Italian Time Travel 01 - The Other Side of Heaven

by Morgan O'Neill

  All her life, Adelaide had been pampered, wanting for nothing, her surroundings luxurious, her needs instantly fulfilled. Now, she was running for her life, and the past seemed a dream, a distant dream.

  Satiated, she wiped her mouth and smiled. “How low the mighty have sunk.”

  Stefano finished drinking, then crept to the barn door. When he pulled on the handle, Adelaide heard the hinges squeak in protest. Praise God, the door was unlocked.

  They entered swiftly. It was pitch-dark inside, darker even than the night, so they left the door partially open.

  Adelaide heard animals breathing in slumber, smelled them and their manure, detected the scent of… horsebread?

  Fed to livestock, sustenance of the wretched, it was made from mashed peas, beans, and oats, if one was lucky. Peasant food. Adelaide’s mouth watered as if she were about to partake of the finest meal. Her stomach growled so loud she heard her conspirator’s soft, answering laugh.

  Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Stefano was feeling his way around the barn. He stopped, and she could see him pawing through a bin.

  “Splendido,” he said, shoving something into her hands.

  Could it be? Yes, horsebread! She tore it in two and started wolfing it down. Thanks be to God.

  *

  Prand spent a grueling night in the woods, trying to sleep, yet repeatedly awakened by the howling of wolves. Just before dawn, he heard a commotion. Horsemen approached, their thunder foretelling a storm of imminent arrival. He got up and waited, listening as they drew near.

  Knife in hand, he pressed himself against an old oak. They were very close now; he could feel the pounding of the hooves through the ground. He winced, pressing further into the tree, bracing himself, praying they would not find him.

  He felt the prickle of doom on the back of his neck.

  “Drop your blade!”

  Prand jumped and the man behind him immediately added, “Drop it, else you die where you stand.”

  He let the knife slip from his fingers.

  “Raise your hands and face me.”

  He slowly turned. A dark-haired, wiry man aimed an arrow at his chest. To his great relief, he saw the archer wore the lord of Canossa’s crest.

  “Please, I am a friend. My name is Liutprand of Pavia. I served King Hugh and King Lothaire. Where is Lord Alberto? I have urgent news for him.”

  A huge force, no less than several hundred strong, filled the clearing around him. The archer kept his eye and arrow trained on Prand as someone nearby urged his mount forward, then asked, “What have we here, Ranulf?”

  “My lord, he claims he is Liutprand of Pavia, but I do not believe him. He is surely a brigand and murderer.”

  “I am no murderer––” Prand started to protest, but the memory of what he’d brought on his family stopped him from saying anything further. Hands still raised, he turned, watching the nobleman’s graceful dismount.

  He was quite tall, a commanding presence. Alberto Uzzo. Prand had seen him before at court, an outstanding warrior-prince among the many nobles vying for King Lothaire’s favor.

  Lord Alberto walked forward, hand gripping his sword pommel, gaze roving the woods, vigilant. He stopped before Prand and stared into his eyes. “Ah, I know your face,” he said. “Berengar’s right hand. So, Liutprand of Pavia, have you been asked by your lord to do more than act as his puppet these days? Farms in the area have been put to the torch. People killed. If you are not a murderer, then what are you? Do you spy? Are you waiting here to assassinate me?”

  “No, my lord, you must believe me. I am here on the queen’s behalf.”

  Lord Alberto scowled. “Does Willa of Tuscany now fancy herself queen? The bitch. How dare she!”

  When Prand opened his mouth to answer, the nobleman cut him off, “Silence!” then motioned the archer’s bow down and relaxed his stance. “You have done well this morn, Ranulf, but I think the men would prefer a stag to this scrawny specimen.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Ranulf smiled, and the others joined in, laughing.

  Lord Alberto bent down and retrieved Prand’s knife. He hefted it, and then slid it under his own belt. “Lower your hands, Liutprand.” He gave him a forbidding smile. “I have little time – and even less patience. Why are you here?”

  “I would prefer to speak to you alone.”

  “Speak now, else I’ll give you to Ranulf. Mayhap he could use you as bait for his traps.”

