Time Enough for Love (6 page)

“How did this happen?” Ranulf asked.

“The village had been alerted,” Barca winced at the throbbing in his head, “and they were told to look out for a whore-blasphemer dressed as a monk. They took her to Castle Garda – alive.”

“Oh, no.” Father Warinus crossed himself.

“There’s a fellow with me.” Barca gestured toward the woods. “Let him come in. He supports our cause. Memmo, come in.”

Scowling, Ranulf looked to where Barca was pointing. “Who’s Memmo?”

The village man stepped out from behind a tree, cap in hand, and bowed.

Warinus eyed him suspiciously, and Ranulf glowered.

“Father, good soldier,” Memmo said, “Garda Village is my home. I am a fisherman by trade, and no fighter, but I have eyes and ears and enough common sense to know what’s right and what’s not.”

“And?” Ranulf prompted.

“Let him speak,” Barca said. “He has my confidence.”

The man shuffled his feet, then looked directly at Father Warinus. “My village knows well enough what Berengar is up to, and many disagree with him, but there is little we can do. And besides, his wife Willa is greatly feared. We dare not provoke her wrath.” He nervously twisted his cap. “We’ve all been watching for a return of the robbers, wanting justice, but it wasn’t until two days past that I spied the work you were doing up on La Rocca and understood why the tools were taken.”

Barca heard the priest suck in his breath and saw Ranulf’s knuckles go white on the grip of his bow.

“I’ve told no one,” Memmo quickly offered as he used his cap to wipe the sweat covering his brow. “If you mean to bring harm to Berengar, he’s already gone. If you mean to rescue the queen, and the woman who wears the cowl, then I’d be pleased to help any way I can.”

“And we need him,” Barca interjected. “Memmo says they left me for dead when they took Gwen. I thank God he was up early and heard the scuffle. She was brave. She killed one, mayhap two of our enemies.” He gave them a grim smile, proud of her hard-won abilities. “Forgive me, but I… I couldn’t stop them… I failed to protect her. I’m sorry.”

Warinus looked to have aged a full decade, but Ranulf bore his usual, tough demeanor, still eyeing Memmo with skepticism.

“So, why is he here?” Ranulf challenged, jerking his head toward the fisherman.

“He just told you – oh, God, my head.” Bolts of pain shot through Barca’s skull, and he leaned sideways and heaved, grabbing his wound again, moaning, his brain swimming with unease. “Christ, it hurts.”

Warinus pried Barca’s hands away and inspected his wound.

“As I said, I would like to help,” Memmo responded. “After the men left with your woman and their dead, I went to look more closely and found Barca. I was able to rouse him and offered my assistance. He told me how to find you. I helped him walk here.”

“Thank God for you,” Father Warinus said, feverishly rummaging in his saddlebags.

“Does anyone else know about this, Memmo?” Ranulf asked pointedly. “Anyone from town?”

“No, I got Barca out of there before anyone else arrived.”

“Are you certain no one followed you?”

“Yes.”

Barca made the mistake of nodding in agreement and winced.

“I once suffered as you, my son,” Warinus said. “I was thrown from my horse, hit my head on a rock, and saw double for days.”

“Yes.” Barca felt his guts twisting and retched again. “Double.”

The priest removed a cloth from his bag. “I shall bind your head, and you will be fine, but you must rest today.”

“No. I must try to find his lordship,” Barca argued weakly.

“The hell you must,” Ranulf shot back. “He’ll kill us for losing Gwen.”

“It won’t come to that,” Father Warinus countered. “Moreover, I know Lord Alberto very well – may God bless his trying soul – and he is no brute. You make him sound akin to Berengar, and Alberto is no such villain.”

“With all due respect, Father,” Ranulf said, “I doubt you are well-versed in military discipline.”

The priest sighed at the scout. “My son, let it go. We must stop arguing and continue with the tunnel.” He looked through the trees toward La Rocca. “Are we close, Ranulf? Can we make it inside today?”

“We must. There is no other choice.”

“Then let us not tarry,” Warinus said, strapping on his sword. “Once we rescue the queen, we must get her away, then go inside and try to find Gwendolyn. With God’s help, we shall succeed in both endeavors.” He faced the fisherman. “Memmo, go back to your boat and remain out of sight. I’ve seen a cove south of town, where there is a rock as big as a cottage.”

“Yes,” he said. “I know the place. I will wait there.”

