The Other Side of Heaven (12 page)

Then she saw him, a small man, a stranger. Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met. The way he tipped his head and smiled, she could tell he knew her identity. His smile broadened and then he slipped away, with only the rustling of plants hinting at the speed of his departure.

The moonlit field stood empty.

Behind her, Stefano cleared his throat, indicating his approach.

Trembling, Adelaide rushed toward him, almost leapt into his arms. “Someone was watching me from over there.” She pointed. “He was over there!”

Stefano craned his neck, searching to no avail.

Adelaide found her relief mingled with a new fear. Had she seen a man, or the Devil himself?

Taking her hand, Stefano led her toward the center of the field. The wheat stalks grew taller here, tall enough to hide them from all manner of ill-favored folk, or evil demons.

They crouched low, and Stefano offered the skein once more. This time she took a drink, savoring the cool water in her dry mouth and throat. As they waited, quiet prevailed. No sound. No movement.

“I am tired, Stefano,” Adelaide said, fighting tears, “and I want to go home. I want my daughter.”

Stefano put his arm around her shoulders, but said nothing. After a time, he made a move to rise, and she followed suit, feeling stiff as she got to her feet. She stared out and gasped. There were torches bobbing at the field’s edge.

Instincts took over, and Adelaide was barely aware of anything but her stark terror, scarcely knew how she got to the ground, managed to gather her skirts, and scramble for her life on hands and knees. When she looked back, she saw the wide swath she and Stefano had cut through the wheat. She was seized with dread. If the horsemen found their path, they would be undone!

Now she heard the drumming of hooves, the shouts of the troop. A man’s voice rose above the fray, “Use your swords and spears to probe for them.”

Adelaide heard them stabbing through the wheat to the ground, slicing and jabbing, cursing, roaring in the night, getting closer, ever closer.

Suddenly, Stefano pushed her flat and whispered in her ear, “Farewell, Queen Adelaide. Lie still. I run!”

Stefano lurched to his feet and raced away. In her shock, she did not have the presence of mind to grab him and not let go, could not tell him how surprised she was to hear him speak with a semblance of her own tongue.

His shouts reached her ears as he acted as decoy, and unable to wait she jumped up and ran in the other direction, away from the horsemen, away from her friend.

*

Running hard, Stefano pulled out his blade. Determined to save Adelaide, he knew he was about to die. If only his sacrifice gave her the time she needed to avoid detection, to get away!

The sound of the approaching hooves indicated most of the horsemen had followed him. He dodged right, then left, making for the forest beyond, still hundreds of meters away. He quickened his pace and felt as though his heart would burst with the effort. But he could not stop. He kept on, running, running.

A single horse thundered up beside him, its rider forcing the beast to collide with him, and Stefano went sprawling into the dirt. A second horse ran over him, one of the horse’s hooves grazed his shoulder, knocking him sideways. Despite the pain, Stefano kept a tight grip on his weapon and leapt to his feet, slashing blindly at the next horse that neared. The blade pierced flesh, and he drove it in. The horse screamed, its rider cursed, and Stefano started running again.

He glanced around, trying to get his bearings, then changed course when he realized he was headed back toward the spot where he’d left the queen. There were horsemen everywhere.
Adelaide!
Was she still hiding? Did she have a chance?
Stay low. Keep your head down!

He yelled at the men, trying to draw them off, then shifted his direction again, heading for the farmhouse he’d seen in the distance, running hard, leaping over furrows, slashing through wheat.

The rows of tilled earth ended and Stefano was suddenly on firmer ground. He made for the barn – there might be a horse, and he could ride out and raise a commotion, perhaps giving Adelaide a chance to escape.

He got inside and slammed the door, then leaned against it, his chest heaving. Turning, he peeked out between the rough-hewn door panels and his heart dropped along with his hopes. Horsemen were scattered all over the field, but none were searching, none seemed anxious. Those who’d chased him were just outside the barn, laughing, dismounting, and congratulating one another.

It dawned on him they’d found Adelaide, and he couldn’t put up a fight any longer or they’d kill him, leaving her utterly vulnerable. He had tried to save her, but now it was over.

Stefano dropped his blade, opened the door, and stepped into the yard, his wrists crossed in front of him.

*

Adelaide hadn’t gotten far when she heard the thunder of horses bearing down on her, the air around her whirling bright, lit with torch fire. She was surrounded.

