Italian Time Travel 01 - The Other Side of Heaven

by Morgan O'Neill

  Gwen stood in the gloom as Father Warinus shut the door. The building felt dank and smelled of fish. It was so dark Gwen and Warinus got on their hands and knees and felt their way across the floor. Groping about, she found some rope, then a shovel and pick, hoping the priest would have a more thorough idea of what they needed.

  After several minutes, Gwen was back at the door, arms full, waiting for her partner-in-crime. A few moments more and he stood beside her, his arms also heavily laden.

  On his signal, Gwen hurried out the door. Her heart pounded during the mad dash from the village and into the woods.

  Finally, back at camp, Gwen shoved all of the tools under a bush to hide them, just in case. Then, exhausted, she dropped onto her bedroll, barely hearing Father Warinus praying for forgiveness, before she fell asleep.

  *

  In two days’ time, they had managed to turn the dung hole exit into a sizable entrance, and had even avoided any unpleasant events with its regular use. Thankfully, whoever handled the slop buckets was a happy, lighthearted person, always singing snatches of his favorite drinking songs with a loud and cheerful voice, and giving them ample warning to stand aside.

  “Father, how do these things work?” Gwen asked. “What if you’re wrong about the dungeon? This latrine could be in the commons area, couldn’t it?”

  The priest paused to consider her question, clearly troubled. “As you well know from Pavia, there is usually a large latrine with many seats in the commons near the stables, and, in a castle-keep like this, one below ground as well. The lord and lady would have a garderobe for private use in their quarters.”

  “But how can we know which one this is? I don’t want to poke my head out the top and see Berengar’s ass hovering above me.” Gwen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the disturbing image.

  Warinus laughed and then shook his head.

  “What is it, Father?”

  “You said it in jest, but you are quite right.” He looked up at the wall rising above them, searching for clues. “I am mayhap too certain in my instincts. We have no true way of knowing this tunnel’s source.”

  “Well, there is one way. We’ll just have to get inside and find out.”

  “Yes, but not we. I will go,” he countered. “I will simply suggest I am on a mission from the Pope to parley for the queen’s release.”

  “But you’ve been there before. Berengar and his people know you. They must guess you are not neutral in this matter,” Gwen protested. “You would arouse too much suspicion. Besides, even if they let you in, they would watch your every move, and you wouldn’t have the freedom to snoop around.”

  “Are you suggesting you should go in alone? I cannot allow it.”

  “But someone has to. It is obvious Berengar has no wish to parley. He’s done too many terrible things,” Gwen said emphatically. “That bastard kidnapped Adelaide and murdered…,” she momentarily lost her voice, “and—and Berengar has not once asked for a ransom. He does not want to negotiate anything.”

  Father Warinus bowed his head. “Then we must continue this course we have begun, and hope for the best.”

  “No, I can go inside. They don’t know me. I’ll pretend to be a monk on pilgrimage, looking for shelter for the night. I fooled you – I fooled everyone for a long time. I can do this. I can find out where this dung hole leads, and I’ll find out where they’re keeping Queen Adelaide.”

  Father Warinus gazed at Gwen for several seconds, looking like he was about to reject her plan. Then, finally, he sighed. “As you said, we do this out of pure necessity. There is no other choice. Fair enough, but you must carry a knife, for to travel without weapons in these times would arouse suspicion. And there are other things we must do to prepare. First, you smell of our labors. Thank God the day is warm. Go down to the lake. I will watch the path and make certain you have privacy for bathing, and you may dry your clothes in the sun. After that, I will instruct you further.”

  He drew Gwen in and kissed her on each temple. “God be with you, my child. God be with you.”

  *

  The early evening sun cast long shadows across Gwen’s path as she walked to Garda Castle’s lower gate. Crows cawed and swirled about the ramparts, adding to the wicked feel of the place. A few people passed her, heads down, on their way out. Day workers, she assumed, going home. One or two mumbled a greeting, but most ignored her.

  Gwen’s hood was drawn well forward, casting her face in darkness. On Father Warinus’s instructions, she held her hands as if in prayer, a rosary entwined in her fingers. He also advised her to say nothing, claiming a vow of silence, in case she was asked to lead a religious ceremony.

