“I must go back, soon,” she whispered to herself. “I need to know when he will arrive, how I will find him.” A sense of anticipation mingled with deep foreboding seized her mind, for she knew the mirror held great beauty and deepest terror, angels and demons entwined.
Casting her troubles aside, she took a long, last look at herself and then placed the mirror face down on the table. Rising, she smoothed her gown and walked across the bedchamber.
Her presence was required in the audience hall, for Berengar had just now returned with a great prize.
*
“Ah, wife.” Berengar gave Willa a short bow. “Our parting was over long.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I have brought you gifts.”
As Willa curtsied, she looked beyond his form to see two bound captives. They stood in the center of the great hall surrounded by several of her husband’s soldiers and her son, Adalbert. She nodded to her sixteen-year-old, the brat, and then faced the prisoners: a tall man, and a woman of her own height and build. Blindfolded, they were gagged and bound at the wrists, their clothing dirt-encrusted, their hair matted. Utterly unremarkable.
Willa scowled at her husband, feeling betrayed. “This is the great prize you bring from Pavia? Were you thwarted in your attempt to take the city? Where is Adelaide, my lord? I was hoping for something more than this.”
Berengar grinned. “This is Adelaide of Burgundy, Queen of Northern Italy, and her spy-lover, Stefano.”
“What? Who?”
He lowered his voice so only she could hear. “Sweet Willa, it is indeed the queen. I give them both to you. I ask but for one thing in return.”
Willa considered him, and then looked back at the woman. Could it truly be? Her husband wouldn’t demand she strike a bargain, unless he was sure.
“Yes?” she asked warily.
“Break the chit’s will with your special arts, so we may marry her to Adalbert without incident or delay. I want her amenable, convincing, on our side, when we return with her to Pavia. As for the man, he is nothing. If you wish, I will take care of him myself.”
With a nod, Willa swept past Berengar and faced the prisoners. “Remove the queen’s blindfold,” she ordered.
A soldier complied, ripping the cloth from Adelaide’s face. The queen blinked several times, before boldly staring into Willa’s eyes.
Willa gaped. Despite Adelaide’s grubby appearance, she looked familiar, so much so, in fact, she could almost believe she beheld her own reflection.
But, ah, there was one difference; Adelaide’s face was fuller, softer, more youthful. She had the sweet, rounded face men loved.
Willa felt a stab of jealousy and fought for control. As reason prevailed, she reminded herself why they seemed as alike as twins; they sprang from the same princely bloodline, both descending from Charlemagne through the House of Burgundy.
She faced the queen’s filthy companion and ordered the removal of his blindfold. The man cursed and tried to fight back, but he was roughly overwhelmed as the cloth was pulled away, as soldiers forced him to his knees. He hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut against the glare.
“Stand up,” Willa demanded.
When he did not comply, the soldiers yanked him to his feet and forced his chin up.
Her chest seized. It was him! The one she had touched in the witch-basin, the man who would father her daughter. She massaged the ache in her hand. At long last, him.
Steadying herself, she allowed her gaze to roam over the man, this Stefano, studying him from head to toe. Despite the dirt, his features were as handsome as she remembered, his eyes grass green, his mouth inviting. The golden crest on his chest intrigued her, as did his feet. They were large, quite large.
She swallowed, considering, then glanced at Berengar. He watched her with an expression she recognized, his gaze hooded and angry.
Berengar, you loathsome, old…
She adjusted her lustful expression to one of boredom. She must not allow her husband to suspect anything, or her beautiful plans would be for naught. Yet, how odd, how strangely poetic, that Berengar should be the one to deliver this gift. She dug her fingernails into her palms, bolstering her determination. Her husband’s vile expression had not wavered, and Willa understood he was testing her. She could not let him get the upper hand. Ever.
“Ah, my dearest, you are so clever to have captured and brought them here.” She smiled and touched Berengar’s arm. “I think it best I handle them both.” She leaned in and whispered, “I shall play one off against the other. You are so busy, away so often. I can ease your burden.”
