The Other Side of Heaven (8 page)

She closed her eyes. What more could she do now but wait?

*

“
Hepeo proterô!
”

Adelaide struggled against an ocean of nothingness and then awoke in a tide of hope. She opened her eyes, but it was still dark. What had she heard?

“Queen Adelaide, come along now.”

“Prand?” Adelaide felt tugging at the ropes behind her, from the other side of the tree trunk. As soon as her hands were unbound, he moved around and worked on the bonds at her ankles, his knife sawing, sawing, sawing, his outline barely visible in the shadows, away from the feeble light of the dying campfire.

“Hurry, come now.”

She felt him grasp her arm and start to pull. “No, wait,” she whispered. Looking over at the tree where Stefano had been tied, Adelaide was horrified to see he was gone. “Oh Lord, I cannot leave. Where is the man who––?”

“My lady,” he interrupted, “I already cut him loose. He awaits us by the horses. Come, we must hasten away before the sleeping potion wears off.”

Adelaide smiled. The camp seemed empty; the fires had burned low, the entire place cloaked in silence. The sweetness of the moment caused the tide of hope to rise even further. She glanced at the eastern sky, the horizon still dark, but in her mind it was already dawn, gilded, golden, and wonderful.

Arm in arm with her redeemed friend, she crept away.

Lying on her side, the bedroll pulled up to her chin, Gwen listened to the nocturnal creatures scurrying about their business, hopeful she would get more sleep this night than she’d gotten the last two. Chafed and sore, she wasn’t used to the great outdoors, at least not without a flashlight, a tent, and some friends.

Her eyes misted. It hurt to remember her old life. Nighttime was the worst, when the ache in her heart intensified, her loneliness pouring out in silent tears.

She sighed, willing herself to turn her thoughts outward. She could just make out the shape of her horse in the filtered starlight. “Hey, I’m going to call you Nellie, okay? You’re my friend now, aren’t you?” An owl hooted in the distance and Gwen pulled her blanket close. “If a bear or a bad guy comes by, you’ll whinny, and then wait for me to jump on your back, right Nellie, ol’ girl?”

No response.

Gwen rolled onto her back. So far, there had been no sign of anything more predatory than ants and spiders, so her doubt about her horse’s ability to sense trouble was still untested.

The knife and short sword Father Warinus had insisted she wear did nothing to ease her fears. She was as likely to stab herself in the eye as to do damage to anybody else, and she vowed to get a guard dog just as soon as she could.

Watching the clouds drift across the sky, Gwen thought about the map Father Warinus had made for her, and about the reverse trip they had taken along this same road only days before. She was pretty sure she would reach Parma in three days, then the turn-off to Canossa soon after.

She took a deep breath, thinking of what lay ahead. So many lives depended on what happened in the coming days, depended on her will, on her determination.

*

Gwen awoke to the impatient stomping of her horse. The world was shrouded misty white. Fog. But it was bright fog, so the sun was up somewhere, and she had overslept. She scrambled to gather her things and saddle the horse.

Once on the road, Nellie’s footfalls echoed loudly, announcing her passage to any and all. Gwen shivered, unable to see anything around her. Time, too, was hard to track. Her watch, still ticking but hidden deep in her sack, marked the precise minute in another era. She hadn’t bothered to set it against a sundial for fear of getting caught. But then, who needed such precision in this age anyway?

Gwen glanced about, suddenly realizing she might be lost. “What if we miss the freeway cut-off to Canossa, ol’ girl?” She chuckled. “As if. Maybe we should stay at Parma until the fog clears.”

After a while, the fog turned to mist, and then to a light drizzle. Still, the road before them was hidden in gray. Gwen stopped her horse several times to listen.

Nothing.

Cold, miserable, and possibly lost, Gwen hunched her shoulders and urged Nellie on, wishing she had more than the cowl to keep her warm.

Finally, the horse pricked its ears and nickered softly.

“What––?” Gwen whispered.

“Halt!”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Who are you?” she blurted, fumbling for a blade.

A sentry on horseback moved from behind a nearby tree, his sword at the ready. “State your name and purpose.”

“I… uh, my name is Brother Godwyn,” Gwen stammered, relieved to see the familiar greyhound crest on his tunic. “Father Warinus sent me with a message for Lord Alberto Uzzo. Please tell me you understand what I’m saying.”

To her relief, the sentry nodded.

“I must speak with Lord Alberto. I’m going to Canossa.”

