Italian Time Travel 02 - Time Enough for Love

by Morgan O'Neill

  As they neared the end of the path and a second tape barrier, an official hailed them, stepping over plaster and brick to make his way over.

  “Godwyns? Are you the Godwyns?”

  When Robert nodded, the fellow stuck out his hand and they shook. “I am Terenzio Rizzo, the curator here. I’m so sorry for your terrible loss.”

  Paola looked into his eyes, seeing only polite concern, knowing he could not possibly understand how it felt to lose a child.

  “Is there any news?” Robert asked.

  “No, nothing, I’m afraid,” Rizzo replied. “In all, the remains of two of our sisters and a priest have been found, but your daughter and another…” He shrugged. “We cannot seem to find either one. As I told you on the telephone, we are still searching, but,” he lowered his voice, “I must tell you, this is a recovery site now. I’m so sorry.”

  Recovery? Paola heard his words, but could not digest the meaning.

  “But people survive beneath rubble,” Robert said, “sometimes for a long time. I heard there are catacombs––”

  “Which have been thoroughly searched,” Rizzo interjected. “No one was down there when the earthquake struck. That was four days ago, and… anyway, the recovery effort is ongoing. Again, my condolences.”

  His meaning was now clear. Paola turned her face away and pressed her cheek against her husband’s chest, but Robert had more questions. “Are you sure our daughter was here?”

  “Sì. A tour had just been completed, and we have contacted most who participated, and all confirm her presence among them. Also, many noticed that she and our guide, Stefano Moretti, seemed, er, quite friendly with one another. They were seen talking after the tour. Our ticket agent says they definitely went back inside together, just before the quake hit.”

  The curator glanced over his shoulder and nodded toward a cluster of people huddled together near one of the walls. “That is Stefano’s family, over there. They come to pray for him every day. He is the only other person we have not located.”

  Robert gazed at them sadly. “Gwen came to Santa Lucia to do family research. My mother-in-law was born here.”

  “Ah, that is helpful!” Rizzo exclaimed. “Perhaps they went into the archives. Stefano was quite good at research. I shall make sure the area is given special attention, or… do you know this family still? Perhaps she went to meet with them?” he added hopefully. “We might give them a call.”

  Paola straightened and shook her head. “No, we lost touch. Mama’s parents, her siblings, I don’t know, I think most of the DeFabios were killed during the war.”

  “DeFabio? Mio Dio! But here, this family too, Stefano’s family is part DeFabio, I believe. Come, let me introduce you.”

  He spoke in Italian with the others, explaining the situation, and they rose with anguished smiles to greet the Godwyns. A petite woman wearing dark sunglasses stepped forward and held out her arms to Paola.

  “I am… his mother,” she said in halting English.

  Paola hugged her and wept, consoling, sharing her grief.

  A commotion erupted from across the worksite, then cheers, and they all turned to see what it was about. Workmen gingerly extracted a grimy object from beneath a fallen slab of the building.

  “What’s going on?” Robert asked.

  A man ran over and spoke to the curator in rapid-fire Italian.

  “Our reliquiario… the sacred finger of Santa Lucia… it has survived!” Rizzo exclaimed as he hurried off to examine the find.

  Numb to the celebration, Paola exchanged a mournful glance with Stefano’s mother, then she heard Robert sigh.

  “It could almost be Gwennie,” he mumbled.

  “Who?” Paola asked, raising her head.

  “Look at that fresco.” He pointed to one of the remaining walls. “See the tall girl?”

  Paola searched the dust-coated image, scrutinizing each figure, trying to discern what he’d meant. Then, crying out, she grabbed Robert’s arm and pointed. “Rob… oh, my God… it is Gwen!”

  She sprang away, crossed the tape barriers, and ran toward the image.

  Workers shouted at her to get back, Robert, too, but she paid no attention. Stumbling, she fell hard on some loose bricks, but got up again and continued on. She could feel a warm wetness on her knee, but she didn’t care as she scrambled over rubble toward the fresco.

  “Oh, my God!” she screamed and stopped, staring, as Robert reached her side. “Look at her,” she cried out, tears pouring down her cheeks. “My baby. Oh, Gwennie, my baby. It’s our baby. Look how tall… blond. Rob, she’s the only one looking at us, and she,” a sob tore through her, “she’s tugging on her ear!”

  Rizzo came up and quietly reminded them they must move back behind the tape.

  “Was she always there?” Robert demanded. “The tall woman, has she always been a part of this painting?”

  “Sì,” Rizzo said, clearly puzzled. “Always. It is an original work painted in about 950, and depicts the presentation of the reliquary we just retrieved.”