Berengar pulled at his beard, considering, then nodded. “As you will, but find out whence he came. I first believed him to be a papal spy, but now I am not so certain.” He patted the purse on his belt. “I have something of his, a strange object. When we are alone, I shall show it to you.”
“Take the prisoners to the dungeon,” Willa commanded the guards.
As they were hustled away, her thoughts brimmed with new possibility, a glimmer of an idea; the queen and Stefano would be part of the entertainment at tomorrow’s celebratory feast.
“Guards, halt! Take them instead to be cleaned up and then hold them until I call.”
She smiled inwardly. It would take time to groom them, but by tomorrow all should be in readiness. Then, after the feast, she would commence with the breaking of sweet-faced Adelaide. And afterward…
Willa watched Stefano as he was being led out. She had to take care, lest Berengar discover her plan. But what was it? What exactly, beyond…?
She felt another prickle at the back of her head, the witch-basin calling out to her. Her hand began to ache and she dreaded going there; yet she knew she must.
Soon, and then she would know what to do.
*
In the privacy of Willa’s bower, Berengar held the wristlet before her. “Is this of Saracen make, or wrought by witchcraft?”
It was neither, but Willa would never let him know what she suspected. Better to feign confusion and ignorance, hoping he would grow tired of the thing and give up his quest.
“I know not,” Willa said flatly, wishing her husband gone, wishing for a closer look at Stefano.
Berengar scowled at her and then stalked to the window, shoulders hunched and arms clasped behind him as he surveyed the grounds below.
She studied him with contempt, but a small voice suddenly rose in her thoughts, urging her to caution. Somehow, Berengar had found Stefano and brought him here. The One in the basin was obviously using her husband, too, and she wondered if he might yet have another role to play.
Willa gazed at the wristlet still in Berengar’s hand. She had seen such objects before in the witch-basin, along with other strange things: horseless carts racing the wind; huge, gleaming birds taking wing with thunderous roars; and people in unusual clothing, which bared their legs and arms, exposing similar wristlets and other adornments, and speaking in a tongue she did not recognize.
She had no idea where such people or things could be found, but she realized it must be far away, mayhap beyond India, then again possibly in another direction, in some distant, unknown place.
“Think on this further, Willa,” Berengar said, facing her once more. “If Stefano is a spy, then his odd wristlet may hold the key as to the identity of his master.”
She looked into his eyes, this miserable husband of hers, and his gaze held the sour glint of impatience. His moodiness was nothing new, but it reminded her of another reason for his bad temper. Best to keep him off-guard, she decided, so he would never suspect the truth.
Willa smiled sweetly. “Husband, let us put aside that which we cannot yet solve and speak of more pleasant things,” she cooed, lowering her gaze. “I have dreamt of you, my lord, many times these past weeks. I saw you in battle, wielding your mighty sword. At times, I took on the form of your challenger and felt your thrusts.”
She glanced at him through her lashes, noting his leering smile. He crossed
the space between them in three hurried steps. Willa could smell his breath, heavy with ale and meat – repulsive.
“Wife,” he said huskily, the wristlet now clearly forgotten.
“Yes?” she asked, raising her skirts and thinking of Stefano.
*
Dark was the moon, the stars blazing a trail overhead. Willa of Tuscany breathed in the cool air, forcing inner calm.
The witch-basin reflected the spangled night sky. She walked forward until the watery surface filled her vision, a deep ocean, vast in its power. Steeling her heart, she took hold of the basin’s marbled edge and waited.
“I am here,” Willa whispered.
A bare sparkle, a glitter, appeared in the center of the basin. In a heartbeat, it expanded to a silvered orb awhirl in blue light, resplendent with terrible beauty.
She took several deep breaths, then held the last and listened.
A voice called out from the depths, eerie and faint, but Willa could not make out the words.
She breathed again and her heart pounded, her fear replaced by the need to know. “I don’t understand you, Great One, but Adelaide is here. What must I do?”
It took but a moment more, and then the voice reached her clearly, thrilling her with a devilish plan, cajoling her to act, her blood singing for the first time in this dark space.
