Time Enough for Love (12 page)

Memories flitted through Gwen’s mind, remembrances of a tale involving a great heroine. Matilda. She gaped at the fortress wall before her. Matilda was from here! A countess of Canossa, she’d worn armor and fought alongside her men.

“
La gran donna d’Italia,
”
Gwen whispered. Matilda defeated her enemies and one of them was forced by the Pope to do penance, right here in the middle of winter.

She looked over the wall, trying to locate the path to the gate, recalling how the man was made to crawl on hands and knees in the snow, before reaching Matilda.

But when does it happen? A few decades from now? In the next century? She couldn’t remember, but knew Matilda was so highly regarded that after her death, the Pope had her body moved to St. Peter’s Basilica for burial. But when? And what was the connection between Matilda and Alberto? Maybe she would be Gilda’s daughter or granddaughter…?

Gwen’s hand went to her stomach and she froze.
Or mine? Could Matilda be my descendant?
It certainly fit. Even she’d learned how to fight and was now an integral part of the struggle against Berengar. Gwen’s grandmother had been with the Italian Resistance. Matilda would fight, too. They were all women warriors.

She stared at Alberto. All this time, she had fought marriage with him because she thought she was here by mistake. But what if they – as she’d sensed so strongly in Bianello – were meant to be?

Alberto turned and locked gazes with her. Smiling self-consciously, he joined her.

“Forgive me, my Gwendolyn. When I am reminded of my family, I tend toward sadness,” he said as he led her to the northern wall. “However, this is my favorite time of day. Let us enjoy it together.”

Stunned, overwhelmed by her thoughts, Gwen could not reply. She placed her head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. His arms enveloped her. Back home, she had never doubted she’d eventually find the right man. But she never could have imagined this.

Were you always the one, Alberto? Was it always supposed to be you?

“Gwendolyn, can you see Reggio?” he asked. “How small it looks from here.”

She shaded her eyes, searching a landscape cloaked in purple mist, her curiosity about Alberto’s descendants still raging, nagging.

“Down that way, you can see the great walls. That is Reggio,” Alberto pointed, “between Mount Carboniano and Monte delle Celle. Out, beyond that, you can see Lombardy and––”

She felt his muscles tense as his voice broke off, as soldiers shouted, “Alert! Look there! Look!”

A shiver swept down Gwen’s spine, and she followed the path of a guard’s gesturing hand. Her gaze fell on a billowing dust cloud, barely visible in the haze.

“Alberto? What is that? A fire?”

But she knew, oh, she knew.

“It is an army,” he said levelly.

His expression changed ever so slightly, and Gwen watched as his eyes glinted with anticipation.

“The moment has come,” Alberto said. “Open war. I find it difficult to believe Berengar fell into my trap so easily.”

“You planned this?” Gwen asked in disbelief.

Alberto looked at her and grinned. “Yes, of course.”

Adalbert watched as his father pushed the toe of his boot into horse dung.

Berengar grinned when tendrils of steam wafted up. “Mistress Adelaide is less than one hour ahead,” he said, looking up. “Your bitch-bride awaits, boy. By God, you shall take her this night, and I shall watch with pleasure when you do. Then, she shall watch me when I slice up her friends.”

With a laugh, Berengar swung himself into his saddle, raised his whip hand, and cried out, “Soldiers, you are to spare no one but Adelaide, Alberto Uzzo, the priest, and the tall whore-monk. They are but a short distance ahead. We must catch them before they reach Canossa!”

Berengar brought his whip down and raced away, their entire army galloping close on their heels. It didn’t take long at this pace before their horses’ withers glistened with sweat, and not long after that before foam sprayed from their mouths.

“Father! The valley! Slow down!” Adalbert yelled at him, trying to catch up. “You will kill our horses!”

“There they are, plodding past Rossena and unaware – ride!” Berengar bellowed.

