The Other Side of Heaven (10 page)

“Gwendolyn,” he whispered into her hair, “we both know there is no time for this now, but I will return to you unscathed and when next we meet…”

“Yes.” She rested her cheek against his chest, hearing the heavy beat of his heart. “Be careful, Alberto.”

He held her quietly for a few moments and then placed his hands on her shoulders, his own sagging in resignation. “Now go, Brother Godwyn. Go with Barca and please, no swordplay, no mighty deeds. Keep yourself from harm, as will I, and we shall see each other again before very long, I promise.”

It was an afternoon of brisk wind, racing clouds, and deep blue skies. Adelaide was determined to separate her hope from her fear, yet the pounding of hooves matched that of her heart; she knew she would not rest until Emma was back in her arms.

She forced herself to consider the men who rode beside her. Brave Prand, God keep him and protect him always. And Stefano, poor Stefano. It was two days since they had escaped Berengar’s camp, nearly two full days on horseback. Stefano looked dreadful, and he could not ride well, lord, he could not ride at all. And she doubted very much he would be able to wield the blade Prand had given him. Poor Stefano.

They had pushed themselves hard, urging their mounts eastward through field and forest, avoiding roads, paths, and homesteads, until the sun was low behind them. At last, when they reached a clearing, Prand raised his arm and slowed his horse to a walk.

Adelaide followed suit, and Stefano tried, but he pulled too hard on the reins. His horse stopped dead in its tracks, nearly throwing him over its head. Fortunately, Stefano managed to pitch sideways, hitting the dirt, his body – and pride, no doubt – bruised, but otherwise unscathed.

Prand frowned but said nothing as he dismounted, then assisted Adelaide.

“Stefano, how do you fare?” Adelaide reached out to comfort the battered man, touching his sleeve, then offering him the skein of ale provided by Prand, giving it to him before even she took a drink.

Stefano gave her a grateful smile.

“Yes, friend, take your ease,” Adelaide replied, smiling back.

“My lady, see the farm over yonder?” Prand asked, pointing to rolling hills. “The owner will hide us.”

Adelaide looked out and sighed at the idyllic scene. There was a large, thatch-roofed farmhouse surrounded by several loggias and outbuildings. Spring wheat stood tall in the fields, each section separated by lines of grapevines, which also blanketed the nearby hills. Adelaide glanced back at the house. Who lived there? How could Prand be certain the landowner was trustworthy?

He must have sensed her disquiet, for he softly added, “Have no fear. I was here often in my youth, and we still correspond. The man is my uncle. We shall sleep in safety this night.”

*

Twilight had fallen, and the night air billowed through the doorway with a first trace of warmth, of summer eves to come. Adelaide sat at the large farm table, sipping a sweet white wine. Sighing, she knew this was but a brief respite from her travails, a time to rest, collect her thoughts, and seek wise counsel.

She listened to the chattering women, who groomed Stefano in another room, then turned her attention to Prand and his uncle, Jacopo. In the candlelight, the farmer’s face held the same hawk-look of his nephew, yet Jacopo was far taller and muscle-bound from years of heavy physical labor.

Adelaide carefully watched Jacopo’s shifting features. Clearly, his initial enthusiasm at seeing Prand had waned; now he was considering the dire consequences of his hospitality, should anyone find out.

Jacopo glanced at the open door and tossed back the rest of his wine. “You must understand… you see, it’s the neighbors, Liutprand. If they learn of your visit, well, I’m afraid few can keep secrets in these parts.”

“Of course. No one saw our approach, and we shall be up and out by sunrise, Uncle,” Prand said as he placed his cup on the table.

“No one goes undetected here, I can assure you. But, regardless, an early departure would be best. These are dangerous times,” Jacopo replied, looking at Adelaide.

She answered him with a smile. “Worry not. You shall be rewarded for your pains.”

“My lady, with respect, a lasting peace will be reward enough.”

“On the contrary, I am well aware of the risks to you and your family, and when peace is restored your hospitality in these dark times will have its recompense. I will not forget. Berengar is surely angered by my escape and will not rest until I am recaptured.” She made the sign of the cross. “God keep that from happening.”