  “Please, my lord, the queen I spoke of… it was not Willa, may God send her to fiery hell! I spoke of Queen Adelaide. I helped her escape from Berengar’s camp.”

  The nobleman was taken aback. “What? When?” He looked around. “Jesus God, where is she?”

  Prand’s shoulders fell. “I brought the queen to my uncle’s farm,” he said, pointing back toward the smoke rising above the trees. Cruel images rushed back, overlaid with the horror of Isabetta’s screams. He could not banish them from his ears. He breathed deeply, hating Berengar even more than before, knowing he would be forever haunted by her torment.

  “Berengar’s men,” Prand’s voice trembled with rage, “those ungodly bastards killed my kin. They burned my uncle’s wife alive.”

  The men around him grew quiet, and Alberto’s frown deepened.

  “I pray God the queen and Stefano escaped,” Prand went on, shaking badly. “But, alas, I know not their fate. They were gone by the time I saw the torches, and when I searched…” His voice died away, and he looked at the ground.

  Alberto Uzzo placed a hand on Prand’s shoulder. “Ride with us, friend,” he said quietly. “Take us to the place where last you saw the queen and her man. Mayhap we can pick up their trail.”

  *

  But for the singing birds, the forest seemed empty. Adelaide watched sunbeams dance among leaves overhead, heard the wind sigh, and the trees whisper in response. What was happening in the wider world? It seemed strange to know nothing of the latest triumphs and travails. She was used to learning news as soon as it arrived at court, was in the habit of pouring over dispatches sent from Rome, Germany, and Byzantium, even from far-flung heathen realms like Persia and Denmark.

  But now, wariness replaced curiosity, and the quest for survival took precedence above all else. Better to stay hidden.

  “Adelaide.”

  She looked over her shoulder. Stefano patted the bed of leaves he had made, indicating she should lie down beside him. The sun had risen only moments before. Adelaide yawned, feeling exhausted after a long night on the run. Time to rest, before they moved on.

  With a sigh, Adelaide glanced at her torn and dirty gown, then back at Stefano. They were ragged as beggars and nearly horse thieves but for a bit of ill luck.

  The night before had held good fortune and bad; drink and food were found, but they discovered only an ancient draft horse in the barn, not the swift mounts they desired.

  Stefano stretched out on the leaves, and she settled down beside him. “I feel perfectly safe with you,” she said, knowing he couldn’t understand much, if any, of what she said. “I thank you for that.”

  He nodded.

  She smiled. “Yes, my friend, I thank you from the depths of my heart. You are the handsomest man I have ever seen, yet you have never sought to use the advantage of your looks. You treat me with the utmost respect, as if I were your kinswoman, your dearest sister.”

  She shut her eyes, silently praying. May it please God to keep Stefano safe from harm. May it please God to allow us to reach Pavia before week’s end. May it please God to keep Emma safe, and the length of our separation as short as possible.

  Adelaide opened her eyes and gazed at the sky. May it please God that Prand and his family survived.

  This last brought tears. “Please, God,” she whispered to the air, unable to say more.

  *

  “Adelaide?”

  Instantly awake, Adelaide sat bolt upright as Stefano held a finger to his lips. Gaze narrowing, he searched the deepest part of the woo
ds.

  A twig snapped somewhere nearby, then there was the soft crunch, crunch, crunch of something creeping through the leaves.

  Sweat broke out on Adelaide’s body. The sounds gradually faded, the intruder moving on. Was it man or beast?

  She looked into Stefano’s eyes. They held no answer.

  He rose and continued to scan the area. It was time to move again.

  Adelaide peeked through a gap in the trees and nervously eyed the setting sun. She felt a presence. She couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching her, someone was out there, waiting to pounce.

  Crossing herself, she said a quick prayer and followed Stefano. They left the forest and entered the wheat fields, endless wheat fields, walking on and on, until the moon flooded the land with silver light.

  Finally, they halted. Stefano offered her a skein filled with water, stolen from the barn the night before. Adelaide wasn’t thirsty. “Not now,” she demurred.

  He took a deep drink and then said, “Per favore scusami,” signaling he wished to go off to relieve himself.