Adalbert looked up, astounded. Indeed, he could see the trailing edge of Lord Alberto’s forces, racing for their lives, flags streaming. He hadn’t realized they were as close as that.

Berengar brutally spurred his mount on. Dust filled the air around them, even though they were at the lead. “Damn,” Berengar cried again. “The bastard is escaping! We cannot let him reach Canossa.”

“Father!” Adalbert shouted. “The valley – there is no way out – it is too narrow. This is not wise – you must reconsider – please!”

“Foolish, scared boy!” Berengar yelled back. “I will show you how to pursue an enemy!”

Adalbert watched Berengar’s whip arm lift, then strike hard against his horse’s rump, over and over.

“Run, damn you!” Berengar screamed. “There they are. Run!”

Suddenly, Adalbert saw his father’s horse pitch earthward, his father fly into the air. Then, as abruptly, his world turned upside down, too, and he crashed into the hard-packed ground. Hooves flailed near his head, struck him, and horses and riders careened everywhere.

*

Hand in hand, Gwen and Alberto raced down the steps of the bastion. Gwen looked up, hearing renewed shouts from along the parapets.

“Marco! Marco!”

“Find Queen Adelaide, and stay well out of the way of the horses and men!” Alberto yelled to Gwen, releasing her hand and setting off for the gates.

By the time Gwen saw Adelaide, it was chaos; soldiers poured out from every building, fully armed and prepared, all heading in the same direction, following Alberto.

“My God,” Adelaide said. “What is happening?”

“Let’s go see.” Gwen ignored Alberto’s warnings, took Adelaide’s hand, and charged forward.

As the two women rounded the final curve in the lane and came into view of the lower gate, Gwen could hear two things above the general din: a low, thunderous roar, and Alberto yelling, “Open the gates!”

The gates swung wide and dozens of horsemen galloped in, flags unfurled and metal glinting. Gwen grabbed the queen and pulled her to safety in the entrance of a narrow alleyway. They watched, breathless, as Canossa’s soldiers laughed, cheered, and congratulated the horsemen.

Alberto ran to their leader and vigorously shook his hand, grinning ear to ear. “Congratulations, Marco!” he called out exultantly. “How close is Berengar? I didn’t see him upon the road.”

“Thank you, my lord, but I do not know,” Marco shouted back, breathing hard. “He saw us earlier and gave chase. Of that we are certain. But we saw no sign of him or his men once we started the final ascent. I tried to make them out before we came inside, but the dust was so thick, there was no telling what happened.”

Gwen noticed a sentry running up to them and strained to hear his words. “Berengar… fallen.”

*

“Wake up. For Christ’s sake, wake up!” Adalbert shouted at Berengar, who lay flat on his back in the dirt. His hand hovered near his father’s face, thinking a good, hard slap would bring him around. But his hand dropped away, limp and irresolute. “God damn you, wake up!”

Berengar opened his eyes, but they were unfocused, confused. “What in the blazes happened, you bungling oaf? Did you run your horse into mine?”

“No!” Adalbert shot back. “You ran us into a valley, into a bottleneck of a fucking valley, and you rode your horse and several others to death doing it – for nothing!”

“You didn’t get the queen?” Berengar sat up shakily. “I do not care about the horses. Do you mean to say you stopped chasing her because my damned horse died? By God, you are worse than useless! You are truly inept!”

At that moment, Adalbert did something he’d never done before. In front of their men, he got face to face with his father, and screamed, “I did not stop! You drove your horse to death and when the brute died, he fell like a stone and we could do nothing but crash into your stupid, careless, ill-begotten ass! You stopped us with your unthinking, mindless bloodlust for the queen, for the Crown, for that bitch-monk who beat you unconscious all by herself!”

The dust settled around them. Adalbert glared at his father, fists clenched. Berengar’s face was purple with rage. Their soldiers stood silent, eyes averted, the only sounds coming from the agony of the dying horses.

