, too,” Adelaide said, her expression hard to read in the dark, yet her voice stronger now and filled with determination.

  Gwen gazed out over the water, realizing Adelaide actually knew Stefano much better than she, having spent so many days with him on the run. The queen must be devastated.

  “Pray, what did you wish to tell me before?” Adelaide asked.

  “I’m not sure this is the time.”

  “I hear the pain in your voice, Gwen. You must not carry such a burden alone. God willing, I may be able to help you, or at the very least share your burden. Please, my friend, tell me what troubles you so.”

  Still reluctant, Gwen nevertheless divulged what had happened in Willa’s garden, telling the queen everything except the time travel.

  “Merciful Lord,” Adelaide moaned, “she summoned you from Britannia through a witch-basin? My God, and poor Stefano, to be poisoned by her dark arts and forced to spend his last days in that hell. At least you are safe. I pray God he died swiftly, for he suffered terribly before the end.” She looked at La Rocca and crossed herself. “As to Willa’s scheming, its true purpose baffles me. Did she say why she tortured Stefano?”

  “No, I don’t know why,” Gwen said.

  “Alas, we may never learn the truth. Somehow, I believe Stefano is here with us. Yes, and he is free now. He has found his peace. It is beautiful here, isn’t it, despite the horror Willa and Berengar have brought upon this place
.”

  Gwen nodded. “The wine dark sea.”

  “Do you quote Homer?”

  “Yes,” Gwen responded quietly. The gentle rise and fall of the oars, the soft sound as they broke the surface, made her reflective. “After everything I’ve experienced,” she continued, “and now, being on the water like this, I feel a bond with Odysseus.”

  “Yes, to be far from hearth and home, unable to return for so long, no matter our efforts or desire.” Adelaide turned to Memmo. “Sir,” she asked, “what month are we? I fear I have lost all track of time.”

  “August,” Memmo replied.

  “Ante Diem XVII Kalends,” Father Warinus added.

  Gwen did a quick calculation of the Latin date in her head: August sixteenth.

  Adelaide’s hands went to her face and she leaned in, whispering to Gwen, “I am stunned! To have passed so much time, I… My poor daughter, to have been without her mother for so long. I pray she remains safe, wherever she is. And I have missed the Feast of the Assumption by a day. God forgive me, I shall make my prayers of thanksgiving this eve. There is much to be thankful for, after all, for my freedom has been gained, my life spared, praise God and your determined labors. I shall always mark it from the day after Our Lady’s feast day.”

  As silence returned, Gwen again became aware of the steady beat of the oars, her heart seeming to match the slow pace, her mind drifting, embracing the calm.

  Another battle won. Another victory, this time significant. Despite their terrible ordeal, all the heartache and loss, Adelaide was free.

  Gwen glanced back at the glittering stars, wondering where Alberto was at this very moment, wishing she could tell him what they had achieved this day.

  She closed her eyes. Alberto. My Alberto. When will I see you again?

  She held out hope it would be soon.

  *

  The boat pulled into a sheltered cove on the western shore of Lake Garda. The sky was pearly gray, the clouds edged in palest lavender. Dawn approached. Gwen waited in the skiff as Memmo and Father Warinus helped the queen to shore.