Time Enough for Love (15 page)

She pulled the covers over her head, blotting out all traces of light, but she couldn’t rid herself of her memories. She kept seeing Alberto’s furious expression, hearing his terrible words over and over:
Get you gone… the love I once bore you… no contact with me or my daughter ever again.

Where could she go from here? What would happen now? How could she live without him? How? Gwen felt a cold, wretched grief at the thought of leaving Alberto, leaving Canossa.

She started to weep again, her eyes scalded by fresh tears, her chest torn with wracking sobs. There was a knock at the door. Ignoring it, she continued to cry. Then someone started pounding, someone who wouldn’t give up.

Alberto!
Gwen scrambled from beneath the covers, raced across the room, and pulled open the door. Father Warinus stood there, a look of horror on his face as he beheld her, clothed only in her shift, shivering.

He took her arm with one hand, held up a bottle with the other. “Daughter, you have need of this. It will calm. Come with me.”

Gwen let the priest lead her back inside the room and onto a stool. He wrapped her in a blanket, then wiped her face with something and told her to blow her nose. Uncaring, numb, she let him tend to her.

He placed the bottle against her lips. “Drink.”

Ale. Strong. Gwen coughed.

“Drink more.”

She took another sip, letting the liquid trickle down her throat, realizing she was very thirsty.

“More.”

When she had finished half the bottle, he set it aside. “Do you wish to speak of what has happened?”

She hung her head, despondent.

Warinus sighed. “Gwendolyn, whatever evil has arisen, you cannot stay here for now. You must come with us.”

He touched her brow and she flinched.

“Daughter, I shall request the queen make a place for you in her household until this passes. We are away the day after tomorrow. Do you understand?”

She nodded dully, then shook her head, reliving Alberto’s rage. “He will never let me return, Father. Never.”

“Ah, but nothing is impossible, my child,” Father Warinus said quietly. “Those were your words. I shall return in one hour. Finish the ale and get dressed, then we will pray.”

Gwen felt him press something into her hand. A moment later, the door closed.

She glanced down at a little leather bag. Pulling on the drawstring, she saw folded red silk, a handkerchief, wrapped around a small bundle. She removed it from the bag and opened it.

Stefano’s watch rested inside.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and fell onto the silken square. It was then she saw the delicately embroidered image, done in silver thread.

A greyhound. Alberto’s family crest.

Bouncing along on her horse, Gwen dreaded the approach to Garda Castle. She felt useless, depressed, and now on the verge of really losing it. She didn’t want to see the hated castle ever again, or face those who had done so much evil.

At Canossa, Otto and Adelaide’s honeymoon had been brief. The morning after taking their vows of carnal union, they set in motion plans for a Proceeding of Condemnation and Excommunication against Berengar, Willa, and Adalbert, to be held at Garda. Two days after that, Brother Felix was on his way to Rome, and Gwen was passing through Canossa’s gates, on her way north with the king and queen. Alberto and Gilda, having said their farewells to the monarchs in private, were nowhere to be seen.

To her credit, Queen Adeliade had respected Gwen’s privacy about her troubles with Alberto. Without pressing for answers, she’d reassured Gwen there would always be a place for her in Adelaide’s heart and home.

Gwen touched her chest. Before leaving Canossa, she had pinned Alberto’s silk handkerchief on her shift, over her heart. It was her secret, hidden beneath her gown, the only remnant of their love.

But that was over a week ago and now, as Gwen glanced around, the familiar surroundings haunted her: the woods near a campsite she’d made with Warinus, Ranulf, and Barca; the path to the village; and just ahead, the thicket of brush where they had hidden and first gazed upon Garda’s dark ramparts.

Gwen’s chest constricted with grief and fury. Would Stefano’s head still be there? She forced her gaze aside, but not before catching a glimpse of Garda’s menacing lower gate. It was flung open this time, and people milled about, some saluting, others smiling and waving. How different Queen Adelaide’s arrival this autumn, versus that of her springtime entry.

At the front of their group, Otto, dressed in full, gleaming, warrior regalia, rode beside Adelaide. The queen was not resplendent, however, choosing to dress in the man’s clothing given to her by Memmo.

“I will change before the proceedings begin,” Adelaide had explained that morning, as Gwen helped her dress. “The people of Garda will be shocked by my garb, but I wish to remind them of what I suffered at the hands of Berengar and Willa.”

The royal couple passed through the gate, flanked by Father Warinus and Liutprand, and followed by an enormous entourage of dignitaries and soldiers.

Gwen squeezed her eyes shut. Stefano. Near. Too near.

But the pull was strong, horrible, and irresistible. She had to look.

Raising her eyes, Gwen clapped a hand to her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks. She was at the very spot, now empty, where Stefano had been hung on display.

