Saint Peter’s Basillica

Medieval 5: Genevieve 7 Happily Ever After, part 4 of 4

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Genevieve’s Latin was reasonably better than most of the people, but not great. Leibulf and her children were much better at the language because they had a teacher. In fact, most of the children of the nobility were reasonably versed in Latin by then thanks to Alcuin and the palace school Charles made. Teachers came from there, and at least the nobles had their sons, and often their daughters educated. The common people, however, were already losing the tongue if they had not already lost it.

Genevieve looked around. Attendance was picking up, but she had other things to worry about other than the people not being able to honestly hear or understand the gospel. She prayed and thought. She did a lot of praying. Surely, the masters would not let something as momentous as the coronation of Charles happen. The Holy Roman Empire, for all its faults and failings and all its wars, brought a level of general peace and security to Central Europe and it allowed the church to grow strong. The Masters would not want that. But where is the enemy?

Genevieve looked up when she heard some commotion outside. She looked back. Charles had arrived. She looked to her right at the aisle he would march down to get to his front row seat, but she only saw church goers and penitents there, all except the remarkably beautiful young woman beside her. The woman sat still and looked down at her lap like she was contemplating something serious.

“Rose,” Genevieve spoke softly to the woman because it was one of her fairies and she knew the woman’s name.

“Lady.” Rose spoke very softly and never looked up.

“Are the fairies of the gardens of Saint Peter’s volunteering to help?”

“Yes, Lady. We know who you are looking for and we are looking everywhere.”

“No need to look everywhere,” Genevieve said. “Antonio is probably somewhere around the church today waiting for the chance to attack Charles, only I don’t know where. He is probably disguised and ready to strike, but everyone in this place seems ordinary enough, and we have a ring of guards all around the church. No one can get in or out without being seen. I don’t understand where he might be, only I can’t imagine he is not here.”

Rose pointed up and tapped her chin with her finger. “There is one inside your ring of guards, but he is not here, in the church, so maybe he doesn’t count.”

“What do you mean?” Genevieve asked. She was fighting back tears of desperation at that point, ready to grasp at anything.

“Just a workman,” Rose said. “He said there were a few loose shingles on the roof and he went up there to nail them down. He is on the roof.”

Genevieve sat still for a minute before she shouted. “Open Windows.” She stood, ran to the front of the church and outside, calling her armor at the same time so she would not trip over her dress. Rose could not move that fast until she reverted to fairy form. Then she raced out ahead.

Charles stood in the doorway and watched her rush outside. He stopped two soldiers from following her. “She is on a hunt. Pray for her success,” he said, and began the long, slow march to the other end of the Basilica.

“This way,” Rose shouted and led the way. They found a guard there near a rope that hung down from the gabled roof.

“Who is up there?” Genevieve yelled.

“Just a workman,” the guard said. “Hammering down a couple of shingles.”

“Do you hear hammering?” Genevieve yelled louder, grabbed the rope, and began to climb. It was too much for her at forty-five years old. She traded places with a young man named Elgar, someone she did not even know yet. He got all the way up to the gabled roof, and it was a long way down from there. Elgar looked down once at the stone walkway far below and swallowed. He traded places with Diogenes of Pella, Alexander the Great’s chief of spies, because Diogenes knew all about sneaking up on an enemy and not being seen.

“Of course, on a wide open roof there won’t be much sneaking,” he mumbled. He did his best.

Antonio, and Diogenes did not doubt who it was, kept his head covered with a hood, dyed his hair yellow, dirtied his face, and gave himself a scar that appeared to go through one eye and down his cheek. He dressed like a workman, and a poor one at that, but the crossbow he cupped in his hand as he looked through the open window looked like an expensive and excellent weapon.

The angle of the roof was not too bad. Diogenes got closer to his man than he expected. Antonio concentrated on the scene down below. Charles walked slowly and reverently up the aisle, a perfect target except he was flanked by too many priests and soldiers to get a clear shot. When Diogenes got noticed, Antonio quickly fired. He was aiming for Charles’ chest. The shaft caught a priest in the throat.

Antonio turned and swung the crossbow at Diogenes. Diogenes pulled his sword and caught the cross part of the bow. He pulled the weapon from Antonio’s hand and sent it through the window where it fell and clattered on the floor below. Diogenes had to let go of his sword to catch his balance. The whole roof was slippery and slick with patches of ice, and the sword slipped down and off the edge.

Antonio wiggled a little like he was not quite steady. Both men reached for the rope, but neither got it. They nearly bumped heads. Diogenes grabbed for the windowsill as Antonio threw his knife. It scraped Diogenes’ arm and made Diogenes back up from the window. Diogenes began to swing his arms wildly in an effort to regain his balance. He nearly swore but traded places with the Princess instead.

The Princess did not immediately feel like she was slipping, though she was. She felt stable enough to let her foot kiss Antonio’s face. A flock of fairies flew in the man’s face, following the foot, and Antonio threw his hands up to protect himself even as he slammed to his back and began to slide down the roof. He tried and failed to get a grip on the shingles. The rope was too far away. He rolled on his side a couple of times before he shot off the end of the roof. He went out of sight headed for the cobblestone walkway below.