She dropped to her knees. Chest heaving, she glanced up and looked straight into Berengar’s eyes, gleaming in the torchlight, wolf-like.

He smiled, yellow teeth bared. “So, my lady, I have you, and the papal spy who hit me with the cross is mine again as well.” Berengar dismounted and snapped his fingers. “Bring him here.”

A small man stepped from the shadows with Stefano, the very man Adelaide had seen in the field. She shivered. A demon would have been preferable. Stefano’s wrists were bound, his expression grim as he exchanged a look with Adelaide.

Oh God, help, help!
she prayed.

Berengar and the man exchanged grins, gloating. “My scout found you abed in the woods with the pretty spy,” Berengar said, leering at Adelaide, then commanded, “Get the whore on her feet.”

She was stunned by his disrespect. “How dare you suggest––”

Laughing, Berengar’s men moved in and grasped her arms, then started to paw at her in pretense of helping her to her feet.

She kicked and shrieked, and Stefano strained against his bonds, trying to come to her aid, but they dragged him away.

Someone wrenched her about, twisted her arms behind her back, and bound her wrists, then forced her onto a horse.

“To Garda!” Berengar ordered.

Adelaide stared straight ahead, her heart empty, all hopes dashed.

19 April, 951, Castle Garda, Italy

“Let her see.”

Berengar’s voice startled Adelaide. She had been riding blindfolded and bound at the wrists since her recapture, now untold days in the past.

Hands grabbed her, forcing her sideways, and she was pulled off the horse. Someone wrenched the cloth from her eyes. Momentarily stunned by the burst of daylight, she squinted, trying to get her bearings.

“Look at it,” Berengar demanded. “This is where you shall die if you do not do my bidding.”

A dark castle loomed before Adelaide. She felt dizzy gazing up at the sheer cliff face of La Rocca, the mountain of stone forming the foundation of her enemy’s fortress. She had heard of this place, been told of the sinister goings-on, its terrible dungeons. She shuddered.

Turning, she tried to find Stefano, but her captors retied the blindfold before she could spot him. Hands still bound, she stumbled forward, pulled by a horse toward the castle’s main gates.

*

Sitting in her bower, Willa of Tuscany, margravine of Ivrea, studied her reflection in the polished metal of her hand mirror. She was thirty years old, yet knew she did not show her age. She admired her rich, golden hair peeking from beneath her veil, her darkly lashed, violet-blue eyes, ivory complexion, and perfect smile. This last especially pleased her, for she still had all of her teeth.

I could easily pass for eighteen.
Willa sighed happily. Her physical splendor unnerved people and she reveled in it. Whispered comments of dark magic, of ungodly enchantment, only increased her aura of immutability. That, and her knowledge of herbs, roots, and poisons, caused even her husband to tremble in her presence.

She pinched her cheeks, making them rosy.
Berengar, you old warhorse, but for me, you would not have a kingdom within your grasp.

Thanks to her talents, she would soon be mother to the king of Italy, or a queen in her own right. And she was deserving of it, for she alone was the architect of this little drama. She tossed her head and smiled.

Her reflection smiled back, yet the image appeared lifeless, and her thoughts veered to the spellbinding visions of the witch-basin, secreted in her private garden. Instantly, she felt its pull, a tingle of flesh at the base of her skull, as if it were calling to her. How long had it been since she last gazed upon it? Months ago, it seemed, many, many months.

She glanced down at her hand, still bearing the scars received on that bitter cold night.

“I must go back, soon,” she whispered to herself. “I need to know when he will arrive, how I will find him.” A sense of anticipation mingled with deep foreboding seized her mind, for she knew the mirror held great beauty and deepest terror, angels and demons entwined.

Casting her troubles aside, she took a long, last look at herself and then placed the mirror face down on the table. Rising, she smoothed her gown and walked across the bedchamber.

Her presence was required in the audience hall, for Berengar had just now returned with a great prize.

*

“Ah, wife.” Berengar gave Willa a short bow. “Our parting was over long.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I have brought you gifts.”

As Willa curtsied, she looked beyond his form to see two bound captives. They stood in the center of the great hall surrounded by several of her husband’s soldiers and her son, Adalbert. She nodded to her sixteen-year-old, the brat, and then faced the prisoners: a tall man, and a woman of her own height and build. Blindfolded, they were gagged and bound at the wrists, their clothing dirt-encrusted, their hair matted. Utterly unremarkable.