  There was no embarrassment between them now, not like days ago when they first escaped Berengar’s camp. She knew she might as well take advantage of the break, too, so she turned and walked away, looking for a spot where the wheat stood tall.

  And the mighty sink lower still. She could not keep a smile off her face as she started to hike up her skirts.

  Then she saw him, a small man, a stranger. Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met. The way he tipped his head and smiled, she could tell he knew her identity. His smile broadened and then he slipped away, with only the rustling of plants hinting at the speed of his departure.

  The moonlit field stood empty.

  Behind her, Stefano cleared his throat, indicating his approach.

  Trembling, Adelaide rushed toward him, almost leapt into his arms. “Someone was watching me from over there.” She pointed. “He was over there!”

  Stefano craned his neck, searching to no avail.

  Adelaide found her relief mingled with a new fear. Had she seen a man, or the Devil himself?

  Taking her hand, Stefano led her toward the center of the field. The wheat stalks grew taller here, tall enough to hide them from all manner of ill-favored folk, or evil demons.

  They crouched low, and Stefano offered the skein once more. This time she took a drink, savoring the cool water in her dry mouth and throat. As they waited, quiet prevailed. No sound. No movement.

  “I am tired, Stefano,” Adelaide said, fighting tears, “and I want to go home. I want my daughter.”

  Stefano put his arm around her shoulders, but said nothing. After a time, he made a move to rise, and she followed suit, feeling stiff as she got to her feet. She stared out and gasped. There were torches bobbing at the field’s edge.

  Instincts took over, and Adelaide was barely aware of anything but her stark terror, scarcely knew how she got to the ground, managed to gather her skirts, and scramble for her life on hands and knees. When she looked back, she saw the wide swath she and Stefano had cut through the wheat. She was seized with dread. If the horsemen found their path, they would be undone!

  Now she heard the drumming of hooves, the shouts of the troop. A man’s voice rose above the fray, “Use your swords and spears to probe for them.”

  Adelaide heard them stabbing through the wheat to the ground, slicing and jabbing, cursing, roaring in the night, getting closer, ever closer.

  Suddenly, Stefano pushed her flat and whispered in her ear, “Farewell, Queen Adelaide. Lie still. I run!”

  Stefano lurched to his feet and raced away. In her shock, she did not have the presence of mind to grab him and not let go, could not tell him how surprised she was to hear him speak with a semblance of her own tongue.

  His shouts reached her ears as he acted as decoy, and unable to wait she jumped up and ran in the other direction, away from the horsemen, away from her friend.

  *

  Running hard, Stefano pulled out his blade. Determined to save Adelaide, he knew he was about to die. If only his sacrifice gave her the time she needed to avoid detection, to get away!

  The sound of the approaching hooves indicated most of the horsemen had followed him. He dodged right, then left, making for the forest beyond, still hundreds of meters away. He quickened his pace and felt as though his heart would burst with the effort. But he could not stop. He kept on, running, running.

  A single horse thundered up beside him, its rider forcing the beast to collide with him, and Stefano went sprawling into the dirt. A second horse ran over him, one of the horse’s hooves grazed his shoulder, knocking him sideways. Despite the pain, Stefano kept a tight grip on his weapon and leapt to his feet, slashing blindly at the next horse that neared. The blade pierced flesh, and he drove it in. The horse screamed, its rider cursed, and Stefano started running again.

  He glanced around, trying to get his bearings, then changed course when he realized he was headed back toward the spot where he’d left the queen. There were horsemen everywhere. Adelaide! Was she still hiding? Did she have a chance? Stay low. Keep your head down!

  He yelled at the men, trying to draw them off, then shifted his direction again, heading for the farmhouse he’d seen in the distance, running hard, leaping over furrows, slashing through wheat.

  The rows of tilled earth ended and Stefano was suddenly on firmer ground. He made for the barn – there might be a horse, and he could ride out and raise a commotion, perhaps giving Adelaide a chance to escape.

