Italian Time Travel 01 - The Other Side of Heaven

by Morgan O'Neill

  “Brother Godwyn, what is wrong?” At the sound of his voice, the monk turned and glared at Warinus, then began to rant in his native tongue. The priest listened to the harangue of gibberish, watched the monk scream, and cover his face with his hands, sobbing like a woman.

  Father Warinus could make no sense of his blubbering. “Brother Godwyn, please. You must calm yourself.”

  “I am not Brother Godwyn! Are you blind?” he yelled, this time in Latin. “I hate this place. Hate it! I want to go home. Damn this place to hell!” He turned and began furiously beating his palms against the rock wall.

  Blessed God, why such anguish? Father Warinus grappled for understanding. Something was wrong, very wrong.

  He rushed forward, taking the shaken youth in his arms, but Godwyn pulled away from his grasp and wrenched back his hood, then started to violently disrobe.

  Dear Lord, is he disavowing his calling?

  Wearing only his undertunic, Godwyn wadded up his cowl and threw it as far as he could. “I am not a man,” he sobbed. “I am not supposed to be here,” he took Warinus by the shoulders, shook him, and then pointed back at the castle and raged, “and neither was he!”

  Father Warinus gaped in horror, barely aware that Barca now stood at his side, gently prying Godwyn’s hands loose, muttering soothing sounds as he tried to calm this inexplicable rage.

  Had Godwyn lost his mind? He was behaving like a madman.

  “Why did this happen?” the monk wailed and sank to his knees, his anger abating as abruptly as it had begun. “Why did he have to die?”

  Two thoughts suddenly struck the priest. Brother Godwyn had breasts, and the head on the pike had to be the guide, her friend—Stefano.

  In shock, Warinus raised his eyes to meet Barca’s empathetic gaze.

  “Yes, Father. Godwyn is a woman.”

  “I realize that now, but, but––”

  “My apologies for the deception, Father. Her true name is Gwendolyn Godwyn. I guard her at Lord Alberto’s behest. I believe she is important to him.”

  With this onslaught of new insight, Father Warinus carefully regarded the weeping Gwendolyn. She seemed so lost, so vulnerable, all her strength melted away. He shut his eyes, pleading with God for His help, so she could find her path to salvation.

  He knelt by her side, making the sign of the cross on her fevered brow. Then he rocked her until it was dark, until she was quiet, until she slept.

  *

  “Father,” Barca whispered, “I’m worried we have seen no sign of Lord Alberto. Berengar is surely stating his intentions with that head on the pike. The executed man was known to the lady?”

  Warinus nodded. He looked at the sleeping woman, thankfully clothed once again in her monk’s cowl. “Yes. Stefano. He was a guide, a friend to her. She told me he went missing weeks ago, but she glimpsed him again in Pavia, when he was captured with the queen.”

  Barca frowned. “If Berengar is willing to kill this man, then we must act swiftly. We must leave here in all haste to find his lordship. I fear the shock has been too much for the lady to bear. We must quit this place.”

  Gwendolyn shifted, and then sat up, her careworn features bathed in moonlight. “I let you down,” she said, her voice grim, flat. “I shouldn’t have screamed like that – it put us all at risk. I’m sorry. Barca, I’ve been listening to your conversation, and I think the two of you should ride out tonight and do what you suggested – find Alberto.”

  “The two of us? No, no, no.” Father Warinus tried to keep his voice calm. “That won’t do. In spite of your disguise, you are a woman and cannot stay here alone. You must accompany us.”

  She got up, raised her chin, and looked directly at him, her gaze defiant. “I have the right to come or go as I please, Father. Do not suppose I am weak or stupid, simply because you know I’m a woman.”

  Warinus pressed his lips together and returned her baleful glare. “I suppose nothing, except that you are willful and think too highly of your abilities and your rights.”

  “Father, my lady, please.” Barca sounded uncomfortable. “The facts are what they are and cannot be changed. We must deal with the worries of the moment, and that means warning Lord Alberto. Come. Everything is packed. We must ride out now.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Gwen said.

  “What can you hope to gain by staying here?” Father Warinus asked her, incredulous.