Damn you, Willa, where is he? What have you done with him?

Gwen urged her horse to catch up with the others. To mounting fanfare, the entourage passed through the second gate. Wiping her face, Gwen looked around, noting the cheering crowds, who seemed elated now that Berengar was defeated.

Then, among the many faces, Gwen saw a familiar one – Memmo! Thank goodness no one had found out how he’d helped them escape.

He beamed up at her, waving like crazy.

Despite her mood, Gwen forced a smile and waved back. “Come see me later, Memmo,” she called out. “You must.”

He nodded vigorously, before the crowds shifted and he was out of sight.

She felt a moment of gratification at seeing him alive and well, a ray of sunlight in an otherwise bleak world. Sighing, Gwen’s smile faded, gloom enveloping her mind once more.

She turned, looking upon the main entryway into Garda Castle, and her mood shifted in a flash from sorrow to anger. Surrounded by dozens of guards, Berengar, Willa, and Adalbert stood on the front steps, hands bound behind their backs. Her enemies were dressed in their best – the men’s tunics of finest brocade, Willa’s gown and veil of exquisite ivory silk – but they looked haggard, the parents pale, the son red-faced and trembling.

One of the guards forcefully nudged Berengar, and he bowed before Queen Adelaide and King Otto. Willa and Adalbert followed suit.

Quiet descended over the crowd. Otto dismounted, then assisted Adelaide, and as one, they proceeded up the wide steps. Without a glance toward the prisoners, the royal couple faced their audience.

“This day,” Adelaide called out, her voice strong, assured, commanding, “by Blessed Authority of His Holiness, Pope Agapetus II, the people of Garda will see justice and retribution meted out in equal portion, for the many grievous ills wrought against the Kingdom of Northern Italy. Murder, insurrection, kidnapping, attempted usurpation of a crown bequeathed and sanctified by God, are but a few of the charges brought against the perpetrators. Their fate rests with God. I suggest they turn their sights thither, and pray – hard.”

Adelaide looked at Otto, nodded, and they passed into the castle. Behind them, Berengar, Willa, and Adalbert were hustled inside.

Gwen hurried to hand over her horse, then pushed her way through the departing crowd, wanting a good spot to watch every detail of the proceedings.

Inside, minutes passed as Gwen and everyone else waited. And waited. Like so many others, she found herself restless and bored, gazing at the ceiling, its embossed diamond and floral pattern by now all too familiar. The droning conversation around her was less than intriguing, although she’d heard one interesting bit of gossip: the steward Niccolo and the dungeon’s jailers had disappeared some days before, deserting the castle in order to avoid punishment.

Finally, murmuring echoed from across the room, and Gwen turned to see what was happening.

Adelaide, dressed in a stunning peach silk gown, entered with Otto. Gwen heard horrified gasps and wondered, then realized the queen had come in without a veil. Although her hair had grown out enough for a short bob cut, which looked darling on her, the crowd reacted with cries of outrage. Nevertheless, it was a bold reminder of the cruelty Adelaide had suffered and Gwen approved of her daring.

But just two steps inside the hall, the queen faltered, her gaze wavering when she looked at the thrones on the dais.

Otto spoke to her quietly, and she took a long, steadying breath, then proceeded on. “Remove these thrones and burn them,” she ordered a nearby guard when she reached the platform. “They are defiled. Bring a bench, or a stool. Anything will do.”

Benches were brought and the king sat, but the queen remained standing. Liutprand and Father Warinus came in from a side room and approached, each saying a few words before Warinus receded, taking a place behind Adelaide.

Liutprand’s smile was wolf-like, cold. “Bring in the accused!”

The crowd erupted with shouts of derision and contempt. Gwen was surprised to see Berengar appear at the door disheveled now, angry, and struggling with guards, who pulled him to the foot of the dais and forced him to his knees. Adalbert came in next, head down, offering no resistance as he dropped to the floor. But when Willa arrived, the people grew quiet. Head bowed, face partially hidden by her veil, she took a few steps forward and then stopped, the rustling of her ivory silk the only sound.

When her guard attempted to push her toward the dais, she jerked her head around, her veil falling off. “Don’t you touch me, dog!”

Seething, Gwen fought the urge to rush forward and tear at the bitch’s face with her own hands.

“Willa!” Adelaide’s voice boomed.

Startled, Willa looked up. Her face was pale, whiter than her gown.

“Thank you for your attention,” Adelaide continued. “Guard, unbind her hair.”

Willa gaped, then staggered noticeably, and Gwen smiled at last, reassured Adelaide wasn’t about to go soft.

The guard reached up with both hands and shook the knotted tresses until they loosened, falling to the small of her back in shimmering waves of honey-gold.