  Paola pulled out the picture of Gwen she’d brought and showed it to the curator. “It’s her. We always did that – tugging the ear. What does this mean? What can this mean?”

  “Dear lady,” Rizzo said calmly, “your daughter is beautiful, and she does resemble our fresco, I will admit, but,” he spread his arms, “of course it would be impossible. Let me read to you the names. You will see.”

  He approached the fresco and pointed to faint script below each image. “It is in Latin, and says ‘Queen Adelaide, wife of,’ etcetera, and then,” he moved closer and brushed away dust, “this one says ‘Gwen—’”

  Obviously startled, he straightened and looked back at them with a haunted gaze. “I never saw this before,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “The plaster, it has flaked away and beneath it,” he squinted at the script, “is something… more. It says, ‘Gwendolyn of Canossa, beloved wife of Alberto Uzzo. She traveled with Stefano, the rescuer of Queen Adelaide and hero of Santa Lucia, who is buried here.’”

  He gasped and then, with a mumbled apology, rushed off toward the Morettis.

  Paola looked into Robert’s eyes and saw his shock reflecting her own.

  “What the…?” He shook his head. “Time travel? But that’s impossible, isn’t it?”

  With that, the darkness lifted from Paola’s soul. Skin tingling with goose bumps, her heart filled with hope, the seeds of possibility. Her instincts as a mother surged, replacing all doubt. How could it be anyone other than Gwen?

  “No, Rob, it’s true. It’s not a coincidence. Look at her, look at our baby, she found a way to tell us, to tell us she’s happy. She, they went there somehow. She’ll never be found, because… because she isn’t here anymore. Somehow… I don’t know, but somehow…”

  Paola reached out as if to caress the image of her daughter, knowing the bond between parent and child was unbreakable, whatever the distance between them, however far apart they lived, in space or time. The fact that she was alive… knowing she was happy and alive… made all the difference.

  “Darling Gwen,” she said, “I understand. Thank you. Thank you for thinking of us, for letting us know.”

  She looked over at Robert and caught the softness in his gaze, his burden eased, and heard his voice catch as he whispered, “Gwennie.”

  There was a sudden shift in the stonework not far away, and a fine powder drifted down from the wall above, muting Gwen’s image, a soft crumbling taking the edge. As workers called for everyone to stand back, Paola realized there was little time.

  Trembling, her eyes blurring with tears, she touched her earlobe one last time, this moment between them so final, their love ever strong, everlasting.

  Authors’ Note

  The life story of Adelaide of Burgundy, Queen of Northern Italy and Empress of the Holy Roman Empire, is little known beyond her former realms, but it deserves a wider audience, replete as it is with all the passion and high drama
found in more famous sagas. Who can resist the tale of a young and beautiful queen, kidnapped by the evil schemers responsible for her husband’s murder, and then heroically rescued from the depths of a dark and nefarious castle-keep? That and her second marriage to the king of her heart, Otto I of Germany, seem at first glance a blending of romance and legend, yet the story is grounded in actual historical events, recorded for posterity by Adelaide’s contemporaries and friends.

  St. Odilo of Cluny knew her well and wrote a full accounting of her life, while other tenth century works shed light on her relationship with King Otto. These include the Historia Ottonis by Liutprand of Cremora (our Liutprand of Pavia, who became bishop of Cremora several years after our tale ends), and the Gesta Ottonis, a history of the Ottonian houses from 919 to 965, written by the nun Hroswitha of Gandersheim, a celebrated dramatist and poet and one of medieval Europe’s most prolific female writers. While it is unusual to have so many contemporary chronicles available from such a distant and tumultuous age, Adelaide was considered the most important woman of her time and therefore was written about extensively.

  Even so, not every aspect of her life is known. We have found it necessary to mingle the well documented incidences and old folktales with our own dramatic inventions. Historians agree Berengar of Ivrea probably poisoned King Lothaire. Berengar did indeed capture the widowed Adelaide with the intention of marrying her to his son, Adalbert, thereby guaranteeing his family’s hold on power in Italy. In our novel, Berengar’s wife Willa of Tuscany is his partner-in-crime, although in reality she probably had little to do with the king’s murder. While a historical figure, Willa’s role as witch and instigator of our time travel mayhem is of course purely fictional, although Liutprand of Cremora and others tell of her mistreatment of Queen Adelaide. Additionally, Willa and Berengar had more children besides Adalbert and Rozala, but we have ignored them for our story’s sake and ask the reader’s forbearance in this regard. Moreover, Willa’s physical resemblance to her cousin, the slender and blond Queen Adelaide, is sheer invention. In fact, only Adelaide and the tall, muscular, and fair-haired King Otto are said to have looked as described; all others are the products of our imaginations.