Finally, Berengar spoke, but not to Adalbert. “Captain, get these carcasses off the road and prepare to lay siege to Canossa. We will starve them out,” he glanced at his son and sneered, “
just as I planned
. Keep a watch at our rear, although I doubt it will be needed now that we’ve chased all his men inside.” His father stood and dusted off his pants. “You are trembling, boy.”

Adalbert felt shaky and folded his arms, tucking his hands beneath his sweaty armpits.

Berengar spat on the ground. “Are you afraid someone will come up behind us? Speak! Who do you think it would be? Your mother? Is that who worries you so? Think for once, Adalbert. The lord of Canossa is hiding inside his fortress with his men. When last I heard, Otto was still in the mountains, wondering where the hell everyone has got to. But then, you couldn’t know that. You never did have a mind for tactics.”

Adalbert’s hands twitched as he watched his father walk away.
By God, I pray you do not die easily. And, by the Lord’s grace, may the hatred in my eyes be the last thing you see before the flames of hell lick at your vile ass!

*

Within the walls of Canossa, another triumphant roar erupted from the men, and Gwen heard Alberto’s answering shout. She and Adelaide stood at the edge of the crowd and laughed along with them, until she noticed a grim-faced soldier coming through the crowd. He spoke into Alberto’s ear.

Alberto raised his hand and called for calm. “Men, Berengar and his son still live, and I’m told they are forming up siege lines.”

The crowd fell silent. Eyes flashing anger, Adelaide turned to Gwen. “Berengar dares lay siege to Canossa? He believes he may starve us into capitulation? He is a fool beyond measure!”

Father Warinus and Brother Felix hurried by, and Gwen and Adelaide fell into step behind them.

“Find Ranulf,” Gwen heard Alberto order a nearby soldier. “We need to get word out to King Otto before Berengar closes off access.”

“Lord Alberto,” Father Warinus broke in, “let me accompany Ranulf.”

“No!” Adelaide cried out.

Alberto shot them a startled look, then focused on Gwen. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay clear of this chaos.”

“She came at my bidding, good sir!” Adelaide responded. Facing the priest, she added, “Father, you have done enough. Your arm still heals. You must not go. Let the soldiers take care of this.”

Alberto seemed to agree as he looked skeptically at the priest’s arm, still bound at his side.

Warinus bowed to Adelaide, then turned back to Alberto. “My lord, do not forget I still speak for the Pope and I have much to discuss with King Otto in that regard. As to my arm, it is much healed and will not impede. I am well capable of making the trip and will not endanger or slow up the scout. With my record over these past weeks, you can harbor no doubt in that regard.”

“I have no qualms, Father,” Alberto said, glancing at Adelaide. “I am sorry, my queen, but he is right. There are innumerable ways off this mountain without being seen. Some are even rather easy to manage.”

Gwen saw Ranulf running through the throng of horses and men. “My lord, you called for me?”

“I am sending you and Father Warinus out immediately to find King Otto and advise him of the siege, our strength, and plans to withstand it,” Alberto said. “I want you provisioned and out of here as soon as possible.”

Ranulf nodded to the priest. “Will you be able to leave immediately, Father?”

Warinus nodded back.

Right into the middle of the fight? Gwen felt anxious and looked at Father Warinus. Would she see the priest again? This man who had done so much for her, taught her so much since she’d arrived?

Adelaide put a hand over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears, then clutched Warinus’s good arm with the other. “You shall be in my prayers, Father. I shall not rise off my knees until I have heard you are safe.” She looked at the scout. “And you, too, Ranulf. You have done so much for us.” She turned back to the priest. “Before you go, Father, I have a message for the king. Tell him…”

She glanced around, blushing, and whispered something in his ear.

The afternoon had grown chilly, the wind blowing straight from the north. Otto stood by the campfire, holding out his hands, enjoying the warmth. The walls of Reggio di Lombardia loomed above him.