*
The banquet was a triumph, the tables laden with silver-trimmed bowls of costly flowers: rare, red tulips from Dalmatia; pale lotus blossoms from Egypt; and pink Damask roses, the latter wafting a sweet, heady fragrance throughout the hall. The menu abounded with succulent meats, the whitest of breads, and the best wines. Willa basked in the adulation of her many guests. She wore a beautiful gown of Imperial Purple, the silk smuggled from Constantinople the year before by Liutprand – may his traitorous soul rot in hell!
And, by most accounts, Liutprand of Pavia was doing just that at this very moment. Willa smiled at the thought. Thankfully, her husband had undone the man’s treasonous handiwork by recapturing the queen.
She touched her gown, the fabric soft and cool against her skin. The debauched Byzantine Greek royals were utterly selfish with their violet-blue silks, forbidding trade with the rest of Christendom. Yet Liutprand had succeeded where others failed. She chewed her lower lip. Now that he was gone, she wondered how she would get more.
Willa raised her wine cup and drank in silence. Feeling the weight of Adelaide’s circlet, knowing the amethysts matched the color of her eyes, she fingered the royal crown. It fit well, as if it had been made especially for her. She raised her chin a little higher. She’d also chosen a golden mesh belt from the queen’s jewel box, as well as an amethyst brooch. She deserved to wear all this and Imperial Purple. In all her finery, she was without question the most beautiful woman in the hall.
Then she envisioned Adelaide’s adorable little face and felt again the poison stab of envy. In an adjoining room, the young queen waited. Out of the corner of her eye, Willa assessed the doorway leading to the room, imagining Adelaide standing there, fearful, mayhap her gown already stained with sweat.
This made Willa feel better. She looked down from the dais and watched as servants with ewers, basins, and towels attended her guests in the final round of hand washing. Others carried beakers of spiced wine, or trays of sumptuous desserts: wafers glazed with Alexandrian sugar; rare Persian oranges and pomegranates; dates dipped in honey and rolled in crushed almonds.
She nodded, accepting her guests’ accolades, then nibbled on a wafer, delighting in the delicate taste of sugared rose. As the harpist struck up a tune, Willa glanced at her husband, who shared a laugh with his fool, the dwarf Bogo. She cleared her throat and Bogo flinched, then unceremoniously hobbled away from his lord.
She smiled. Such was her power.
Berengar glared. Lounging nearby, Adalbert watched her, too. Would he understand her plans were for the family’s good? Willa sighed, doubtful, but it mattered not. Adalbert would be made to do his duty, regardless. And if he did not, well…
Rising, Willa clapped, and the music ceased. It took a moment longer for all conversation to stop. She smiled at her guests, careful to reveal her teeth. “I have arranged for a special entertainment this eve.”
There was a rustle within the hall, an excited murmuring; it was no secret Queen Adelaide had been captured.
She glanced at Berengar, his frown replaced by a half-smile. He nodded to her.
“Bring them forth,” Willa commanded.
Guards pushed Adelaide and Stefano into the hall at sword point. Bathed and groomed for good effect, the prisoners gleamed like gemstones: Adelaide’s glowing, unbound tresses fell past her knees, with little love-locks gracing her brow; Stefano’s handsome face shaved smooth by the castle’s best barber, his blond hair clean, combed, and flowing in waves to his shoulders. As a final touch, the pair had been richly dressed in golden silks, looking ever so much like a great lord and his lady fair. The effect was perfect.
Willa noted Adelaide’s fresh beauty, the defiance in her stare. It would be gone soon enough. Stefano, on the other hand, looked fearful. For himself? Or for his royal lover?
“I will not participate, Willa,” Adelaide said, her tone queenly, “in whatever low charade you have concocted for your guests.”
“Queen Adelaide, please.” Willa could barely suppress her laughter as she removed a pair of blunt-tipped scissors from the purse on her belt. “I’ve just a simple question about your future.”
Adelaide continued to scrutinize the guests, then, ignoring Willa, she challenged them. “By accepting this invitation and participating in this farce, you have sided with Count Berengar in his war against the Pope and all that is just. Do you really want your fates allied with Berengar? Do you suppose he shall win out over the will of God and all of Christendom?”