  Other depictions in our story are based on the available evidence, strongly hinting of what might have been: the medieval fortresses of Garda, Bianello, Rossena, and Canossa, now all in ruins; the various battlefields; the tenth century city of Pavia; the landscape surrounding Lake Garda, including the formidable La Rocca; and the towns of Lombardy and northern Tuscany. As for the battles, we have described them as near to the actual historical events as possible, with the exception of the siege of Canossa, which in reality took over three years, much too long for our story. We also remind readers that Adelaide, Otto, and their contemporaries spoke medieval languages like Old French. In the instances where we write dialogue in foreign tongues, we have chosen to use modern spellings, to avoid confusion.

  Many additional incidences in our novel, passed down from generation to generation in the places where they occurred, also bear the ring of truth and so have been woven into our tale. On the way to Berengar’s castle-keep on Lake Garda, Queen Adelaide is said to have escaped, only to be recaptured by Berengar’s soldiers in a wheat field, the men thrusting their spears into the standing wheat as they searched. Once at Garda, the queen did spurn Adalbert, an act which resulted in the cutting of her hair, probably at Willa’s instigation. It is also recorded that Adelaide gained her freedom on the 16th of August, 951, yet the means by which this occurred is shrouded in legend. One version states a priest named Father Warinus (or Warren) came to her rescue by tunneling into the fortress; another says she was not shorn, but let down her hair like Rapunzel, allowing her rescuers to climb inside and then free her by battling from within. For obvious reasons, we chose to go with the tunneling story, but whatever the truth, it appears Adelaide won the sympathy of a local fisherman, who provided the means of passage across the lake. Afterward, Father Warinus’s foraging and fishing skills kept them alive as they hid in the forest.

  It is here our Italian noble, Alberto Uzzo (also known as Adalberto Azzo), enters history. Alberto was the scion of a family of Italian upstarts, who gained nobility and land because of an audacious and talented ancestor. He was an ally of King Lothaire and therefore bound to protect Queen Adelaide, and he helped spirit her to safety at his keep in Canossa. Alberto actually had a wife named Hildegarde and several sons, but we have chosen to ignore the sons for the purposes of our story. Alberto and Hildegarde also had a daughter named Prangilda or Prangarda.

  In an interesting aside, Alberto had two famous descendants: the great Renaissance artist and architect, Michelangelo Buonarroti, and the medieval Italian countess, Matilda of Tuscany. Matilda was a brilliant military commander, who wore armor and fought battles alongside her men, and is perhaps a fitting descendant of Gwendolyn Godwyn in our imagined world.

  Meanwhile, at Queen Adelaide’s behest, the aforementioned Liutprand did set out to find King Otto, who crossed the Alps into northern Italy. Joining forces with Alberto Uzzo, Otto decisively defeated Berengar at Canossa. Perhaps it is there the king captured Adelaide’s heart, or perhaps it occurred as we imagined it; although their marriage in Pavia on Christmas Day, 951 is historically accurate. Their happy union lasted until Otto’s death in 973, yet Adelaide’s presence continued on the world stage for many years afterward, first as the queen regent for their son and grandson, then as a founder of monasteries and convents, and eventually as a facilitator for the conversion of the Slavs. After her death in 999, she was canonized by the Catholic Church. Her Feast Day, December 16th, is still celebrated in parts of Germany and Italy.

  After Berengar, Willa and Adalbert were exiled to Luciliburgum (modern day Luxemburg), Willa did give birth to Rozala, who grew up in the royal court of Otto and Adelaide. Rozala eventually became a Countess of Flanders and then Queen of France, taking the name Susanna upon receiving her crown. Here our story diverges from any semblance of truth, for the charming Stefano – Rozala Susanna’s supposed biological father – is but a fabrication, as is his hometown, the hamlet of Santa Lucia.

  And, of course, our Gwen is fictional as well, although a young woman like her surely exists somewhere in time, dedicated to her family, brave of heart, wholly in love with the man of her dreams – and home at last.

  About the Authors

  Two authors writing as one, Cary Morgan Frates and Deborah O’Neill Cordes specialize in recreating pivotal moments in history, epic adventure, and romance – with a time travel twist. Time Enough for Love is the second novel in their medieval Italian time travel series. It was preceded by The Other Side of Heaven. They are also the authors of an epic Elizabethan time travel series, to be published by Entangled Publishing, LLC. The first novel in the series, The Thornless Rose, will debut in November of 2014.

  Please visit Morgan O’Neill at:

  http://www.morganoneill.com/

  Copyright © 2013 and 2014 by Deborah O’Neill Cordes

  and Cary Morgan Frates

  e-book ISBN: 978-0-9912932-4-7

  print ISBN: 978-0-9912932-5-4

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