Italian Time Travel 02 - Time Enough for Love

by Morgan O'Neill

  The girl stopped before Alberto and curtsied, then looked up at him, her eyes glinting, green-brown-green, as they caught the light.

  “Welcome, my lord father,” she said in a high-pitched voice. She reached out and kissed the hem of his tunic.

  Alberto turned and took Gwen’s hand again, bringing her forward to stand at his side. “Thank you, my daughter,” he pronounced, sounding so formal. “I would like to introduce you to a very special lady.”

  The little girl stared at Gwen, her chameleon eyes gone wide. In surprise? Shock? Suspicion?

  Gwen’s heart skipped a beat. “Gilda,” she quickly said, seeking to reassure, “your father has told me so much about you, and he was right. You are very pretty. It is indeed a pleasure––”

  “Are you going to be my new mama?” Gilda asked.

  Murmurs swept the crowd and Alberto smiled. Taken off-guard, Gwen smiled back, wondering the same thing.

  *

  Gilda’s question only reinforced what Alberto had been thinking all along: his girl needed a mother. And a father. He could almost hear Gwen’s voice emphasizing the second point.

  He reached out to his child, picking her up in his arms. The burden was unfamiliar, yet instinctively welcome, her body light, yet seemingly heavy with blame. A wave of guilt surged through him, crowding out the lightheartedness he’d felt only a moment before.

  Ashamed, he felt the girl snuggle against him. Thankfully, his absence, his distance, had not yet hardened her heart. He smelled her sweet-scented locks, then watched in awe as she reached out to Gwendolyn.

  Gwen’s eyes filled with tears as she took the child from Alberto. He tried to control his smile as he watched the two embrace, as he heard his daughter say, “Mama.”

  *

  It was nearly sunset. Panting with the effort, Gwen followed Alberto and the greyhounds up the last few steps to the top of Canossa’s bastion.

  The soldiers on watch bowed to their lord, then turned away, giving them a modicum of privacy. Gwen sought to catch her breath, glancing at the western horizon, the great, ruby orb sinking, almost gone.

  With the dogs loping about, Alberto took her hand and led her to the southern wall. Gwen stared out at the ancient Apennines, rolling on in low hillocks and mounds, until they surged up to form the faraway pinnacles of Pellegrino.

  “My father, Sigifredo, came from Lucca, in Tuscany,” Alberto pointed south, “and bought seigniorial rights to Reggio and the lands around it. He died six years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” She fought a sudden surge of emotion. “I understand. It’s hard to lose parents.”

  Alberto nodded. “It was made even harder, coming as it did on the heels of my brother’s death. I was the second son. The title belonged to my elder brother, Tedaldo, but he was killed in battle against the Saracens.”

  “I am so sorry, Alberto.”

  “Thank you.” Falling silent, he squeezed her hand and then moved off, focused on the distance.

  Gwen remained quiet, allowing him time to think, and wandered to the western battlements. With a sigh, she looked at the gorgeous pink-tinged clouds gracing the horizon. It was hard to believe this place had been built solely for war.

  Memories flitted through Gwen’s mind, remembrances of a tale involving a great heroine. Matilda. She gaped at the fortress wall before her. Matilda was from here! A countess of Canossa, she’d worn armor and fought alongside her men.

  “La gran donna d’Italia,” Gwen whispered. Matilda defeated her enemies and one of them was forced by the Pope to do penance, right here in the middle of winter.

  She looked over the wall, trying to locate the path to the gate, recalling how the man was made to crawl on hands and knees in the snow, before reaching Matilda.

  But when does it happen? A few decades from now? In the next century? She couldn’t remember, but knew Matilda was so highly regarded that after her death, the Pope had her body moved to St. Peter’s Basilica for burial. But when? And what was the connection between Matilda and Alberto? Maybe she would be Gilda’s daughter or granddaughter…?

  Gwen’s hand went to her stomach and she froze. Or mine? Could Matilda be my descendant? It certainly fit. Even she’d learned how to fight and was now an integral part of the struggle against Berengar. Gwen’s grandmother had been with the Italian Resistance. Matilda would fight, too. They were all women warriors.