Prand frowned. “Uncle, I would speak to the queen in private.”

“Yes, yes.” Jacopo rose from the table and bowed to Adelaide. “I must make certain my sons have given your horses the best of care.”

As soon as Jacopo left, Prand refilled his wine cup, raised it and drank to her health. “
Propinô soi!
”

The Greek salutation made Adelaide smile. It was Prand’s way of being intimate with her. The old friendship was rekindled, another reminder of their shared past. She was touched.

“
Eukharistos eimi
,” she replied, realizing she did feel very well, indeed. She lifted her cup. “
Propinô soi!
”

He nodded, taking a sip. His expression grew somber. “If we leave here at dawn, we might just reach Pavia by sundown.”

“And then what, Prand? What should we do?”

He took a long drink. “With your permission, I would speak plainly to you.”

She recognized the tone in his voice and reached out, placing her hand over his. “I welcome it. Speak.”

“Alberto Uzzo has begun to muster his forces. Berengar wished to have you well inside Castle Garda before his lordship is able to ride forth at full strength.”

“But now I am free, Prand. Soon, I shall be reunited with my daughter, and I have been thinking… mayhap we should go to Rome. The Holy Father will protect us while Lord Alberto wages war.”

“Yes, but he may not easily put down Berengar. We need another. You know of whom I speak.”

She stared at Prand, desperately trying to keep her thoughts safely in the present. The man to whom he referred, and her remembrances of him, had been locked away because of duty and honor. But now they came rushing back, unfettered, causing her heart to leap: Otto of Germany.

“Yes,” she whispered, “yes. I know of whom you speak. Yes, we must seek his counsel.”

“My queen, I would advise we do more than that. He should come here. In all haste.”

Adelaide lowered her gaze. Otto’s golden hair and dark blue eyes, the power of his warrior physique, beguiled her still. They had met but twice: on the eve of her wedding to Lothaire, and then once more, after the marriage ceremony. Her feelings for Otto had never changed, not once since those first thunderstruck moments, had never diminished during the years with Lothaire.

The lightning bolt had left its mark, piercing her heart to secret depths, down to her very soul.

Suddenly, she realized the time for hibernation, for winter’s dark and dismal dreams, had passed. It was springtime, and summer’s blessings were nearly at hand.

She glanced at the still-open door and breathed in the lovely night air. “Yes, send for him,” she said, squeezing her chancellor’s hand. “Tell King Otto the Queen of Italy has need of him.”

*

When Stefano reappeared, Adelaide could scarcely believe her eyes. Jacopo’s pretty wife, Isabetta, and her serving woman, Maria, had worked magic; Stefano’s wild, blond hair was tamed, his face washed and shaved. His bruises and cuts had faded considerably, allowing Adelaide to fully appreciate his features. He was as pleasing to the eye as the most famed of
jongleurs
, even rivaling the gloriously handsome musician, Armand of Burgundy.

“Stefano, you are beautiful,” Adelaide gushed, wondering if in time his soul might also fully heal. If so, he might make a good husband for one of her ladies-in-waiting.

He grinned, held out his arms, and turned around for her benefit, showing off the farmer’s best clothes, done in varying shades of green. Although standard garb for a peasant, the breeches and tunic had been sewn using a good quality woolen cloth, while the hose were finely woven. The
poulaines
on his feet were also well made, with short, pointed tips in the latest style.

And the women had added a final, perfect touch by sewing Stefano’s golden crest onto the tunic, in the spot over his heart.

Prand smiled. “Isabetta, thank you. Here is something for your pains, and to replace the clothing.” He rummaged in his coin purse.

Frowning, the woman shook her head. “No, Liutprand. Put your money away.”

Prand flushed, and Isabetta’s face became a mask.

Adelaide sensed the tension between them. “Is something wrong?”

“No, my lady.” Isabetta curtsied to Adelaide and shooed the servant from the room.

Shaking his head, Prand watched them leave. “Forgive us.”

Adelaide felt a stab of guilt. “Am I the source of your quarrel? I fully understand the risk they take.”