  “I can keep watch on troop movement,” Gwendolyn replied. “Alberto will need to be updated when you get back. Or I can follow them if they leave the castle with the queen. Or… or I can start a diversionary fire in the woods and rescue the queen while Berengar’s troops are putting it out.”

  “Berengar would let the fire burn, my lady,” Barca said, patting her arm, then taking her elbow. “Come. We have no time to waste.”

  She pulled away. “No, you don’t understand.” Her voice wavered. “I… I’ve lost Stefano. I know he was helping the queen, and he would want me to do the same. Emma has already lost her father. I’ll do anything to make sure she doesn’t lose her mother. I’m not going anywhere without Adelaide.”

  In spite of their uncertain circumstances, Father Warinus felt a grudging respect for the strength of this woman. He could also see some logic in her thinking.

  “Barca, wait,” he said, holding up his hand. “She is right. Let us stay here and keep watch. You will be better able to travel and find Lord Alberto swiftly without us as baggage.” He looked at her and managed a conciliatory smile. “We will stay.”

  “I will not allow it,” Barca said. “I swore an oath to his lordship to protect her, to lay down my life, should the need arise, to keep the lady from harm. I cannot go back on my sworn oath.”

  The three stood at an impasse.

  Finally, Gwendolyn sighed. “Lord Alberto commanded you to see me safely to Pavia, Barca, which you did. However, he is not my lord and doesn’t have a say in whether I choose to go, or stay. I appreciate that he cares for my well-being, but there are much bigger concerns in the world at the moment. You have fulfilled your sworn oath to him, gone beyond it, even. Now, I release you. He needs to know what is going on here. We need to stay. Please, go find him. Bring him here. For us. For the queen.”

  Barca looked frustrated as he stood and bowed to them. “As you would have it, my lady. I will return with aid as quickly as I may, and Lord Alberto will make his own determinations as to your situation.” He turned an unhappy face to Warinus. “I leave her in your care. Guard her well. Both our lives depend upon her safe return to his lordship.”

  Warinus smiled grimly, clapping him on the back.

  Grumbling, Barca mounted his horse and rode off, his figure passing between patches of moonlight and the forest’s gloom, until he finally disappeared from view.

  The priest turned to find Gwendolyn unloading the horses and preparing their camp. He could only stare at her in wonder. This was truly a woman with an inner strength beyond the ordinary. He crossed himself. Surely, she was chosen for a great purpose, and specially blessed by God.

  *

  Gwen couldn’t bring herself to face Father Warinus as she unstrapped their supplies and dropped them on the ground. Tears streamed down her face and silent sobs wracked her body.

  Stefano. My God, poor Stefano, she thought. Murdered. And for what? Being in this goddamn place doesn’t make any sense. I want out! Out! I can’t do this anymore. I want to go home, home to Mom and Dad, my sisters. Back to my old life. To my poems and studies. To normal.

  Gwen swiped the arm of her cowl across her eyes and nose, unable to staunch the tears, unable to rid herself of the image of Stefano’s blank expression in death, his head mutilated, stuck on a pole. She grabbed the priest’s bedroll from his horse and laid it out, then took her own and unrolled it next to his.

  A wail rose in her throat and she suppressed it with difficulty. Oh, God, Stefano. You should be back in Santa Lucia, doling out kisses and more to every girl in town. Not here, not dead.
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  Behind her, Gwen heard Father Warinus rummaging about in a saddlebag.

  “We still have some of the jerked venison,” he said. “I think hot wine would do you good, but alas, we must make a cold camp tonight. We cannot risk a fire. It would draw attention.”

  What was he talking about? Food? Gwen shook her head, not trusting her voice. Pulling the saddles off the horses’ backs, one after the other, she struggled with a desire to tell Father Warinus everything. He’d handled the shock of finding out she was a woman pretty well, after all, and weren’t priests supposed to be confessors? Well, she had plenty to confess!

  Abruptly, Gwen pivoted, determined, sure. But Father Warinus was on his knees, his hands held before him, his chin bowed in prayer. After a long moment, he made the sign of the cross on himself, then toward her, before opening his eyes.