“Brother Godwyn,” the sentry said, “I recognize you. You were the one set upon by brigands. Are you traveling alone, again?”

“Yes, but I’m better prepared this time. However, I don’t know this road, and I’m afraid I’ll get lost. Is there anyone to spare who can show me the way?” Gwen persisted. “I have to find Lord Alberto. I have urgent news.”

“Urgent?” The sentry considered her. “Come with me, Brother. His lordship is no longer at Canossa. He has called a general muster at, er, mayhap my commander will permit you to ride with us, and he will deem whether or not you should know the location.” The man smiled slightly. “At any rate, it would be easier than rescuing you yet again.”

To Gwen’s relief, the commander gave her permission to accompany them. They would be meeting Alberto at the ford of Oglio ab Po, wherever and however far that was. Her military escort moved swiftly and with amazing stealth, in spite of the rain.

They reached the Po by early evening, and then followed it eastward along the south riverbank. The shore was rough and muddy, thick with trees and dense undergrowth. At times, Gwen caught glimpses of water, but most of the time a heavy mist cloaked the surroundings.

It was nearly sunset when the fog lifted and the troop reached a wide meadow, with a clear view up and down the river. Here, broad swaths of pebbles and round river rocks formed shallows, while upstream several small islands disrupted the flow. At the confluence of the Po and Oglio, the water was choppy and forbidding.

Gwen followed the troop across the river upstream of the turbulence, the horse’s hooves sending water splashing in every direction. But Gwen hardly noticed, for the earlier rain had already soaked her to the skin.

It was dark by the time everyone forded the river, negotiated the mucky shore, and started north. Gwen shivered in the gloom, wondering how much farther they had to go, and if her earlier anticipation at seeing Alberto was premature. Would she see him tonight? Suddenly, among copses of trees, she saw flickers of firelight, and then heard the muffled sounds of people and horses. At last, they had reached Alberto’s camp.

They rode past dozens of tents, hundreds of men and horses. When they finally reached a large tent surrounded by guards, the troop’s commander raised his hand, halting his men. Motioning for Gwen to join him, he dismounted. Anxious, she slipped from her horse, watching as the commander spoke quietly with one of the guards. The guard briefly eyed Gwen and then stuck his head inside the tent to announce their arrival.

The commander entered immediately, leaving her to wait.

After a long moment, the guard turned and said, “You may go in, Brother.”

Trembling from the damp and her nerves, Gwen went inside the large, spartan lodging; drafty, lit with only smelly tallow candles, the roof dripped in places. In the dim light, several stern faces watched her.

“Brother Godwyn,” his voice rumbled with impatience.

Her heart skipped. The men parted, and she saw him.

Alberto.

It was all she could do to remain motionless as she clenched her fists and willed herself into a semblance of composure.

He stood at a table, his gaze on several maps strewn before him. “What brings you to us?” he asked flatly, without looking up. “Has the good father set up a parley with Berengar so soon?”

Gwen’s eyes darted from face to face, then settled back on Alberto’s hands. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her cowl and swallowed. “Father Warinus asked that I speak to you, my lord. Alone.”

He glanced up in surprise.

Gwen sucked in her breath and dropped her gaze from his. Those eyes! She remembered them only too well. She’d seen them, inches from her own, in several intoxicating dreams. But why was he angry? She’d done nothing to him. She swallowed, determined to rise above her fears
.

“You’re learning our language quickly, Brother, or did you know it all along?”

Gwen was struck by his insinuation, but chose not to respond. Still looking down, she reiterated, “Father Warinus insisted I speak to no one but you. I have urgent news.”

He didn’t sound pleased as he ordered the others out. “Leave us. Commander, see that your men are well garrisoned and have something to eat. We will resume our meeting forthwith.”

Gwen watched mud-encrusted boots tramp past. The tent flap dropped after the last man, and there was a moment of silence.

“Speak swiftly, Brother Godwyn,” Alberto said gruffly. “I am a busy man.”

Her mind filled with horrible memories and she blurted, “Queen Adelaide has been taken captive.”

“What?” his voice boomed.

She looked up. “Berengar attacked Pavia three days ago––”

“By Christ’s holy wounds, we were fools to think he’d wait!” Alberto stormed around the table toward her.

Alarmed, she backed away from his fury.

He saw this and ground to a halt, clearly struggling for control. “Are you certain she is a captive and not slain? What of her soldiers? Did her men defect?”