  She felt dizzy, unable to take a good, deep breath, thinking evil eyes watched her as she reached the gate. Despite the waning sun, the cowl was hot, stifling, the strap of her sack heavy across her shoulder. She could feel rivulets of sweat running down her body.

  Keeping her eyes averted from the pike and its burden, she fought hard to control her emotions. Suddenly, something knocked against her head. Flinching, she swatted the air, and then peered out. A crow had dive-bombed her, and she couldn’t avoid seeing why. Dozens of them swarmed over Stefano’s head, pecking, tearing, devouring. His beautiful eyes were gone, the flesh hanging.

  Gwen gagged and felt her knees give way. Clawing, clutching for the great iron doorknocker, she banged it once, twice, over and over, hearing the echoes resound on the other side.

  A slat in a side door slid open, and a voice challenged her from within. “Who goes? We’ve just closed up for the night. State your business.”

  Still gagging, Gwen raised the rosary and presented it for viewing.

  After some grumbling, the small door swung open. A short man stood there, his face tanned, weather-beaten. “Monk, are you deaf? I said state your business.”

  Gwen struggled to her feet and met his gaze. With great effort, she kept herself from getting sick.

  The guard looked toward Stefano, and then rolled his eyes. “You are turning green, monk. Can’t take it, eh? Are you wanting to stay the night?” He looked beyond Gwen’s form, soberly scanning the woods. “You’re alone, then? I suppose you may come in.” He moved aside, and she quickly stepped past him.

  “Before you go on, Brother, have you any weapons?”

  Gwen nodded.

  “I must take them from you here, but you will get them back when you leave.”

  She handed over her knife.

  “On your way, then,” he said. “You’ll have no trouble getting in at the upper gate, now I’ve let you in here.”

  Gwen made the sign of the cross over the man and started to leave.

  “Thank you, Brother,” he said, his tone quiet, respectful. “Please, say a prayer for me and all who dwell within these walls.” Then he jerked his head toward Stefano. “And for that poor fellow, as well.”

  Surprised by his gentle words, Gwen bit her lip to keep from crying, then nodded and turned toward the castle. At the second gate, she went through the same routine, knocking, holding up the rosary, saying nothing.

  The watchman opened the smaller door and gave her the once-over before allowing her to enter. “Brother, I must check with the mistress of the keep to make sure you are to be welcomed. Stay here.”

  He closed and bolted the door, then walked away. Gwen noticed several guards standing nearby, eyeing her distrustfully.

  Pretending to ignore them, Gwen concentrated on her breathing. She was inside Garda Castle – almost. Nervously, she took stock of her surroundings, trying to compose herself. The courtyard was large, containing livestock pens, stables, a smithy, and what looked like a general repair shop. There were still some laborers going about their business; a few even cast glances in her direction. Live-in employees? Slaves?

  Berengar would be just the kind of son of a bitch to have slaves.

  Suddenly, the watchman was back at her elbow, along with another man he introduced as the steward of Garda Castle. Dressed i
n an elegant silk tunic, the handsome, gray-haired man had an air of self-importance.

  Meeting his eyes, Gwen felt the hairs on her neck rise. She could tell he was a snake, someone to avoid.

  “Welcome, Brother. My name is Niccolo. You are to be given a room for the night,” he said with a bow. “There is a banquet this eve, and you are invited to attend. My mistress, Willa, margravine of Ivrea, asks only that you say mass at the outset, for the safe return of her husband.”

  Father Warinus was right. Shaking her head, Gwen crouched down and smoothed out a patch of dirt. Writing with her finger, she spelled out Sileo in Latin, then pressed her fingers against her lips and shook her head again.

  “Vow of silence?” the steward asked.

  Gwen nodded and held her breath.

  He looked at her for several agonizing seconds, then shrugged and indicated she should come along.

  Gwen exhaled with relief.

  “It cannot be said my mistress is not a devout woman, and generous. She would never begrudge a man his vow before God. Please, come with me.”

  Gwen followed Niccolo, recognizing he’d answered a nagging question. Willa had requested a prayer for Berengar’s safe return. So, he was not at Garda Castle, after all.