  “Father?”

  “Yes, my child?” The priest looked up at her with a kindly smile.

  Gwen opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, suddenly less sure.

  “I am so very sorry for your grief,” he said softly. “Your friend… was he something more to you? Is this why the hurt is so deep?”

  “No, Father.” Tears brimming again, Gwen wished she could tell him how they’d met in Santa Lucia, her handsome, sweet, long lost cousin, but it would bring up too many questions and she knew she could never reveal her truth to Warinus. “We hardly knew each other when all this happened, when he was taken.”

  “He was traveling with you from Britannia?”

  “No. I, uh, he’d just joined us. We got separated almost immediately, and I didn’t know him well, but I’d seen enough to know he was kind and funny. He loved to laugh, to flirt, to make people smile. It’s just so unfair, so awful. This wasn’t his fight, and he didn’t deserve this, not any of it.”

  Warinus’s gaze was patient and understanding. “Come. Sit here and tell me more. I can tell his death means more to you than the unjust loss. There is something else; I sense a deeper pain in your soul.”

  Gwen hesitated for the barest moment, wishing she could open up. But the rough fabric of the priest’s robe, the heavy belt and ruggedly cut cross hanging from it, strengthened her decision to keep her mouth shut. He was… just… so medieval. He would never understand what had happened to her and Stefano, where they had come from, their old lives.

  Trembling, she sighed. “No, Father. Thank you, but no. I cannot bring this to you. It would be impossible to explain.”

  “You once told me nothing is impossible, but I shall not press. When you feel able to unburden yourself, I will be here. In the meantime, child, try to sleep.”

  The kindness in his voice was too much to bear. Gwen turned away, giving in to her emotions again, covering her face with her hands. Stumbling to her bedroll, she crawled in and pulled the blanket over her head.

  Stefano, why? Why you? Tears flowed and her thoughts drifted on to more heartache, the same wrenching thoughts she’d had before. Mom and Dad. My sweet, know-it-all sisters. Normal. Home. I want to go home.

  Eventually, she fell asleep with those words repeating in her head, and the soft prayers of Father Warinus in her ears.

  Chapter 14

  Gwen was up before dawn, even beating Father Warinus out of bed. The morning mist swiftly dissipated, promising a hot day, and she and the priest set off early.

  Making no reference to her grief, Gwen was thankful when Father Warinus followed her lead. She refused to dwell on it. She couldn’t afford to think of anything else now, except saving Adelaide.

  They warily approached Berengar’s castle, this time staying well away from the main gate. They spent hours scrambling beneath the towering rock face, looking for any chink or gap, anything that could allow them access inside. When they found nothing, they realized there was only one, dubious solution; they would have to try climbing straight up the blind side of La Rocca.

  Standing at the base of the cliff, peering through the brush, Gwen glanced at the priest, who looked about as unconvinced as she felt. She understood his concerns. This was going to be difficult.

  “If we do not fall and break open our heads upon this cursed rock, it will be a miracle,” Warinus grumbled.

  She’d spent their meager breakfast attempting to convince Father Warinus to try this route, and wasn’t about to see him give up. “At least we will not have to hide.” Gwen tried to sound encouraging. “With all the overhanging vegetation, the castle isn’t even visible from here.”

  “It would not matter if they saw us. They would laugh themselves unto witlessness at our hubris.”

  “It is not hubris that brings us here, Father. It’s pure necessity.”

  “And that, my child, is why I have agreed to trying.”

  Gwen mounted the mossy boulders, carefully hopping from one to the next. Father Warinus moved alongside with surprising agility. “I’ve noticed, Father, that you still haven’t used my name. Does it bother you that I am a woman?”

  “No, I have no problem with who you are,” he replied, panting softly. “But since you are to continue wearing the cowl, I have been thinking it would be wiser for me to call you by the first name you gave, and keep my new knowledge out of my mind. For now, I will think of you only as Brother Godwyn.”

  Gwen nodded, then continued up, concentrating on her footing and direction, the priest following closely behind. For a time, neither said a word as their breathing became labored.