Father Warinus nodded. “Be alert for my whistle. If all goes as planned,” he crossed himself again, “bring the boat around, and we will accompany the women across the lake to safety.” He looked to the soldiers. “Barca, stay here with the horses, while Ranulf and I dig. As soon as the women are in the boat, Ranulf will join you. You two must act as decoys. Lead any trackers away from us. The women and I shall make for his lordship’s territory, by way of Mantua, if possible. Are you in agreement?”

They both nodded.

“Then, my sons, go with my blessing,” Warinus said, making the sign of the cross over them. “Remember, once we’re off, you two must ride in all haste to find Lord Alberto.”

“Father, you have our word,” Ranulf said, locking gazes with Barca.

Barca was about to nod again, but his head ached miserably and he caught himself in time. He hoped for the strength to carry on, hoped above all their plan would succeed, and he would be given the opportunity to ride out and report good news to his lord.

*

Father Warinus was filled with renewed vigor and a supreme sense of conviction. Drawing himself up, he gave each man a fiercely determined smile. “Now, God willing, we shall go and free a queen, and find our brave she-monk, before she, before…”

Closing his eyes, he found himself wavering
. No, no, I must not falter!
He worried that Willa was calling Gwendolyn a blasphemer, then visualized Stefano’s head. He feared she would be no more merciful with her new captive and it was possible she could do something even worse.

“As long as there is life in my body, Gwen shall not burn,” he whispered fiercely, hearing the other men respond, “Amen.”

16 August, 951, Castle Garda, Italy

Footsteps. Scraping. The door opened and two buckets were pushed inside the cell without comment.

Gwen scrambled to see everything before the room went dark again. One bucket was about half-filled with water, the other with rags.

She grabbed the water bucket. Just as the door closed, she carefully poured some of the water on the spot where they had already removed a paving stone, then tossed the rags away, and positioned the second bucket sideways.

“Hold me so I don’t fall,” Gwen whispered.

“As you will.” The queen fumbled in the dark, then took hold of Gwen’s arm. “What are you going to do with the buckets?”

“I’m going to break this one. We can use the wood for digging.” Feeling with her foot, Gwen gauged the exact location of the bucket and jumped on it, but the thing skirted sideways and she would have crashed to the floor but for the queen’s steadying hand. She readjusted her stance, this time with the bucket pinned against the wall, and leapt again. She landed squarely, causing it to creak. “Once more should do it.” She jumped several more times. “They’re well made, I’ll give them that.” Gwen puffed, swiping her brow. On the sixth try, the wood gave way, screeching in protest as the sections split apart.

The high door slat opened. “What is going on in there?” the guard shouted angrily, peering into the gloom.

“Nothing, good sir,” Adelaide replied. “The new prisoner is unhappy about being locked up, is all.”

“Tell her she’ll get nothing but a whip against her back if she doesn’t calm herself.”

“I will see that she behaves.”

“You had better, else your royal back shall feel my lash as well.”

Gwen saw Adelaide cross herself, just as the door closed with a snap.

“Oh, I’ll behave.” Gwen grinned. “The job should go much faster now.”

Together, the two women tore away wood from the bucket and returned, on hands and knees, to renew digging, this time with better tools than mere fingers.

They worked more paving stones away from the hole already begun. Gwen dug and was soon lying on her belly, her head and arms farther and farther inside the hole, while Adelaide used the second bucket to dump the excavated dirt under the cot.

Hopefully, no one would come in and find Gwen’s butt sticking out of the hole. Better yet, no one would look in on them at all, until after they were well on their way to freedom.

The hours dragged on. She switched duties with the queen from time to time, taking much-needed breaks, only once stopping altogether when the evening meal was brought.

Gwen sat back, stunned. Had it already been twenty-four hours since they’d started digging? Covered with sweat and grime, she was more weary than she’d ever been, her arms and shoulders knotted with pain. “I have to stop. My arms just won’t work anymore.”

“Yes, yes. Come and rest,” Adelaide responded. “Let me rub your shoulders. You have been so strong. When you’re in the hole, I’ve only your knees to hang onto now. We have tunneled beyond our cell wall, surely. How much farther do you suppose we’ll have to go?”

“I don’t know.”

“I pray it is not too far.”

Gwen let her mind drift as the queen worked her muscles, easing away her aches. But worries nagged at her. The cell smelled dank and earthy, the source of the scent piled in heaps under the bed. They would never be able to hide it, should someone become curious and look inside.