His gaze flicked from Stavo and Liutprand, to Ranulf and Father Warinus, the priest’s arm tightly bound with some injury. Newly arrived from Canossa, Warinus and the scout didn’t care for Liutprand, that much was obvious, but they held their tongues. Stavo, on the other hand, remained neutral in the face of this potential strife. Otto mulled what he knew, recalling how Liutprand had left his position in King Lothaire’s house for Berengar’s. He realized that was the source of the tension between the men. But Liutprand had proven his loyalty to Adelaide these past months to Otto’s satisfaction. Liutprand was not a traitor.

He decided to end the strife once and for all, but first he had more pressing matters to resolve.

He turned to Stavo. “How long a ride from here to Canossa?”

“Sire, Canossa is a hard day’s ride, the final ascent taking much effort, if beasts and men are not well rested. Lord Alberto has established a string of forts, with Bianello located on the most direct route. You could rest your army there, mayhap, with but a short day’s ride after, but I would suggest not, for Berengar must have spies on all the local roads and forts.”

Otto shifted and looked at Ranulf. “How long has Berengar been encamped?”

“We left three days ago,” the scout said. “He was just forming up his army in the narrow valley between the fort of Rossena, which has been shut to him, and Canossa’s walls. We made it out an hour or so before he settled his troops, using a hunting path known only to me.”

Otto frowned thoughtfully. “We ourselves will be in the same narrow valley when we confront him. I do not like the odds––”

“Sire,” Ranulf forged on, “I know of a pass leading to a lake adjacent to the valley. If luck is with us, Berengar’s scouts will not have noticed it. The path departs the main road before Bianello. The detour adds no more than half a day to the route. You could take your forces that way and come down on him, right in the midst of his encampment.”

Otto grinned. “Really? How providential. Then you shall ride with me and show us this route of yours. We will see if luck serves us, and if Berengar likes our surprise.”

Ranulf bowed to the king.

Otto faced Liutprand. “I want you to ride with Father Warinus to Bianello. Advise them of our plans. They must stand watch for any of Berengar’s men who try to escape.” He momentarily ignored how the two men glared at each other, turning instead to one of his captains, standing nearby. “Provide an escort for Father Warinus and Liutprand of Pavia, for I would have them protected on their journey. Ten horsemen should suffice. They will leave immediately. We, on the other hand, will depart Reggio at nightfall. We have some time, it seems, if Berengar is bent on laying siege. The men and beasts are weary, and rest will do them good. We shall make our move on Berengar’s encampment at dawn tomorrow.”

The captain nodded crisply. “Sire, we await your command to leave.”

Otto looked into his captain’s eyes and discerned the same weariness he felt, even though they both masked their exhaustion with firm countenances. “Tell the ten they may take a respite in Bianello,” he went on, “and afterward, if God wills our victory, they may escort their charges to Canossa.”

The captain nodded again, and Otto detected a hint of appreciation in his gaze.

Now, as for the two troublemakers. Otto paused, looking at each man in turn. “Father… Liutprand, we can ill afford any bickering between you. I do not want Berengar forewarned as to our arrival. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” they replied as one, glancing at each other.

“Good,” Otto said, satisfied as he turned back to his captain. “Go tell your men.”

“My lord.” The man bowed and left.

Otto’s gaze returned to the four remaining. “Stavo, Ranulf, you shall leave with me this eve.”

They nodded and bowed.

Otto watched their departure. “Liutprand,” he said, “I would speak to the priest alone. Wait for him by your horse.”

“Sire.”

As soon as Liutprand was out of earshot, Otto indicated Warinus’s injured arm. “Father, was that the result of the queen’s rescue?”

“Yes, my son.”

“Then I thank you for your service. Ever am I in your debt. I would also have you know that Liutprand has served the queen well these many months. I have full confidence in his loyalty, and I am also in his debt.”