“No. Berengar’s soldiers outnumbered them and slaughtered all they could find. And yes, she’s been taken captive.”

“Is Berengar still in Pavia? Does he claim the Crown?”

She shook her head. “No. Scouts reported he is heading for his castle on Lake Garda and moving fast.”

Alberto turned away and started to pace, muttering to himself, making the tent seem very small and confining. “I must try to head him off. If he gets the queen inside his infernal keep…” His voice failed, and he looked at Gwen. “What of the little princess? Does he have her, too?”

“No, I… she is safe,” Gwen stammered. “The surviving soldiers are guarding Emma, but I don’t know where. Father Warinus asks for your help. He needs healers and medicine, bandages, food, everything. There are a lot of wounded and no one left to protect the people.”

“I can do nothing for Pavia. We must ride for Garda.”

“But you have so many men. Some of them need to come back with me.” Acting on impulse, Gwen clutched at his hand. “Alberto, I promised I’d bring help.”

“Damn you, monk!” He threw off her grasp. “Do not suppose you may be so familiar with me!”

Gwen stood her ground. “There is no one left to defend the people. They’re counting on your help.”

“We are soldiers, not caretakers. What of you? Are you not man enough to wield a sword, or bind a battle wound? Stop hiding behind your cowl, faint as a woman. Father Warinus knows how to fight. I’ve seen him. Take a lesson from his example. Even a monk may yet stand up as a man.”

Gwen was shocked. How could she have been so wrong about him? She took in the firm line of his mouth, his flinty gaze. He thought she was a wimp, and he obviously didn’t care about the people who needed help, people who were dying.

Son of a bitch!
Her whole body trembling, she raised her chin and stared defiantly at him. “Don’t you dare criticize me! You have no idea what I’ve done. I fought willingly, even though it’s not my war, and I fought as well as I know how. I was the one who saved Princess Emma, and I’ve spent days in the goddamned wilderness searching for you. But you are right about one thing.” Gwen jerked her sodden cowl off her head, down one shoulder, and then the other, and let it drop to the floor, revealing her damp undertunic. Picking up the garment, she smacked it against his chest and stepped back, arms wide, glaring. “I have been hiding beneath this cowl, but don’t you dare call me faint, not after all I’ve been through!”

Alberto’s expression dissolved into open shock. His gaze fixed on her unbound breasts beneath her tunic, and he gaped.

Silence engulfed them. Then, slowly, his gaze lifted to meet hers. His face flushed with… shame? Disgust? Anger?

This last possibility terrified her when she recalled that cross-dressing was blasphemy in the Middle Ages. “I didn’t want to lie,” she quickly explained, retrieving the cowl and dragging it back over her head and shoulders. “I just thought it would be safer if no one knew I was a woman. I didn’t think I’d see any of you again.”

“You are full of deceit!” Alberto slammed his fist into his hand. “Does Warinus know?”

“Shut up! Stop shouting or everyone will hear,” she whispered harshly. “Of course Warinus doesn’t know. No one knows but you.”

He stared at her. “How do I know if anything you tell me is true, if all you have said thus far is lies? By God, you are a––”

“Woman. Yes. Is that going to be a problem?”

He tilted his head and considered her. “No, it is not a problem, simply a… revelation. But I’ll have no more dishonesty. What is your true name?”

“Gwendolyn Godwyn.”

“Godwyn? So, some small crumb is truth,” he said, crossing his arms and watching her closely. “Why were you on the road alone, the day we found you? Were you waiting for us? Was that some ruse? Were those men friends of yours?” He pointed to her head. “And that mess. Did you shear your tresses to help in your deception, or mayhap it was shorn by more honorable folk who uncovered your hoax?”

“No, neither!” Gwen touched her hair. Feeling panicky, she realized she needed to rework the story she’d already told, a different lie to replace the first. “I, I lost my companions – dead. It’s true we came here on pilgrimage. I, uh, my family is in Britannia, and I was trying to get back there, back home. A priest gave me the cowl and I cut my own hair after the attack, because my clothes were ruined, and I obviously couldn’t travel as a woman without protection. And those men on the road were exactly who you thought they were. I’d never seen them before. And… and I owe you my life.”

Gwen gulped back a sob and turned away. The tight grip she’d had on her nerves finally shattered. Covering her face with her hands, she tearfully moaned, recalling the scene with revulsion. “When they attacked me, one of them felt… found out and groped me, then told the others. He… they were about to rape me – all of them.”