“I shall go into the hole tomorrow,” Adelaide offered.

“No,” Gwen said, “I’ll be all right––”

Adelaide grasped Gwen’s arm and sucked in her breath. “Did you hear?”

Gwen looked up, listening for the guard, but there was no sound.

“I’m sure I heard something.” Adelaide’s hand was trembling.

Short, heavy, chopping sounds echoed from the hole.

“It’s them!” Gwen’s energy flooded back as she dropped to the floor and stuck her head inside the tunnel.

“Here.” Adelaide shoved two pieces of wood into Gwen’s hand. “Hurry, reach down as far as you can and bang them together so they might hear you.”

Gwen leaned in and tapped several times, then stopped to listen. Could they hear her? What was the SOS code? Long, short, long, or the other way around? No, they wouldn’t understand it, anyway.

Clunk. Clunk.

Were they digging again? Or responding?

Gwen tried a rhythm.
Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap.

Clunk, clunk, clunk. Clunk, clunk.

She wrenched around. “They’ve heard us! They’re coming. Quick, hold my legs while I dig.”

Working furiously, her aches and fatigue forgotten, Gwen adjusted her angle as she tunneled toward the sounds. She didn’t bother to get the loose dirt out of the hole, just pushed it aside. Finally, she dropped the pieces of wood and began clawing at the soil with her bare hands.

Suddenly, she felt the dirt give way and the tip of a shovel surged through the gap. She pulled back, barely avoiding its sharp edge.

“Hello?” she called out as loudly as she dared.

“Gwendolyn?” It was Ranulf.

“Yes, yes, they put me with the queen. I’m sending her down. Be ready.” Gwen twisted and whispered over her shoulder, “Help me up.”

With a surge of strength, Adelaide pulled her out of the hole. “God grant this will work.”

“Quickly now. My friend Ranulf is in the tunnel. Go feet first. Kick out the opening if you have to. He’s right there to catch you.”

Gwen held onto Adelaide as best she could while the queen lowered herself into the tunnel. She heard thumping as the queen struck the bottom several times with her feet, then slipped several inches, twisting her wrists out of Gwen’s grasp.

“Thanks be to God,” Adelaide said as she sank away, under control, supported from below.

Moments later, Gwen heard a soft whistle, and she sat on the cell floor, dangling her legs into the void, then lowered herself, searching for a foothold. The tunnel was narrow, perfect for someone Adelaide’s size, but Gwen had to struggle to get down. Dirt fell around her face, getting in her eyes, ears, and mouth, and she had difficulty moving her legs. Sweating, afraid she’d get stuck in the hole, Gwen pushed against the sides of the tunnel with her hands and elbows as Ranulf worked. The dirt suddenly gave way, the opening widened, and he guided her feet to the rope ladder they had rigged so many days ago.

Then she was out, blinking and sputtering, trying to shake off the grit. It was night and the stars had never looked so beautiful. Before her, Father Warinus grinned and hugged her, then offered her a wine skein. Gwen could see Adelaide already moving down the narrow path, Ranulf guiding her toward the water’s edge.

“Gwendolyn,” the priest whispered exultantly, “we never dreamt you’d be in the queen’s cell. God must have struck them with incredible stupidity! We thought to trick them into opening the cell door, then fight our way to wherever you were being held. Lord knows if we would have succeeded.”

“Father?” Gwen’s stomach twisted in anticipation. “How is Barca?”

“Fine. He is with the horses and awaits Ranulf,” Warinus assured, leading her away from the tunnel.

Gwen felt a surge of relief.

Warinus gave a little laugh. “Barca was severely beaten about the head the night you were taken, but his is a particularly hard one, and he will be back to rights in a few days’ time.”

“I’m so relieved. I was afraid he had been killed. What do we do now? Do we look for Alberto?”

“No, not all of us. We have acquired an accomplice, a local fisherman.” Father Warinus continued to slowly lead her down the trail. “Memmo is his name, and he will ferry the three of us across the lake, but Barca and Ranulf shall ride out. They hope to fool any trackers in this way and find Lord Alberto.”

Before Gwen could respond, a great horn blast pierced the air and, startled, she turned to look up over her shoulder at the torch-lit ramparts.

She could hear voices, yelling, angry, and then someone shouted above the rest, “Alert! Alert! The queen has escaped!”

“My God,” Father Warinus said. “I prayed we would have more time.” He grabbed Gwen’s arm. “Come, we must flee! We cannot delay!”