  “Father!” Gwen whispered. Stunned, her eyes roamed back and forth over the cliff face in disbelief. “Look up there. Is that a path? Look, there’s another one. How can that be? How did we miss them?”

  The priest crossed himself in delight. “Yes, I see them. They’re goat paths, I expect, or made by creatures of some sort. The Lord has seen fit to place them there for us as well.”

  Smiling, Gwen looked past the priest to the lake, far below. Vertigo threatened, and she clutched at the bushes nearby. She mustn’t look down.

  She took a deep breath and soldiered on, reaching the tiny trail.

  “Godwyn,” Father Warinus excitedly cried out as he caught up and squeezed past her, “praise God, the heights don’t bother me. Hurry. Follow me. Should you feel uneasy, simply watch my back. Come now, quickly. I may have an idea.”

  Minutes more and they reached the lowest stones of the castle’s foundation. The priest stared upward, a joyful smile lighting his face.

  Breathing hard, Gwen frowned. “I don’t see anything. Can you see something? What do you expect to find?”

  “Decay and an unlocked door!”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t you smell it? Come, come.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her along in his excitement. “Yes, there.” He pointed. “There, look!”

  Gwen gagged and gasped for air. The stench was overpowering. She saw two things: a dark crevice in the wall a good ten feet over their heads, and a greenish-brown ooze coating the rocks beneath, along with clumps of filthy hay.

  Shit, she thought. “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed, recoiling.

  Warinus nodded. “Yes, yes, night soil. That is a dung hole.”

  Gwen could only think the priest was unnaturally happy about finding the crapper, especially since it was uphill, and so, unusable from their vantage point. “Let’s get away from here before someone uses it.”

  Father Warinus laughed and took her by the shoulders, gently shaking. “This is the decay I sought, and the unlocked entry. Look up there. See the slit window in the wall? My instincts tell me it was built for a dark passageway. It is not there for defense of the keep. Perchance it lights the way to the dungeon, and they would have a latrine chute there. At any rate, the chute will be long and narrow, but we can widen it enough to get through.”

  “Get through? No, I’m not going in there!”

  He kissed her solidly on the forehead. “Gwendolyn, Brother Godwyn, I mean, we can tunnel inside and access the dungeon from beneath. No one will see or hear us working. Who listens at a dun
g hole?”

  Gwen smiled weakly, her mood wavering between optimism and horror. “Father, we can’t tunnel with our bare hands, charming as that sounds. How are we going to open it up?”

  Father Warinus stopped short, contemplating her question. His expression of consternation gave Gwen some hope he might abandon his disgusting idea and look for another. Her hope was dashed when his face suddenly brightened.

  “The village of Garda is but a short walk off this hill and along the shoreline,” he said. “We will find the tools we need there. I’ll carry my sword in case we encounter trouble.”

  Gwen shook her head. “But strangers can’t simply appear out of nowhere and beg tools without arousing suspicion.”

  “We shall not beg.” Father Warinus sighed, then crossed himself and looked briefly skyward. “Lord forgive us, we will have to steal them.”

  *

  At dusk, Gwen and Father Warinus made their way to the village. The sky was clear, the stars giving off enough light to see their surroundings. They passed a few small, thatched houses on the outskirts of town, then headed for the shore, where boats had been hauled up and overturned for the night. Behind them lay piles of netting and other fishing gear. Just off the beach, on a short rise, a larger building stood, dark and silent.

  “That will be the boat house,” the priest whispered. “We should find everything there. Come.”

  Gwen let Father Warinus lead the way. Despite the building’s secluded location, she felt nervous. Every shadow seemed menacing, every footstep unbearably loud. What if they were caught? What was the punishment for stealing? It had to be horrible.

  With a shudder, she peered over her shoulder as the priest stooped to inspect the lock.

  “Perfect!” he whispered.

  “What, Father?”

  Gwen heard a soft squeak of metal as Warinus opened the door.

  “A simple drop latch,” he explained as he motioned Gwen inside, “to keep out animals and wind. Bless the townsfolk, for they will feel violated in the morning, and feel obliged to make a secure lock for their boathouse, after this.”