Warinus hesitated. “Yes, I understand.”

Otto nodded. “Good. Now, what news have you of Queen Adelaide? How fares my lady?”

“She is well, now she knows her daughter is safe with Pope Agapetus. Brother Felix delivered the news from Rome.”

“Thank God!”

“Also, the queen bade me tell you,” Father Warinus smiled, “that she is anxious to see you, for you owe her a dance.”

Surprised, Otto looked into the priest’s twinkling eyes.

“I shall leave you to your thoughts, my son,” Warinus said, before strolling away.

Otto stood there, remembering Adelaide’s wedding day and how he couldn’t bring himself to attend the festivities, let alone dance with her, for it would have been too painful, much too painful.

“Sire?” a voice broke into his thoughts. He turned and found his servant, Henry, holding a tray with food and drink.

Otto hunkered down by the fire, Henry in attendance. As the king tore a piece of bread in two, his thoughts shifted to the preparations for war, the thousand things that needed to be done before marching on Berengar.

He chewed the bread, which tasted flat, then watched as clouds scudded in front of the sun. Despite the fire, Otto felt chilled to his marrow. The vague aching of his knee joints reminded him he was nearly forty. He took a swig of ale. Would Adelaide think him old now? She was young, still so young.

A ray of sun broke through, warming him where he crouched. His mind drifted, and he saw an image of beauty, a girl bathed in light, kneeling in prayer.

The vision lifted his spirits as nothing else could.
I am as yet the man she met four years past. She will not find me wanting – in any way.

He smiled and finished his ale. Now, mere hours separated him from his goal, from his heart, from his life’s blood. Adelaide.

*

It was time. Standing beside the tranquil waters of the lake, Otto’s massive charger tossed his head several times and pawed at the dirt. The beast was as ready for this fight as Otto.

Otto removed a glove and swiped at his perspiring face. The lake sat perched on the valley’s flank, and he could look across and up to see Canossa, the last of the night’s stars twinkling above. He could also see tendrils of smoke rising from Berengar’s campfires, not far distant, by the flight of a peregrine. And he, Otto of Germany, would be the peregrine this morn, the swiftest, the most accurate, the most intelligent and lethal of the birds of prey.

He replaced his glove and raised his arm, then started slowly down the gentle slope toward the valley, his men following quietly behind.

A short time later, Otto could actually hear the stray noises of a sleeping camp, for Berengar’s men were still not alerted, even yet.

Ah, luck is indeed with us!

Once again, Otto raised his hand, paused but a moment, then brought it down swiftly. “Yah!”

They thundered into camp with war cries, catching Berengar’s troop completely off-guard. Shrieking like women, the enemy ran before Otto, terrified, many dying without weapons, or even clothing.

Otto slashed, left, right, right, looking, always looking for the brute. Searching for Berengar, the man who had captured Adelaide – he felled someone with one stroke, clipping him at the shoulder, nearly taking off his head – searching for the man who had brutalized and humiliated Adelaide – he thrust again, and a man’s entrails spilled forth – searching for the man who had stolen her crown, killed her husband, terrorized her child, and threatened her life.

He would kill Berengar for his outrages!

A blade flashed near Otto’s head, and he ducked away before realizing it was one of his own men, chasing down a half-naked soldier, who stumbled away, screaming.

“Berengar, where are you?” Otto bellowed over the din. He spun his charger in every direction, looking, desperately searching. Nothing. Men running. Dead men. Nothing.

He spun again at the yell welling up from the other end of the encampment. His men were chasing someone. Who?

As the sky lightened, Otto galloped to join them and saw bands of disheveled men, only a few bearing their griffin-crested tunics, some atop their frenzied horses, others running pell-mell.

He caught sight of the back of the lead horseman, a great hulk of a man – it was Berengar, fleeing for his life.

“Coward!” Otto shouted, urging his horse forward. “You coward!”