  She stared at Alberto. All this time, she had fought marriage with him because she thought she was here by mistake. But what if they – as she’d sensed so strongly in Bianello – were meant to be?

  Alberto turned and locked gazes with her. Smiling self-consciously, he joined her.

  “Forgive me, my Gwendolyn. When I am reminded of my family, I tend toward sadness,” he said as he led her to the northern wall. “However, this is my favorite time of day. Let us enjoy it together.”

  Stunned, overwhelmed by her thoughts, Gwen could not reply. She placed her head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. His arms enveloped her. Back home, she had never doubted she’d eventually find the right man. But she never could have imagined this.

  Were you always the one, Alberto? Was it always supposed to be you?

  “Gwendolyn, can you see Reggio?” he asked. “How small it looks from here.”

  She shaded her eyes, searching a landscape cloaked in purple mist, her curiosity about Alberto’s descendants still raging, nagging.

  “Down that way, you can see the great walls. That is Reggio,” Alberto pointed, “between Mount Carboniano and Monte delle Celle. Out, beyond that, you can see Lombardy and––”

  She felt his muscles tense as his voice broke off, as soldiers shouted, “Alert! Look there! Look!”

  A shiver swept down Gwen’s spine, and she followed the path of a guard’s gesturing hand. Her gaze fell on a billowing dust cloud, barely visible in the haze.

  “Alberto? What is that? A fire?”

  But she knew, oh, she knew.

  “It is an army,” he said levelly.

  His expression changed ever so slightly, and Gwen watched as his eyes glinted with anticipation.

  “The moment has come,” Alberto said. “Open war. I find it difficult to believe Berengar fell into my trap so easily.”

  “You planned this?” Gwen asked in disbelief.

  Alberto looked at her and grinned. “Yes, of course.”

  Chapter 10

  Adalbert watched as his father pushed the toe of his boot into horse dung.

  Berengar grinned when tendrils of steam wafted up. “Mistress Adelaide is less than one hour ahead,” he said, looking up. “Your bitch-bride awaits, boy. By God, you shall take her this night, and I shall watch with pleasure when you do. Then, she shall watch me when I slice up her friends.”

  With a laugh, Berengar swung himself into his saddle, raised his whip hand, and cried out, “Soldiers, you are to spare no one but Adelaide, Alberto Uzzo, the priest, and the tall whore-monk. They are but a short distance ahead. We must catch them before they reach Canossa!”

  Berengar brought his whip down and raced away, their entire army galloping close on their heels. It didn’t take long at this pace before their horses’ withers glistened with sweat, and not long after that before foam sprayed from their mouths.

  “Father! The valley! Slow down!” Adalbert yelled at him, trying to catch up. “You will kill our horses!”

  “There they are, plodding past Rossena and unaware – ride!” Berengar bellowed.

  Adalbert looked up, astounded. Indeed, he could see the trailing edge of Lord Alberto’s forces, racing for their lives, flags streaming. He hadn’t realized they were as close as that.

  Berengar brutally spurred his mount on. Dust filled the air around them, even though they were at the lead. “Damn,” Berengar cried again. “The bastard is escaping! We cannot let him reach Canossa.”

  “Father!” Adalbert shouted. “The valley – there is no way out – it is too narrow. This is not wise �
� you must reconsider – please!”

  “Foolish, scared boy!” Berengar yelled back. “I will show you how to pursue an enemy!”

  Adalbert watched Berengar’s whip arm lift, then strike hard against his horse’s rump, over and over.

  “Run, damn you!” Berengar screamed. “There they are. Run!”

  Suddenly, Adalbert saw his father’s horse pitch earthward, his father fly into the air. Then, as abruptly, his world turned upside down, too, and he crashed into the hard-packed ground. Hooves flailed near his head, struck him, and horses and riders careened everywhere.

  *

  Hand in hand, Gwen and Alberto raced down the steps of the bastion. Gwen looked up, hearing renewed shouts from along the parapets.

  “Marco! Marco!”

  “Find Queen Adelaide, and stay well out of the way of the horses and men!” Alberto yelled to Gwen, releasing her hand and setting off for the gates.