Gwen glanced at Adelaide, who was impassive, then to Otto, who looked ready to kill, his hands clamped on his knees, knuckles white.

“Liutprand, you searched Lady Willa’s bower?” Adelaide asked calmly.

“Yes, my queen.”

“And what did you find?”

Liutprand stepped to the side and picked up something Gwen had not noticed before. A cloth covered the thing, and she couldn’t make out anything by its shape.

“This!” Liutprand pulled away the cloth with a flourish, revealing a long, thick braid of blond hair.

An angry rumble passed over the crowd, and several voices cried out for revenge.

“Your tresses, Queen Adelaide,” Liutprand went on. “In her bedchamber, displayed like a trophy, just as you suspected.”

Adelaide held up her hand and waited for the crowd to quiet. “Put the thing on the floor at my feet, Prand. Willa wanted my hair displayed and so it shall be. We will now commence with the hearing.”

The queen looked directly at Willa. “Cousin, if you do not join your husband and son before me, I shall have you driven to the floor, and you shall be forced to come to this end of the room upon your knees. The choice is yours.”

Surprisingly, Willa stepped forward without further protest and knelt beside her family, but Gwen noticed her eyes flicking often to the braid in front of her.

Adelaide turned to Liutprand. “Have you found anything else in her room that belongs to me?”

“Yes.” Liutprand gestured to a servant holding a wooden chest, bracketed with bands of brass. As he worked to unlatch the lid, Otto and Father Warinus stepped forward and stood before the queen.

Silence blanketed the room, all eyes on the dais.

When the box was opened, Otto brought out a gold and amethyst circlet, Adelaide’s crown. Raising it reverently with both hands, he held it poised over her head for a long moment, the two of them looking at each other with respect, love, admiration, even contentment.

Gwen’s heart ached to see their love.

“Adelaide, Princess of Burgundy,” Otto spoke commandingly, “Queen of Northern Italy and Queen Regent to King Lothaire’s rightful heir, Princess Emma.” He turned to Father Warinus, placing the crown in his hands. “Once given by God, it should be returned to its rightful owner by the hand of God’s own servant. Father, please.”

Warinus took the crown and solemnly placed it on Adelaide’s head. The room erupted with applause, causing Adelaide to look up, startled, and she beamed.

Father Warinus waited until the sounds died away, then made the sign of the cross.
“
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
”

Otto returned to Adelaide’s side, his expression filled with pride and love as he looked into her eyes. He took her hand and she stood, and together they faced the crowd. “I give you your queen,” he proclaimed.

Again, the crowd signaled their approval with applause and cheers, while Berengar and his family kept their eyes lowered, their expressions bleak.

Adelaide quickly returned to the business at hand, and for the next several minutes their crimes were listed in detail.

From her vantage point, Gwen watched as Otto took a seat. While the queen spoke, he struggled to control himself, shifting about as he glared at their enemies. Clearly, he was ready to leap forward and strangle them, legalities-be-damned.

Finally, after nearly an hour of considering their crimes and finding them guilty as charged, Adelaide started to mete out the punishments: Berengar’s familial lands and titles were revoked; likewise Willa’s and those destined for their son; also their wealth in gold, jewels, plate, and silks were forfeited to the Crown. Then, with official duties nearing an end, Adelaide sat as Father Warinus stepped forward and solemnly read a Decree of Excommunication and Banishment from the Church. It had been duly signed by the Pope, and leveled against all three.

As murmurs of dread spread through the crowd, Adelaide nodded to Liutprand, who opened a scroll of parchment.

He cleared his throat. “In light of the evil deeds undertaken against the Crown, because of the countless murders, wanton destruction, and misery caused by the willful acts of this entire family, Queen Adelaide does hereby condemn––”

“Stop!” Otto yelled as he leapt to his feet.

Surprised by the interruption, Gwen watched Adelaide rose to face her husband. He bent and scooped up the braid. Her mouth dropped open and she took his arm, but he shrugged off her hand.

Gwen edged her way toward the front, trying to get as close as possible. What was he going to do?

Clenching the braid in his fist, Otto held it out before the eyes of the prisoners. “You sought to shame and torment a fine, noble woman. Your rightful queen. You sought to demean her and humiliate her publicly.” He walked down the steps and went from captive to captive, towering over them. Halting before Willa, he shook the braid in her face. “In my land, death is too sweet, too quick, for such deeds. An eye for an eye, we like to say.”

He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her neck.

Terrified, Willa’s gaze shot from Otto, to Adelaide, Father Warinus, and Liutprand. “Mercy,” she croaked.

Otto’s face reddened. “Mercy? Why should anyone here show you mercy, when you showed none?” He gave her an icy smile and let go of her hair with a shove. “By God, a Byzantine punishment would not be unjust for the likes of you!”