At the same time, the Princess tried the wild arm swinging, but ended up falling on her rump, hard. She moaned and traded places again with Genevieve who twisted her ankle as she rolled to her belly. She managed to avoid rolling further but also began to slide down the roof. The rope was unreachable. She counted her life over but was glad at least that she finished her work. When she shot off the edge of the roof, however, the fairies caught her and brought her to a gentle landing.

Her two guards were climbing the rope, nearly at the roof edge, and Gottard was there about to follow them. But it was over.

Gottard said to her as he offered his hand to help her up, “He will give his angels watch over you lest you dash your foot against a stone.”

Genevieve curled her lip, waved off his hand, and rubbed her hurting ankle before she crawled to Antonio. He appeared to have broken his neck. He certainly broke his back. Charles and his soldiers raced up. Antonio still had a spark of life, and he tried to talk.

“The Masters don’t want…” Genevieve hit the man in the mouth so the message never got delivered, and the man died.

“Antonio,” Charles guessed, or maybe he saw through the disguise and recognized the man from his memory.

“Antonio,” Genevieve nodded and mothered her poor hand before she moaned because of her ankle.

Charles reached down and picked her up. She put her arms around his neck for stability, but he began to kiss her, passionately. He slowly let her slide to the ground to stand on one foot while he squeezed her tight. She kissed him right back. When they finally separated, she had something to say.

“History does not need to know what happened here. You need to not write about this or let anyone write about the dark one, Blondy, Baldy, or Signore Lupen. You especially need to leave me out of it. The Masters know they failed, but it is better that they do not know the details, especially about me. I am best not to be mentioned at all, ever.”

“You hear her Einhard?”

“I hear,” one of the young men said.

“Can I take you inside?” Charles asked kindly.

Genevieve almost said yes, but at the last decided otherwise. “I have been here praying and worshiping since eight this morning. I need to go home, all the way home. My maids are packing for the trip back to Provence as soon as we can get a ship to take us.” She poked Charles in the chest. “You, mister, need to go hear what the Pope has to say. And it is like I told you back when you invaded Italy. When you beat the Lombards into submission, you take the crown. Don’t leave it lying around for someone else to take. Now, that is all I am going to say. Boys.”

Her two guards came right up and each put an arm around her waist. She threw her arms over their shoulders. “We are going back to Provence where I will limp around like Otto for the next twenty years and then die peacefully in my sleep and that will be the end of it.

And she did. Of course, that was not the end of it. Among other things, in her last days she had a terrible nightmare about Flesh Eaters invading her happy home. She had to learn to use that sword and use it against Flesh Eaters and Saracens alike. No, not Saracens. Vikings. And she would be a he. His hands would use that sword. She knew she was never the same sex three times in a row. She had been Margueritte, and now Genevieve. Next time she would have to be a man, strange as that might seem. That was as far as her thoughts went. When she died, she found herself floating around in a mother’s womb, slowly growing into a new person of the Kairos.

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MONDAY

For the second story in this medieval tome we go to Wessex, Ano Domini 820 and the Story of Elgar, king’s man from Somerset. Until Monday, Happy Reading

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Medieval 5: Genevieve 7 Happily Ever After, part 3 of 4

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The inn sat on one of the back roads out of the city. It also sat right near one set of docks on the river where the riverboats and a couple of old fishing boats could come and go. Clearly, the men gave themselves every advantage if they needed a quick escape. Gottard got the men to surround the building so there would be no escape, then they went in the front door. It turned out Antonio had stepped out on an errand, but Berlio was there, drinking with his buddies.

Genevieve shouted. “Put your hands up. You are under arrest.”

Three of the men complied, but the rest ran for other doors and into the back room. They all got taken except Baldy. He tipped the table, spilling all the beer in the direction of the guards whose natural inclination was to back up and not get soaked. He sent a knife straight at Genevieve. Genevieve fearing for Edelweiss found the primal energy of being the goddess of the little ones rumble in her insides. The knife vanished and appeared behind her where it stuck fast in the wall.

Berlio found two arrows in his middle. He looked surprised before he fell down, dead.

It all happened so fast, the guards did not all get in the doorway. Margo and Nelly quickly put their bows away. Gottard watched, being concerned about the women in the room, but it looked to Gottard like the bows just vanished. “I believe you,” he mumbled.

“Damn,” Genevieve added her own mumble before she turned to Gottard, who seemed to be in charge even if he wasn’t the officer on duty. “Let three men be disguised as ordinary customers and stay here just in case Antonio returns. I don’t expect he will, but if he does, they can grab him before he escapes. And they better not get drunk.”

Gottard agreed and selected the men before he went outside to see to their prisoners. The officer went with him. Genevieve mumbled once more, “Back to the drawing board,” but this time it was not so easy. She figured Antonio would lock himself away somewhere to make his own plans. Sure enough, even the sky sprites could find no sign of him.