  By the time Gwen saw Adelaide, it was chaos; soldiers poured out from every building, fully armed and prepared, all heading in the same direction, following Alberto.

  “My God,” Adelaide said. “What is happening?”

  “Let’s go see.” Gwen ignored Alberto’s warnings, took Adelaide’s hand, and charged forward.

  As the two women rounded the final curve in the lane and came into view of the lower gate, Gwen could hear two things above the general din: a low, thunderous roar, and Alberto yelling, “Open the gates!”

  The gates swung wide and dozens of horsemen galloped in, flags unfurled and metal glinting. Gwen grabbed the queen and pulled her to safety in the entrance of a narrow alleyway. They watched, breathless, as Canossa’s soldiers laughed, cheered, and congratulated the horsemen.

  Alberto ran to their leader and vigorously shook his hand, grinning ear to ear. “Congratulations, Marco!” he called out exultantly. “How close is Berengar? I didn’t see him upon the road.”

  “Thank you, my lord, but I do not know,” Marco shouted back, breathing hard. “He saw us earlier and gave chase. Of that we are certain. But we saw no sign of him or his men once we started the final ascent. I tried to make them out before we came inside, but the dust was so thick, there was no telling what happened.”

  Gwen noticed a sentry running up to them and strained to hear his words. “Berengar… fallen.”

  *

  “Wake up. For Christ’s sake, wake up!” Adalbert shouted at Berengar, who lay flat on his back in the dirt. His hand hovered near his father’s face, thinking a good, hard slap would bring him around. But his hand dropped away, limp and irresolute. “God damn you, wake up!”

  Berengar opened his eyes, but they were unfocused, confused. “What in the blazes happened, you bungling oaf? Did you run your horse into mine?”

  “No!” Adalbert shot back. “You ran us into a valley, into a bottleneck of a fucking valley, and you rode your horse and several others to death doing it – for nothing!”

  “You didn’t get the queen?” Berengar sat up shakily. “I do not care about the horses. Do you mean to say you stopped chasing her because my damned horse died? By God, you are worse than useless! You are truly inept!”

  At that moment, Adalbert did something he’d never done before. In front of their men, he got face to face with his father, and screamed, “I did not stop! You drove your horse to death and when the brute died, he fell like a stone and we could do nothing but crash into your stupid, careless, ill-begotten ass! You stopped us with your unthinking, mindless bloodlust for the queen, for the Crown, for that bitch-monk who beat you unconscious all by herself!”

  The dust settled around them. Adalbert glared at his father, fists clenched. Berengar’s face was purple with rage. Their soldiers stood silent, eyes averted, the only sounds coming from the agony of the dying horses.

  Finally, Berengar spoke, but not to Adalbert. “Captain, get these carcasses off the road and prepare to lay siege to Canossa. We will starve them out,” he glanced at his son and sneered, “just as I planned. Keep a watch at our rear, although I doubt it will be needed now that we’ve chased all his men inside.” His father stood and dusted off his pants. “You are trembling, boy.”

  Adalbert felt shaky and folded his arms, tucking his hands beneath his sweaty armpits.

  Berengar spat on the ground. “Are you afraid someone will come up behind us? Speak! Who do you think it would be? Your mother? Is that who worries you so? Think for once, Adalbert. The lord of Canossa is hiding inside his fortress with his men. When last I heard, Otto was still in the mountains, wondering where the hell everyone has got to. But then, you couldn’t know that. You never did have a mind for tactics.”

  Adalbert’s hands twitched as he watched his father walk away. By God, I pray you do not die easily. And, by the Lord’s grace, may the hatred in my eyes be the last thing you see before the flames of hell lick at your vile ass!

  *

  Within the walls of Canossa, another triumphant roar erupted from the men, and Gwen heard Alberto’s answering shout. She and Adelaide stood at the edge of the crowd and laughed along with them, until she noticed a grim-faced soldier coming through the crowd. He spoke into Alberto’s ear.

  Alberto raised his hand and called for calm. “Men, Berengar and his son still live, and I’m told they are forming up siege lines.”

  The crowd fell silent. Eyes flashing anger, Adelaide turned to Gwen. “Berengar dares lay siege to Canossa? He believes he may starve us into capitulation? He is a fool beyond measure!”