A flurry of whispered speculation swept through the crowd, and few met her gaze.
“Silence!” Willa shouted, deadly serious now. Her guests grew quiet, clearly on tenterhooks. “Queen Adelaide, will you marry my son?”
“Never!”
“I see.” Willa smiled. “Bogo,” she called out. “Oh, Bogo, where are you? Come quickly, little man. Take these scissors to our handsome male prisoner. Quickly now!”
To the crowd’s delight, the dwarf tumbled from the shadows. The way he snatched the scissors from Willa’s hand, as if she might stab him, caused Berengar to throw back his head and roar.
With his side-to-side gait, Bogo tottered over to Stefano and placed the scissors on the floor. He made a show of bowing to the prisoners, then, to uproarious laughter, he somersaulted away.
Stefano looked down in bewilderment and then glanced at Willa.
“Cut her hair,” Willa said.
Adelaide’s mouth gaped open in shock.
Adalbert gasped. “Mother, you cannot!”
She turned on her son and whispered through clenched teeth, “If he doesn’t do it, you shall, so be quiet.”
Flushing, Adalbert dropped his gaze.
“You expect our son to get pleasure on a hairless chit?” Berengar asked.
“Her hair will grow back,” Willa replied tartly. She faced Stefano. “I said cut it off.”
He stood there like an idiot, staring, mute.
Willa was starting to find this whole business tiresome. “Cut. Her. Hair.” She noticed Stefano had sweat on his brow. “Cut it to the very roots, else I shall order the guards to cut off something of yours.”
This brought howls of laughter from Berengar.
Adelaide finally found her voice, “He cannot understand what you say.”
“Then show him,” Willa replied sweetly. “Show him what to do.”
*
Adelaide felt ill as she took the scissors. My hair, my beautiful hair. But she steeled herself. She was a queen and must not let Willa see her true feelings. She would not give her that satisfaction.
Words seemed futile as she faced Stefano and saw the look in his
eyes. Grabbing a hank of hair, she cut near to her scalp and tossed the clump aside as though it was of no account. She tried to give the scissors to Stefano, but he shook his head.
“You must do it,” Adelaide whispered. “Please, my friend.”
Everything seemed to move slowly after that, so, so slowly.
With trembling hands, Stefano took the scissors and started to work. “I am sorry, Queen Adelaide,” he whispered over and over, his words unmistakable. “I am sorry.”
The crowd was silent as long strands of hair swirled to the floor, Adelaide’s crowning glory falling away, dead, a lifeless shambles at her feet.
When at last it was done, Stefano stepped back. Again, Adelaide heard him murmur something heartfelt, some sort of apology, but she could not look at him, not now.
A serving woman approached, holding a hand mirror. “Forgive me, my queen.”
Adelaide felt numb, unable to respond.
The hall was still as a tomb until Willa’s voice boomed, “Take the mirror and see what you have become!”
Adelaide barely heard the servant’s halting apology, hardly felt the mirror’s weight as it was pressed into her hand. She stared into its steely depths, and something looked back, ghostly pale with sunken eyes, almost bald but for ragged bits of tuft.
For the first time in her life, she clearly saw what everyone must face, yet cannot quite digest.
The skull beneath the flesh – her countenance in death.
Chapter 12
Stefano was horrified by what he’d been forced to do to Adelaide’s hair, and would never forget her expression as she was led away by the guards, the forgiveness in her eyes redoubling his shame.
A shout was raised from outside the hall, and suddenly a soldier came running in, then bowed before Berengar.
“My lord, Alberto of Canossa has mustered a great force and is riding on La Rocca. He’s less than a day’s ride out.”
The words had been spoken excitedly, but Stefano understood enough to realize this Alberto must be Berengar’s enemy.
Berengar stood and called out, “Gather the men! Adalbert, dinner is over. You ride with me.” He looked around the hall and then smiled at his guests. “A mere annoyance, I assure you all. Rest easy. My wife shall see that the evening’s festivities continue. I would not have anyone sent away early.”
Italian Time Travel 01 - The Other Side of Heaven Page 12