Willa scowled at her husband, feeling betrayed. “This is the great prize you bring from Pavia? Were you thwarted in your attempt to take the city? Where is Adelaide, my lord? I was hoping for something more than this.”

Berengar grinned. “This
is
Adelaide of Burgundy, Queen of Northern Italy, and her spy-lover, Stefano.”

“What? Who?”

He lowered his voice so only she could hear. “Sweet Willa, it is indeed the queen. I give them both to you. I ask but for one thing in return.”

Willa considered him, and then looked back at the woman. Could it truly be? Her husband wouldn’t demand she strike a bargain, unless he was sure.

“Yes?” she asked warily.

“Break the chit’s will with your special arts, so we may marry her to Adalbert without incident or delay. I want her amenable, convincing, on our side, when we return with her to Pavia. As for the man, he is nothing. If you wish, I will take care of him myself.”

With a nod, Willa swept past Berengar and faced the prisoners. “Remove the queen’s blindfold,” she ordered.

A soldier complied, ripping the cloth from Adelaide’s face. The queen blinked several times, before boldly staring into Willa’s eyes.

Willa gaped. Despite Adelaide’s grubby appearance, she looked familiar, so much so, in fact, she could almost believe she beheld her own reflection.

But, ah, there was one difference; Adelaide’s face was fuller, softer, more youthful. She had the sweet, rounded face men loved.

Willa felt a stab of jealousy and fought for control. As reason prevailed, she reminded herself why they seemed as alike as twins; they sprang from the same princely bloodline, both descending from Charlemagne through the House of Burgundy.

She faced the queen’s filthy companion and ordered the removal of his blindfold. The man cursed and tried to fight back, but he was roughly overwhelmed as the cloth was pulled away, as soldiers forced him to his knees. He hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut against the glare.

“Stand up,” Willa demanded.

When he did not comply, the soldiers yanked him to his feet and forced his chin up.

Her chest seized. It was
him!
The one she had touched in the witch-basin, the man who would father her daughter. She massaged the ache in her hand. At long last, him.

Steadying herself, she allowed her gaze to roam over the man, this Stefano, studying him from head to toe. Despite the dirt, his features were as handsome as she remembered, his eyes grass green, his mouth inviting. The golden crest on his chest intrigued her, as did his feet. They were large, quite large.

She swallowed, considering, then glanced at Berengar. He watched her with an expression she recognized, his gaze hooded and angry.

Berengar, you loathsome, old…

She adjusted her lustful expression to one of boredom. She must not allow her husband to suspect anything, or her beautiful plans would be for naught. Yet, how odd, how strangely poetic, that Berengar should be the one to deliver this gift. She dug her fingernails into her palms, bolstering her determination. Her husband’s vile expression had not wavered, and Willa understood he was testing her. She could not let him get the upper hand. Ever.

“Ah, my dearest, you are so clever to have captured and brought them here.” She smiled and touched Berengar’s arm. “I think it best I handle them both.” She leaned in and whispered, “I shall play one off against the other. You are so busy, away so often. I can ease your burden.”

Berengar pulled at his beard, considering, then nodded. “As you will, but find out whence he came. I first believed him to be a papal spy, but now I am not so certain.” He patted the purse on his belt. “I have something of his, a strange object. When we are alone, I shall show it to you.”

“Take the prisoners to the dungeon,” Willa commanded the guards.

As they were hustled away, her thoughts brimmed with new possibility, a glimmer of an idea; the queen and Stefano would be part of the entertainment at tomorrow’s celebratory feast.

“Guards, halt! Take them instead to be cleaned up and then hold them until I call.”

She smiled inwardly. It would take time to groom them, but by tomorrow all should be in readiness. Then, after the feast, she would commence with the breaking of sweet-faced Adelaide. And afterward…

Willa watched Stefano as he was being led out. She had to take care, lest Berengar discover her plan. But what was it? What exactly, beyond…?

She felt another prickle at the back of her head, the witch-basin calling out to her. Her hand began to ache and she dreaded going there; yet she knew she must.

Soon, and then she would know what to do.

*

In the privacy of Willa’s bower, Berengar held the wristlet before her. “Is this of Saracen make, or wrought by witchcraft?”