*

Holding a torch, Willa glared, unbelieving, at the open cell door, the hole in the cell floor, the broken bucket, and the one filled with fresh dirt, the heaps of excavated dirt under the cot. Her heart hammered. Rarely had she known such fury, such unbounded wrath, and she turned to find her first victim.

The jailer cowered before her.

It took Willa a moment to collect herself, to hand off her torch, and breathe again, before asking the obvious, “Why did you not go after them? Even a miserable dog knows enough to follow prey down a hole.”

The man’s gaze wavered, and he gulped. “It – the hole is too narrow, my lady. I, I tried, but could not fit.”

“Stupid lout! Stupid, stupid lout!” Bunching her fists, she struck him once across the face, then again and again. “How dare you render me the fool!” She heard herself screaming, heard him cry out in response, and felt deeply satisfied by the pain she inflicted.

Face bloodied, he shrank against the wall, fear filling his vile eyes.
Good!
she thought, then grabbed the hilt of a short sword belonging to one of her bodyguards and drew it forth.

No one dared protest.

“You
shall
fit if halved!” Willa swung the blade over her head, feeling a sensation akin to lust course through her body. She swept her arms down with all the strength she possessed. At the moment the sword hit the jailer’s head, her arms went numb with the impact, yet the rest of her body shook with a prolonged spasm unlike any she had ever known.

Weak in the knees, sated, and dazed, it was all Willa could do to remain standing. She was barely aware as someone took the sword from her hand, as a foot was put to the corpse and the blade wrenched out, blood gushing from the cleaved head. Panting, she leaned against the wall and stared, unseeing, her ecstasy complete.

“A-hem.” A bodyguard tried to get her attention.

She willed her limbs to act, to regain some semblance of strength. “Yes,” she said, spitting out her words, “what is it?”

He stood there for a moment, before stammering, “My… my lady, the prisoners. Would you have me mount a pursuit of the escapees?”

Adelaide and the whore-monk gone! The reminder hit her hard, and she pushed herself off the wall. “Yes, you idiot,
go
.”

Willa headed for the stairs, shouting over her shoulder to the others as she left. “And have somebody rid us of that mess. Make certain he is thrown to the dogs, or better yet, stuff him down that damnable hole. Yes, that is where he belongs! By God, he’s not deserving of a Christian burial.”

*

Huddling with Adelaide in the bow of a skiff, Gwen watched the fisherman help Father Warinus into the boat. As the priest took a seat in the stern, Memmo pushed away from the shore, then hopped over the side, and sat between the oars.

Gwen searched the dark shoreline. Several minutes had passed since she’d heard the fading sounds of Ranulf. Would he and Barca draw the trackers away from them? She could only hope.

The fisherman drew the oars back and took a stroke, then another, quiet and methodic. The heavens were thick with stars, the lake inky black and calm, reflecting the sky’s beauty. With a shudder, Gwen flashed back to how unnaturally dark the water looked in Willa’s garden.

She glanced at the queen, wondering if she should reveal what had happened, concerned Willa would cause more evil. She rubbed her arms, thinking,
If I tell her and they burn Willa at the stake, am I fine with it?
Gwen squirmed, imagining the horror of such a death, but then decided she must give Adelaide a version of the truth, making no mention of time travel, or the twenty-first century.

“My lady,” Gwen said, “there’s something I learned––”

“Ladies, please,” Memmo whispered, cutting her off, “voices carry on the water. Speak not at all, until I give you leave to do so.”

Nodding, Gwen settled back and watched La Rocca, huge and menacing, as it slowly receded in the distance. Minutes passed and she dangled her fingers in the water, welcoming its cool, velvety touch.

Muffled sobs interrupted the quiet, and Gwen realized Adelaide had started to weep. Out of fear? Grief? With second thoughts about divulging what she’d seen in the garden, she wondered if it were selfish to burden Adelaide with such disturbing information. She glanced at Father Warinus, but he was staring off, lost in his thoughts.

More time passed. Gwen closed her eyes, feeling strange, suspended between worlds of terror and calm. What would happen now?

Looking back at La Rocca, she was sick with the realization Willa held the key to her time traveling. The longing to return home had never left, not even after she’d fallen in love with Alberto. She felt, suddenly, the pull of Willa’s terrible power, but she also knew she could never return to that bitch’s garden, the only gateway back home. The hope Gwen had secretly guarded seemed impossible now, beyond her reach. She was here to stay.