  As soon as she was inside the main foyer, Gwen noticed a huge, blond braid, held by a large bow and affixed to the pediment over the doorway. People would have to duck to avoid it as they passed.

  The steward saw her expression and chuckled. “That is indeed hair, since you’re wondering. Lady Willa thought it a great joke to bring Queen Adelaide, who is residing with us for now, down a peg or two, by having her head shorn in front of her guests. But I can tell you, the queen looked as defiant as ever, even when bald.”

  He wagged his thumb toward the entry. “That fellow you saw above the gate was Queen Adelaide’s lover, and Lady Willa had him do the cutting of the hair, before the lover’s head was shorn,” he drew a finger across his neck, “just about here.”

  Chapter 15

  Gwen feigned nonchalance as she looked at the great hall’s ceiling, with its elaborate diamond and floral pattern. She tossed back the rest of her wine, then glanced over her shoulder. How in the world was she going to pull this off?

  All evening, Willa sat on the dais, drinking from a large, golden cup. She and most of her guests appeared to be quite drunk. Cutting Adelaide’s hair revealed a malicious streak in Willa, but other than that, Gwen had no real impression of Berengar’s wife. Could she have been complicit in Stefano’s murder? Gwen shuddered at the thought and studied Willa’s face. She was young and pretty, but seemed strangely subdued, even exhausted; there were dark circles beneath her eyes.

  Willa called for more wine, her speech noticeably slurred, her blue eyes glazed and unfocused. Gwen decided she’d end up a drunk, too, if that bastard Berengar were her husband.

  Turning, she spotted the steward, Niccolo, busily holding sway near the silver saltcellar, giving orders to a few servants.

  Okay, Brother Godwyn, she told her alter ego, it’s show time. She bowed her head, crossed herself, and stood. No one seemed to notice. As she walked away from the table, she glanced at Niccolo. He was speaking sternly to someone. She dropped her gaze and kept going.

  Gwen reached the doorway, crossed the threshold, and turned into the corridor, out of the steward’s sight. She took a deep breath, trying to get her bearings. Where was Adelaide being held? To her left, the queen’s braid dangled above the door, but Gwen hadn’t seen any staircases in that direction that might lead to a dungeon. Clearly, she had to try going the other way.

  Pulling her cowl close about her, she set off down the hall. A few serving men passed her, carrying food and wine. Gwen wanted to find a woman, someone kind enough to answer questions, but hopefully not bright enough to be suspicious of her motives.

  Walking on, she was disappointed to see only more men, including several soldiers. Despite her cowl, she could feel their stares on her back until she turned the corner. Right in front of her stood a stone staircase, spiraling upward.

  Could Father Warinus have been wrong? Was the queen being held in one of the towers? If so, how could they possibly free her?

  To Gwen’s annoyance, storybook prose filled her mind. But Rapunzel’s solution wouldn’t work here. She shook her head at the dark irony, knowing the queen was bald, perhaps tortured, and then realized there might be no fairytale ending for Adelaide, or for any of them.

  Like Stefano’s cruel death.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against the stone wall. It was damp and cold, oddly soothing. After taking a few gulps of air, she found the courage to go on. One foot after the other, she forced herself to climb the stairs, while everything in her being told her to turn and run. Halfway up, she heard footsteps. Gwen shrank against the wall, her heart pounding, her entire body shaking.

  “Monk, what brings you here?” The woman’s tone registered surprise, and the tremor of age.

  Gwen did not dare look up. “Good lady, I… I am lost,” she replied, hoping her vow of silence wasn’t general knowledge. “I search for Queen Adelaide. I would pray with the prisoner this eve.”

  The woman didn’t respond.

  Gwen held herself still, fully expecting the old lady to raise the alarm.

  “Come then, Brother.” The voice had grown soft, kind, grandmotherly. “I shall show you the stairwell that leads to the lower level.”