  Father Warinus and Brother Felix hurried by, and Gwen and Adelaide fell into step behind them.

  “Find Ranulf,” Gwen heard Alberto order a nearby soldier. “We need to get word out to King Otto before Berengar closes off access.”

  “Lord Alberto,” Father Warinus broke in, “let me accompany Ranulf.”

  “No!” Adelaide cried out.

  Alberto shot them a startled look, then focused on Gwen. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay clear of this chaos.”

  “She came at my bidding, good sir!” Adelaide responded. Facing the priest, she added, “Father, you have done enough. Your arm still heals. You must not go. Let the soldiers take care of this.”

  Alberto seemed to agree as he looked skeptically at the priest’s arm, still bound at his side.

  Warinus bowed to Adelaide, then turned back to Alberto. “My lord, do not forget I still speak for the Pope and I have much to discuss with King Otto in that regard. As to my arm, it is much healed and will not impede. I am well capable of making the trip and will not endanger or slow up the scout. With my record over these past weeks, you can harbor no doubt in that regard.”

  “I have no qualms, Father,” Alberto said, glancing at Adelaide. “I am sorry, my queen, but he is right. There are innumerable ways off this mountain without being seen. Some are even rather easy to manage.”

  Gwen saw Ranulf running through the throng of horses and men. “My lord, you called for me?”

  “I am sending you and Father Warinus out immediately to find King Otto and advise him of the siege, our strength, and plans to withstand it,” Alberto said. “I want you provisioned and out of here as soon as possible.”

  Ranulf nodded to the priest. “Will you be able to leave immediately, Father?”

  Warinus nodded back.

  Right into the middle of the fight? Gwen felt anxious and looked at Father Warinus. Would she see the priest again? This man who had done so much for her, taught her so much since she’d arrived?

  Adelaide put a hand over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears, then clutched Warinus’s good arm with the other. “You shall be in my prayers, Father. I shall not rise off my knees until I have heard you are safe.” She looked at the scout. “And you, too, Ranulf. You have done so much for us.” She turned back to the priest. “Before you go, Father, I have a message for the king. Tell him…”

  She glanced around, blushing, and whispered something in his ear.

  Chapter 11

  The aft
ernoon had grown chilly, the wind blowing straight from the north. Otto stood by the campfire, holding out his hands, enjoying the warmth. The walls of Reggio di Lombardia loomed above him.

  His gaze flicked from Stavo and Liutprand, to Ranulf and Father Warinus, the priest’s arm tightly bound with some injury. Newly arrived from Canossa, Warinus and the scout didn’t care for Liutprand, that much was obvious, but they held their tongues. Stavo, on the other hand, remained neutral in the face of this potential strife. Otto mulled what he knew, recalling how Liutprand had left his position in King Lothaire’s house for Berengar’s. He realized that was the source of the tension between the men. But Liutprand had proven his loyalty to Adelaide these past months to Otto’s satisfaction. Liutprand was not a traitor.

  He decided to end the strife once and for all, but first he had more pressing matters to resolve.

  He turned to Stavo. “How long a ride from here to Canossa?”

  “Sire, Canossa is a hard day’s ride, the final ascent taking much effort, if beasts and men are not well rested. Lord Alberto has established a string of forts, with Bianello located on the most direct route. You could rest your army there, mayhap, with but a short day’s ride after, but I would suggest not, for Berengar must have spies on all the local roads and forts.”

  Otto shifted and looked at Ranulf. “How long has Berengar been encamped?”

  “We left three days ago,” the scout said. “He was just forming up his army in the narrow valley between the fort of Rossena, which has been shut to him, and Canossa’s walls. We made it out an hour or so before he settled his troops, using a hunting path known only to me.”

  Otto frowned thoughtfully. “We ourselves will be in the same narrow valley when we confront him. I do not like the odds––”

  “Sire,” Ranulf forged on, “I know of a pass leading to a lake adjacent to the valley. If luck is with us, Berengar’s scouts will not have noticed it. The path departs the main road before Bianello. The detour adds no more than half a day to the route. You could take your forces that way and come down on him, right in the midst of his encampment.”