“No, no. A family squabble. Nothing more. It goes back several years.” Prand hesitated as if he wished to say more, but then reached for a jug on the table. “I… er, allow me to pour you and Stefano some wine.”

“You are kind. Please pour more for yourself as well.” Glad for the change in subject, Adelaide felt like celebrating. She raised her cup to Prand. “Thanks to you we are free. Health!”

“Health!” he echoed.

Eyes sparkling, Stefano added, “
Salute!
”

While the men drank, Adelaide said, “I think Stefano and I shall take our wine and go outside, Prand. You must be anxious to spend time with your uncle. We’ll give you a little privacy.”

“Thank you, my queen.”

Taking a small oil lamp, she led Stefano outside, through Isabetta’s herb patch, to a courtyard paved with bricks and edged with flowerpots. There was a wooden table there, and two garden benches.

“Come. We’ll look at the stars.” Adelaide placed the lamp on the table, turned down the wick to lessen the glow, then sat on the bench farthest from the light. She patted the spot next to her. Stefano took a seat, and in silence they enjoyed their wine, watching the sky, drinking in the perfection of the moment.

“I shall send Jacopo and Isabetta a gift for their hospitality,” Adelaide said, breaking the quiet. “A pair of potted lemon trees would look lovely here.”

Stefano nodded and smiled politely, but it was clear he didn’t understand. A striking man with a fine temperament was a rare thing, a precious jewel. Adelaide smiled back. He would make an excellent match for someone, but whom? Agnes was married, Alessandra was older by at least ten years, and Sibille too young and flighty. Gertrude, mayhap.

Helaine. Ah, yes, Helaine would be perfect. She was his equal in beauty, with a dreamy nature. Dear Helaine would swoon when she saw Stefano’s face.

Smile widening, Adelaide felt more like a girl than she had in years. She took another sip of wine and looked up at the sky, focusing on a sapphire-blue star, sparkling in the velvet night. It was the same shade as…

Were King Otto’s beautiful eyes drawn to the heavens at this very moment? Far away in Germany, was he also stargazing?

The great distance between them shifted her mood, and she sighed.

Stefano greeted this with a chuckle.

Adelaide turned. “What is so amusing?”

He rolled his eyes, cleared his throat, and began singing in a strong, clear voice.

Enchanted, Adelaide closed her eyes and listened, realizing she could understand some of his words. The song spoke of love lost, of releasing someone into heaven’s grace. There was something regarding a star outshining the sun. And heartfelt words about a last goodbye.

“You have the voice of a
jongleur
,” Adelaide declared. “But instead of farewell, mayhap you should sing of welcome.” She paused and then whispered, “We might each find new loves, soon. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

She tilted back her head and stared at glittering constellations, looking for…

What? A sign? A glimpse of the future?

Adelaide sighed again, knowing the answer would come in its own time. The Lord worked in mysterious ways.

And she had grown accustomed to waiting.

*

Prand sat at the farm table with Jacopo, Isabetta, and their three gangly sons.

“You see, it is a wonder,” Isabetta said as she held up Stefano’s torn breeches. “Watch this.” She took a small piece of metal and tugged, slowly moving it along the seam of the fly toward the waistband, where normally there was a drawstring.

It made a strange sound:
zziipp
.

“See?” she went on. “There are little, er, teeth. You pull it so, and the thing seals itself. A marvel! I asked Stefano how he came by it. Alas, he did not understand my words, but he told me the names.”

“Names?” Prand asked as he watched Isabetta open and close the fly.

The woman frowned. “Ah, he called it by two names.” She hesitated. “
Cerniera a lampo
. Yes, I believe that’s what he said. And he also used the word
zipper.
”

“
Zipper?
” Chuckling, Prand thought the word amusing, matching its sound. He repeated it several times, and the boys joined in his mirth.

Jacopo laughed out loud. “I would not want one for
my
breeches!” he declared, taking them from his wife. He stuck a finger between the toothed tracks, then pretended to draw the little metal piece up to his wagging appendage. “Oh ho, lads!” he said, glancing at his sons and nephew. “Imagine getting caught in this?”