It was neither, but Willa would never let him know what she suspected. Better to feign confusion and ignorance, hoping he would grow tired of the thing and give up his quest.

“I know not,” Willa said flatly, wishing her husband gone, wishing for a closer look at Stefano.

Berengar scowled at her and then stalked to the window, shoulders hunched and arms clasped behind him as he surveyed the grounds below.

She studied him with contempt, but a small voice suddenly rose in her thoughts, urging her to caution. Somehow, Berengar had found Stefano and brought him here. The One in the basin was obviously using her husband, too, and she wondered if he might yet have another role to play.

Willa gazed at the wristlet still in Berengar’s hand. She had seen such objects before in the witch-basin, along with other strange things: horseless carts racing the wind; huge, gleaming birds taking wing with thunderous roars; and people in unusual clothing, which bared their legs and arms, exposing similar wristlets and other adornments, and speaking in a tongue she did not recognize.

She had no idea where such people or things could be found, but she realized it must be far away, mayhap beyond India, then again possibly in another direction, in some distant, unknown place.

“Think on this further, Willa,” Berengar said, facing her once more. “If Stefano is a spy, then his odd wristlet may hold the key as to the identity of his master.”

She looked into his eyes, this miserable husband of hers, and his gaze held the sour glint of impatience. His moodiness was nothing new, but it reminded her of another reason for his bad temper. Best to keep him off-guard, she decided, so he would never suspect the truth.

Willa smiled sweetly. “Husband, let us put aside that which we cannot yet solve and speak of more pleasant things,” she cooed, lowering her gaze. “I have dreamt of you, my lord, many times these past weeks. I saw you in battle, wielding your mighty sword. At times, I took on the form of your challenger and felt your thrusts.”

She glanced at him through her lashes, noting his leering smile. He crossed the space between them in three hurried steps. Willa could smell his breath, heavy with ale and meat – repulsive.

“Wife,” he said huskily, the wristlet now clearly forgotten.

“Yes?” she asked, raising her skirts and thinking of Stefano.

*

Dark was the moon, the stars blazing a trail overhead. Willa of Tuscany breathed in the cool air, forcing inner calm.

The witch-basin reflected the spangled night sky. She walked forward until the watery surface filled her vision, a deep ocean, vast in its power. Steeling her heart, she took hold of the basin’s marbled edge and waited.

“I am here,” Willa whispered.

A bare sparkle, a glitter, appeared in the center of the basin. In a heartbeat, it expanded to a silvered orb awhirl in blue light, resplendent with terrible beauty.

She took several deep breaths, then held the last and listened.

A voice called out from the depths, eerie and faint, but Willa could not make out the words.

She breathed again and her heart pounded, her fear replaced by the need to know. “I don’t understand you, Great One, but Adelaide is here. What must I do?”

It took but a moment more, and then the voice reached her clearly, thrilling her with a devilish plan, cajoling her to act, her blood singing for the first time in this dark space.

*

The banquet was a triumph, the tables laden with silver-trimmed bowls of costly flowers: rare, red tulips from Dalmatia; pale lotus blossoms from Egypt; and pink Damask roses, the latter wafting a sweet, heady fragrance throughout the hall. The menu abounded with succulent meats, the whitest of breads, and the best wines. Willa basked in the adulation of her many guests. She wore a beautiful gown of Imperial Purple, the silk smuggled from Constantinople the year before by Liutprand – may his traitorous soul rot in hell!

And, by most accounts, Liutprand of Pavia
was
doing just that at this very moment. Willa smiled at the thought. Thankfully, her husband had undone the man’s treasonous handiwork by recapturing the queen.

She touched her gown, the fabric soft and cool against her skin. The debauched Byzantine Greek royals were utterly selfish with their violet-blue silks, forbidding trade with the rest of Christendom. Yet Liutprand had succeeded where others failed. She chewed her lower lip. Now that he was gone, she wondered how she would get more.

Willa raised her wine cup and drank in silence. Feeling the weight of Adelaide’s circlet, knowing the amethysts matched the color of her eyes, she fingered the royal crown. It fit well, as if it had been made especially for her. She raised her chin a little higher. She’d also chosen a golden mesh belt from the queen’s jewel box, as well as an amethyst brooch. She deserved to wear all this
and
Imperial Purple. In all her finery, she was without question the most beautiful woman in the hall.