*

Alberto leapt onto his horse and gathered the reins. “Open the gates!” he yelled.

Together, he and his men stormed out, charging into the fray. From across the field of battle, he spotted King Otto. Tall in his saddle, blond hair and beard showing beneath his helmet, he slashed at their foes without mercy.

At the far end of the valley, Alberto noticed Berengar on horseback, making his escape. Acting fast, he pointed his sword. “Berengar must not escape, men! Run! Head him off!”

He drove his horse to a gallop, leaping over bodies as they went. No one resisted their advance and the gap narrowed quickly. Suddenly, Otto was galloping alongside. Alberto grinned and raised his sword in salute and greeting. Otto did the same and they struck blades, the clang of metal on metal ringing out.

But Canossa’s men and horses were fresher, and Otto couldn’t keep pace.

Alberto refocused on his quarry. One hundred paces. Fifty. Berengar’s men were screaming, dropping any weapons they held, making no attempt to stand and fight. Some even stopped and fell to their knees, suing for mercy.

Finally, only two continued to flee, pushing their horses mercilessly. Berengar and a slight young man. His son? Adalbert? They were only two lengths ahead, then one. “Surrender, else you die!” Alberto forced his mount between them.

He leaned out, grabbed the younger man’s reins, and pulled hard. The horse’s head jerked back, the beast toppling, rolling, with Adalbert somewhere beneath.

Then Alberto pulled his feet out of his stirrups at full gallop, crouched in his saddle, and pushed with his good leg, thrusting himself off his horse and onto Berengar’s, seizing him by the shoulders.

Berengar cried out, cursing as they fell together, hit the ground, and tumbled wildly to a stop.

Alberto rose and drew his sword, but Berengar was lying still, stunned.

He thrust his sword tip against Berengar’s throat. “You will die if you move,” he warned, breathing heavily. He saw the merest slit open between his enemy’s eyelids and knew he was awake, aware.

In a haze of dust, Otto galloped up with his men and dismounted. Adalbert was bound, brought over, and shoved to his knees beside his father.

“Men, take that bastard’s weapons and bind him,” Alberto ordered, scowling at Berengar.

“A nice bit of horsemanship, Lord Alberto,” Otto said, removing his gloves, “and impeccable timing.”

“King Otto,” Alberto withdrew his sword from Berengar’s throat, pointed it toward the ground, and bowed. “It is my great pleasure to welcome you to my lands.”

Otto acknowledged Alberto’s welcome with a nod, then turned to Berengar. “Are we to keep the prisoner,” the king’s face darkened perceptively, “or may I have his head now, for the multitude of crimes he has committed against his queen?”

Berengar’s wide eyes flitted between the two as sweat poured off his forehead.

“I would see him dispatched this minute,” Alberto replied, “but we should leave his fate to Queen Adelaide.”

“My lords, please,” Berengar said as he struggled to his knees. “A misunderstanding is all. She accused me of poisoning King Lothaire! I had to defend my honor––”

“Silence!” Otto shouted, taking his sword and pushing the edge against Berengar’s jaw. “If I hear one more word issue from your foul mouth, I will no longer attempt to still my wrath.”

“Bow before King Otto, Berengar,” Alberto commanded. “For your transgressions against King Lothaire, your queen, and all the realm of Northern Italy, it has been decreed that you shall be adjudged, your fate rendered. Now, bow before this king, for he is worthy of your tribute and deference.”

Berengar only glared. “Fucking German,” he muttered.

Furious at the refusal to comply, Alberto looked over at Otto and noticed the king’s knuckles grow white across the hilt of his sword.

Stepping behind the captive, Alberto booted Berengar between the shoulder blades, sending him sprawling face first in the dirt.
“
Ipsi obligati sunt et ceciderunt nos vero surreximus et erecti sumus,
”
Alberto said.
“Apologize for your insolence, else you shall soon find yourself without a tongue and unable to beg for your miserable life.”