Genevieve hugged and cried with Margo, Nelly, and Edelweiss before she sent them home to their families. She said she would call them if she had further need, but for the present there was no reason they had to stick around in Rome.

Genevieve reported back to Charles what happened. When she mentioned Baldy, his eyes got big and he asked, “Who does that leave?”

“Antonio, the son, but no one has seen him and I fear what he may have in mind to do.”

“I guess this proves Pope Leo is innocent of the charges brought against him,” he said.

“No,” Genevieve countered. “But it does say the attack on him was not spontaneous and due to whatever he may have done. I suppose he could swear an oath of innocence.”

“That might do it,” Charles said, thoughtfully.

“But my concern is for you,” Genevieve continued. “I was thinking the attack on the Pope may have been to get you to Rome. I mean, if they ruined or killed the Pope, that would be fine, but mainly they wanted you in their familiar ground and maybe less guarded than normal.”

Charles nodded. “I’ll take the warning seriously. I am sure, as my guardian angel, you will find the son. Meanwhile, you will have to excuse me.”

Genevieve grinned. “Can’t wait to get to your big-breasted… friend? What’s her name, Regina?”

Charles looked at her in all seriousness. “All I need to do is look at you or hear your voice and I get excited.”

“We were young and that was a different world,” she said. He nodded and left the room. She left in the opposite direction.

The weeks sped by. Genevieve wrote a happy birthday letter to her son, Guerin, though she knew it would not get there until spring. On December twenty-third, the Pope swore his oath of innocence and the men responsible, mostly Antonio and Berlio’s henchmen, were exiled. Then, Genevieve fretted through all of Christmas Eve.

She had an audience with Pope Leo, and he hardly talked about any theology at all. It was entirely politics including his distaste for the woman Empress Irene of Athens of the Eastern Roman Empire. He said a woman had no business ruling over the nations, and then he apologized to Genevieve, her being a woman. He showed her the gold and bejeweled crown with which he planned to crown Charles on Christmas day. He said Charles and the Franks had retaken the west and proved themselves to be more than capable as the defenders of Rome. The eastern empire could hardly defend themselves. She said Charles is not going to like that.

“We don’t always get what we want,” he responded. “Sometimes we just have to do our best with the responsibilities that are thrust upon us. I learned that in just these last couple of years.”

She understood, but then she fretted for the rest of the day. She went to bed early. The day had been cold and wet with rain. The night would bring some frost and ice in places. It was cold enough so the ice might melt slowly. Not exactly a white Christmas, Genevieve thought. More of a slippery Christmas.

She woke up early on Christmas day and sat straight up in bed. “Crown. Christmas.” she shouted, and her maids all stirred and got up with her. She felt convinced Antonio would make his move on Christmas when Charles got crowned. She was not sure if it would happen before, during, or after the coronation, but she felt certain it would happen.

Genevieve got her maids to start packing for home and hurried to find Gottard. Two guards from Captain Hector’s troop followed her, but that was a given whenever she went out. She discovered Gottard and his men had been assigned to provide outside security around Saint Peter’s Basilica. Cold duty, but apparently Charles took her warning seriously. When she arrived at the church, Gottard met her at the door.

“The Pope and his entourage have arrived, but not many worshipers yet,” Gottard told her. It was about eight in the morning and time for the second Mass of the day.

“Have your men all seen the picture of the man we are looking for?” she asked, and Gottard nodded. “Good. We have five doors. We need a man at each, and one man at each window and door around the building, even if the doors are locked against intruders. You need to send one—two men with excellent memories for faces to check the Pope’s people from cardinal down to servants.” She took a breath and Gottard took advantage of the brief respite.

“Ruppert,” he called one man and the man looked up. “Go and fetch the rest of the troop. We have ground to cover.”

“Trouble?”

“Not yet, and I hope there won’t be any, but we have to be prepared.” He raised his voice again. “Girard, fetch Clemenc. I have a special assignment for you two.”

Genevieve thought that whole time, wondering how Antonio might gain access without passing by any guards. When Clemenc and Girard arrived, they both acknowledged Genevieve. “Margravine.” They bowed, being a couple of the men from Breisach.

That brought Genevieve out of her introspection and she started again. “You both remember the face of Antonio, the man we are looking for?” She hardly gave them a chance to nod. “Well, I was thinking he may have used makeup or something to disguise himself. That may be why we have not found him. He may have made himself look older, you know, with wrinkles and such. Maybe a bigger nose. He might be dressed like anything from a cardinal to a slave. You have to really look hard. And Gottard, he may have disguised himself and dressed in a wig to make himself look like an old woman. Everyone is suspect. Go on.” She waved them off and entered the church, her two guards on her heels.

 Gottard explained things to his guards and then took the newly arrived men on a march around the Basilica to place one or more at the doors and windows and he spaced them out to see each other so no one could sneak by them.

Genevieve checked everyone who had arrived early for Christmas Mass. The Pope would be speaking at noon, but Mass was said, sometimes with a short homily, about every hour since sunup. Charles might come at eleven, or anyway, in time to celebrate the Noon Mass and hear the Pope speak.

She sat down to pray.