  *

  The spiral staircase to the dungeon was narrow and gloomy, lit by the occasional torch. Gwen’s downward progress was painstakingly slow; one slip and she feared she would break her neck. The air grew stuffy as she continued on and soon she was drenched in sweat. She wiped her forehead on her sleeve, wishing for something to drink, when she felt a cool breeze. She took several more steps and came upon a slit window. Leaning into the opening, she breathed deeply. Stars twinkled near the horizon, and she raised her eyes to focus on the faint glow of the Milky Way. The beauty of the sky stood in stark contrast to this horrible castle.

  Gwen studied the darkened landscape and the lake’s shimmering water, then the blackness of the woods stretching away in the distance. The view looked familiar, similar to what she’d seen from their perch on La Rocca. Father Warinus’s instincts had been right. This had to be the window over their tunnel.

  Excited by her discovery, she took another long look outside, and then forced herself on. Down, down she went, until she reached a stout door. There was no knob or latch. Hesitantly, she knocked. The door immediately opened, and a man stood before her, gripping a club. It was obvious he’d been listening to her slow approach.

  Gwen fought the urge to turn and bolt back up the stairs. “I am bidden to see Queen Adelaide for prayer.”

  Scowling, the jailer lowered his weapon. “I was not told anyone would visit her this night.”

  Gwen looked him straight in the eye. “I will pray with the queen,” she said in her most commanding tone. “The Lord’s Holy Work does not proceed by the whim of man, or a timetable.”

  He glowered at her and then crooked his finger. She followed him down the hallway, past a series of bolted doors. Gwen silently counted them—one, two, three—until they stood before the fourth. She glanced back to gauge the distance. Adelaide’s door was about thirty feet from the stairs, but where was the latrine?

  Suddenly, Gwen had an inspired thought. “I must relieve myself before I go inside,” she told the jailer.

  He pointed to a door without locks, just beyond the fourth cell. “There.”

  Gwen fought to hide her smile as she walked to the latrine and went inside. It was not much bigger than a broom closet and stunk to high heaven. She closed the door and grinned. She now knew which way to tunnel. Whistling, she made herself stand there until enough time had passed, then went outside.

  The jailer was already at the cell door, working the bolt. The hinges squeaked as it opened.

  Gwen stared into the darkness, seeing nothing. “G
et me a light… my son.”

  He shuffled away, and then returned with an oil lamp.

  With the lamp before her, Gwen entered the cell. The wavering light illuminated someone curled up on a cot. “Queen Adelaide?” She wasn’t moving. Gwen’s heart fell. Could she be sick?

  Gwen almost jumped out of her skin when the door slammed shut behind her.

  Adelaide shifted slightly. “Lord, no, Willa, leave me alone, please.” Slowly, the queen turned her head toward Gwen, using a hand to shade her eyes.

  Adelaide looked small and frail. She clutched at a ragged kerchief covering her head, as if she would rather die than reveal herself.

  “Queen Adelaide?” Gwen repeated. “Forgive me. I realize the light bothers your eyes, so I’ll place it by the door, as far away as––”

  “Brother Godwyn?” Adelaide sat up and stared. “How can this be? Please, tell me this is no dream. I could not bear to awaken and find you were never here!”

  Gwen placed the lamp on the floor and hurried to Adelaide’s side. “I am as real as you.” She pointed to the cot. “May I sit with you?”

  Nodding, Adelaide shifted on the cot, taking hold of Gwen’s hands. She glanced at the wall, and then whispered, “Keep your voice low, Brother. They are listening.” When Gwen nodded, she added, “Where is my daughter?”

  “Safe. Berta has her.”

  With a sigh, the queen closed her eyes. “When did you last see Emma?”

  “Several weeks ago.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Then you do not know how she now fares?”

  “Don’t worry – she’s safe! I arrived at Garda Castle this evening, and I heard Willa grumbling that the princess continues to evade capture.” Gwen noted the relief in Adelaide’s eyes. “You should also know that Lord Alberto has gathered his forces. Help is coming. Are you well?”

  Despite the feeble light, Gwen could see tears glistening in the queen’s eyes.

  “Yes, now I am very well. At last, some good news.” Then Adelaide’s voice trembled, “I… I have suffered, but it is nothing compared to my friend. Oh, Brother Godwyn, the things I heard… but I’ve heard nothing recently, and I fear he was taken away, or killed.”