  He got inside and slammed the door, then leaned against it, his chest heaving. Turning, he peeked out between the rough-hewn door panels and his heart dropped along with his hopes. Horsemen were scattered all over the field, but none were searching, none seemed anxious. Those who’d chased him were just outside the barn, laughing, dismounting, and congratulating one another.

  It dawned on him they’d found Adelaide, and he couldn’t put up a fight any longer or they’d kill him, leaving her utterly vulnerable. He had tried to save her, but now it was over.

  Stefano dropped his blade, opened the door, and stepped into the yard, his wrists crossed in front of him.

  *

  Adelaide hadn’t gotten far when she heard the thunder of horses bearing down on her, the air around her whirling bright, lit with torch fire. She was surrounded.

  She dropped to her knees. Chest heaving, she glanced up and looked straight into Berengar’s eyes, gleaming in the torchlight, wolf-like.

  He smiled, yellow teeth bared. “So, my lady, I have you, and the papal spy who hit me with the cross is mine again as well.” Berengar dismounted and snapped his fingers. “Bring him here.”

  A small man stepped from the shadows with Stefano, the very man Adelaide had seen in the field. She shivered. A demon would have been preferable. Stefano’s wrists were bound, his expression grim as he exchanged a look with Adelaide.

  Oh God, help, help! she prayed.

  Berengar and the man exchanged grins, gloating. “My scout found you abed in the woods with the pretty spy,” Berengar said, leering at Adelaide, then commanded, “Get the whore on her feet.”

  She was stunned by his disrespect. “How dare you suggest––”

  Laughing, Berengar’s men moved in and grasped her arms, then started to paw at her in pretense of helping her to her feet.

  She kicked and shrieked, and Stefano strained against his bonds, trying to come to her aid, but they dragged him away.

  Someone wrenched her about, twisted her arms behind her back, and bound her wrists, then forced her onto a horse.

  “To Garda!” Berengar ordered.

  Adelaide stared straight ahead, her heart empty, all hopes dashed.

  Chapter 11

  19 April, 951, Castle Garda, Italy

  “Let her see.”

  Berengar’s voice startled Adelaide. She had been riding blindfolded and bound at the wrists since her recapture, now untold days in the past.

 
Hands grabbed her, forcing her sideways, and she was pulled off the horse. Someone wrenched the cloth from her eyes. Momentarily stunned by the burst of daylight, she squinted, trying to get her bearings.

  “Look at it,” Berengar demanded. “This is where you shall die if you do not do my bidding.”

  A dark castle loomed before Adelaide. She felt dizzy gazing up at the sheer cliff face of La Rocca, the mountain of stone forming the foundation of her enemy’s fortress. She had heard of this place, been told of the sinister goings-on, its terrible dungeons. She shuddered.

  Turning, she tried to find Stefano, but her captors retied the blindfold before she could spot him. Hands still bound, she stumbled forward, pulled by a horse toward the castle’s main gates.

  *

  Sitting in her bower, Willa of Tuscany, margravine of Ivrea, studied her reflection in the polished metal of her hand mirror. She was thirty years old, yet knew she did not show her age. She admired her rich, golden hair peeking from beneath her veil, her darkly lashed, violet-blue eyes, ivory complexion, and perfect smile. This last especially pleased her, for she still had all of her teeth.

  I could easily pass for eighteen. Willa sighed happily. Her physical splendor unnerved people and she reveled in it. Whispered comments of dark magic, of ungodly enchantment, only increased her aura of immutability. That, and her knowledge of herbs, roots, and poisons, caused even her husband to tremble in her presence.

  She pinched her cheeks, making them rosy. Berengar, you old warhorse, but for me, you would not have a kingdom within your grasp.

  Thanks to her talents, she would soon be mother to the king of Italy, or a queen in her own right. And she was deserving of it, for she alone was the architect of this little drama. She tossed her head and smiled.

  Her reflection smiled back, yet the image appeared lifeless, and her thoughts veered to the spellbinding visions of the witch-basin, secreted in her private garden. Instantly, she felt its pull, a tingle of flesh at the base of her skull, as if it were calling to her. How long had it been since she last gazed upon it? Months ago, it seemed, many, many months.

  She glanced down at her hand, still bearing the scars received on that bitter cold night.