The Other Side of Heaven (11 page)

The men roared, while Isabetta grabbed the breeches. “Husband, shhh!” she admonished. “What if the queen hears your nonsense?”

Grinning, Jacopo stood and walked over to the open door. “Ah, worry not, my love. She sits on a bench with Stef––”

His voice broke off, and he turned. His face had grown pale. “Nephew, quickly, come!”

Prand hurried to the door and looked outside. It took only a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but then he saw twinkling lights moving in the distance. He gaped. Torches – dozen of torches!

Despite the balmy breeze, Prand found himself shivering. He trained his gaze on the courtyard, where moments before Adelaide and Stefano had been sitting.

They were nowhere to be found.

*

A low curse erupted from Stefano’s throat, chilling Adelaide. “
Andiamo!
” he urged in a harsh whisper as he took her arm and wrenched her away from the bench.

She barely noticed the spilt wine, his firm grip, the pain in her arm. There was no mistaking his meaning: go, hurry, move
.

But what had he seen? Suddenly drenched in a cold sweat, she glanced about and spotted torches in the distance.
God in heaven.
The rest was a blur as he hustled her toward the dark fields.

Heart pounding, side aching, Adelaide half ran, half stumbled in the gloom. As Stefano yanked her along, she was whipped and jabbed by stalk and vine, until she thought she could go no farther. At that very moment, he ground to a halt and forced her to her knees. Trying to catch her breath, Adelaide’s throat felt raw, her lungs on fire, as she coughed and wheezed.

Stunned, she watched as horsemen thundered past, bearing down on the farmhouse. How had they found Prand’s family? How? Adelaide agonized over the question. Had someone seen them today? Who had betrayed them?

Adelaide looked at the farm and trembled. Prand, Jacopo, Isabetta, the boys.

She fought her tears and said, “Stefano, I can’t let them be harmed. I must go back. Berengar wants only me––”

“
Andiamo!
” he urged as he pulled her to her feet. “
Affrettiamoci!
”

He pointed to the ribbon of black edging the horizon, the forest they had ridden through just before sundown, a lifetime ago.

“We cannot run!” She pulled from his grasp and pointed back, at the farmhouse. “How will we live with ourselves, knowing we left them there?”

Stefano rounded on her. “
Assolutamente no!
”

Hating herself, Adelaide felt her shoulders sag. She knew he was right. There was something more important in her life, the only thing that truly mattered.

Adelaide allowed Stefano to lead her away. “Oh, Emma, Emma, my sweet, sweet girl,” she murmured. She had to stay alive and find her daughter.

Guilt. Blame. Self-loathing. She cast these aside. Nothing else mattered but Emma.

Nothing.

*

Prand looked out the door. The torches were coming closer. Berengar must have spied on him, read his letters. The bastard knew about his uncle all along.

“We’ll stall them, Liutprand,” Jacopo said. “If they don’t see you, they’ll surely leave. Pray the queen and Stefano found a good hiding spot. You go out back. Make haste!”

Prand watched his uncle and cousins fix knives to their belts and head out the front door to confront the horsemen. He removed his blade, and then turned to Isabetta.

Her mouth twisted in anger. “This is your fault, Liutprand.” She looked at the door and added flatly, “Why don’t you bribe them?

“What?”

“You betrayed our king, Adelaide’s husband, for the promise of riches. Use your coin to make amends. Bribe the soldiers.”

Mortified, he felt his face flame. “Isabetta, please, you do not understand. I betrayed no one. Berengar’s court offered new…”

Prand heard horses snorting and blowing, men shouting in the front yard. He glanced around – the servant, Maria, was nowhere to be seen – and he realized the girl’s instincts were correct. Run. Hide.

“Isabetta, come,” he said, taking a step toward her.

“No.” She backed away. “You heard my husband. Go.”

“But––”

“Get out!”

She grabbed the wine jug and threw it at him. He ducked, twisting and scrambling away, just as it crashed to the floor. Racing out the back door and into the yard, he barely made it to one of the outbuildings, rounding the corner at the very moment several torch-bearing horsemen reined in.

Watching from the shadows, gripping his knife, he desperately tried to control his heavy breathing. As expected, the men wore Berengar’s griffin crest. One of them shouted, “Search the barn!”

Our horses!
he thought wildly.

A man slipped from his mount and entered the barn. In a few heartbeats, he came back out, shouting triumphantly, while holding up some tack. “The farmer lied to us. They came here. The stolen horses are inside, all three of them.”

Another man wheeled his charger about, urging it toward the front yard. Others quickly retrieved the animals from the barn and then followed.

Prand held his breath, knowing this was his chance to flee, yet finding himself unable to move, a captive of his terror. More shouts erupted from the front, and he thought he heard swordplay. Suddenly, gray plumes curled from the windows of the farmhouse, then the thatched roof exploded in flame.

A scream rose from somewhere inside, a woman shrieking.

Isabetta!

Prand’s low wail accompanied hers in shared agony, one pitched and loud, the other soft, keening.

Rescue her!
his mind cried out. He started forward, but scorching heat, a hell on earth, blasted his skin and eyes, forcing him back. He turned and stumbled away, heading for the hills, weeping uncontrollably.

After a while, he dropped to the ground and watched the sky. The blaze reflected blood red in the smoky clouds, the stench of the fire, of death, finally reaching his nostrils.

He closed his eyes. His family was gone.

*

Prand stayed in the same spot for hours, rooted, unable to move. At one point, he heard horsemen searching nearby, but he couldn’t react, didn’t care. Finally, at dawn, he found the strength to get to his knees, and then rise to his feet. Wobbly, he peered out, his soul quailing at the sight of the farmhouse, now a smoldering ruin. Except for the occasional cackle and hiss of hot spots, all was quiet.

Dully, his gaze roamed onward, to the western mountains and their sheltering forests. Somewhere out there, he hoped Adelaide and Stefano had eluded capture. Crossing himself, he knew he could do nothing more here, for any of them. He’d already done far too much.

With a last glance, he called out softly to his queen in farewell, “
Khaire! Ekhe! Khaire!
”

He turned away. Alberto Uzzo. Otto of Germany. The names surged into his thoughts, supplanting his grief with hope and determination. He would tell them what had happened in this place. Mayhap they would aid Queen Adelaide. Mayhap they could…

No, he would kill the murderer himself. It would be his duty, his life’s work.

Prand shook a fist at the rising, red sun.

Vengeance ruled him now.

Adelaide and Stefano had been on the run for hours. Behind them, clouds of smoke indicated Berengar’s soldiers were burning every farm they passed, in an attempt to ferret them out.

“Oh Lord, the poor innocents,” Adelaide whispered. “God help them. Please, have mercy on their souls.”

As queen, she was duty-bound to rise above hardship, to push on for the good of her family and people, yet as a woman, her all-to-human body was nearing collapse. She looked at Stefano, his face grimy, strained, the picture of watchfulness as he crept to the edge of the forest. To her relief, his bewilderment and fright seemed to have vanished. He was the epitome of courage and rationality, despite the fact their communication was limited to gestures.

Adelaide watched as he cautiously raised his head and peered through the tangled brush. She moved to his side, seeing wheat fields and clear skies. No fires here. Mayhap Berengar’s men rode in another direction.

“
Fattoria
,” Stefano whispered.

“A farmhouse? Is that what you mean? Where?” she croaked, her throat parched. Her gaze followed his, and, indeed, she saw a farmhouse in the distance. She mimed drinking. “I am thirsty.”

He nodded and then knelt down, motioning for her to do the same. Pointing to the sky, he said, “
Stasera
.” Closing his eyes, he placed his hands together, rested his head against them, and pretended to sleep.

Licking her lips, Adelaide nodded and sat. “Tonight,” she whispered back. “Yes, I understand you, Stefano. We must bide our time.”

He leaned against a tree trunk, folded his arms over his chest, and once more closed his eyes. Soon, his breathing was slow and steady.

Would this farm owner be friend or foe? She shrugged, realizing it did not matter. With any luck, she would never see him at all, and, with even more luck, Berengar would leave this farm undisturbed.

She let out a sigh, realizing she had been reduced to the role of aspiring thief. But she didn’t care. Necessity alone drove them now.

To find drink, food, provisions.

To stay alive, stay alive.

*

Later, at dusk, Adelaide and Stefano snuck through the fields to the farm. They crouched by a fence watching the glowing half-moon, waiting for their chance. Laughter drifted from somewhere inside the house, mingling with the
click-clack
of a loom, but soon it grew still.

As the moon slipped below the horizon, the candlelit rooms went dark, window by window, one by one.

“
Ora o mai più!
”

Jumping at Stefano’s urgent whisper, Adelaide shook herself to action and set off. She picked her way through the darkness, following him, his figure black, stealthy, as he advanced toward the barn.

A dog barked in the distance. With a low curse, Stefano halted, and Adelaide froze, holding her breath. She exchanged a glance with him, the whites of his eyes barely visible, yet clearly wider than usual.

They waited, but there was no more barking. She exhaled in relief.

“
Andiamo, Adelaide. Corri
.” He took her hand and led her on.

She did not mind the lapse in etiquette; she was well beyond that now.

When Stefano stopped before a horse trough, Adelaide cast aside everything she had been taught about the dangers of drinking water, her thirst overwhelming, unbearable.

“God help me.” She crossed herself, cupped her hands, and took a tentative sip, then lowered her face to the water’s surface and drank deeply.

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 woods.

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.