The Other Side of Heaven by Morgan O'Neill

guard briefly eyed Gwen and then stuck his head inside the tent to announce their arrival.
    The commander entered immediately, leaving her to wait.
    After a long moment, the guard turned and said, “You may go in, Brother.”
    Trembling from the damp and her nerves, Gwen went inside the large, spartan lodging; drafty, lit with only smelly tallow candles, the roof dripped in places. In the dim light, several stern faces watched her.
    “Brother Godwyn,” his voice rumbled with impatience.
    Her heart skipped. The men parted, and she saw him.
    Alberto.
    It was all she could do to remain motionless as she clenched her fists and willed herself into a semblance of composure.
    He stood at a table, his gaze on several maps strewn before him. “What brings you to us?” he asked flatly, without looking up. “Has the good father set up a parley with Berengar so soon?”
    Gwen’s eyes darted from face to face, then settled back on Alberto’s hands. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her cowl and swallowed. “Father Warinus asked that I speak to you, my lord. Alone.”
    He glanced up in surprise.
    Gwen sucked in her breath and dropped her gaze from his. Those eyes! She remembered them only too well. She’d seen them, inches from her own, in several intoxicating dreams. But why was he angry? She’d done nothing to him. She swallowed, determined to rise above her fears .
    “You’re learning our language quickly, Brother, or did you know it all along?”
    Gwen was struck by his insinuation, but chose not to respond. Still looking down, she reiterated, “Father Warinus insisted I speak to no one but you. I have urgent news.”
    He didn’t sound pleased as he ordered the others out. “Leave us. Commander, see that your men are well garrisoned and have something to eat. We will resume our meeting forthwith.”
    Gwen watched mud-encrusted boots tramp past. The tent flap dropped after the last man, and there was a moment of silence.
    “Speak swiftly, Brother Godwyn,” Alberto said gruffly. “I am a busy man.”
    Her mind filled with horrible memories and she blurted, “Queen Adelaide has been taken captive.”
    “What?” his voice boomed.
    She looked up. “Berengar attacked Pavia three days ago––”
    “By Christ’s holy wounds, we were fools to think he’d wait!” Alberto stormed around the table toward her.
    Alarmed, she backed away from his fury.
    He saw this and ground to a halt, clearly struggling for control. “Are you certain she is a captive and not slain? What of her soldiers? Did her men defect?”
    “No. Berengar’s soldiers outnumbered them and slaughtered all they could find. And yes, she’s been taken captive.”
    “Is Berengar still in Pavia? Does he claim the Crown?”
    She shook her head. “No. Scouts reported he is heading for his castle on Lake Garda and moving fast.”
    Alberto turned away and started to pace, muttering to himself, making the tent seem very small and confining. “I must try to head him off. If he gets the queen inside his infernal keep…” His voice failed, and he looked at Gwen. “What of the little princess? Does he have her, too?”
    “No, I… she is safe,” Gwen stammered. “The surviving soldiers are guarding Emma, but I don’t know where. Father Warinus asks for your help. He needs healers and medicine, bandages, food, everything. There are a lot of wounded and no one left to protect the people.”
    “I can do nothing for Pavia. We must ride for Garda.”
    “But you have so many men. Some of them need to come back with me.” Acting on impulse, Gwen clutched at his hand. “Alberto, I promised I’d bring help.”
    “Damn you, monk!” He threw off her grasp. “Do not suppose you may be so familiar with me!”
    Gwen stood her ground. “There is no one left to defend the people. They’re counting on your help.”
    “We are soldiers, not caretakers. What of you? Are you not man enough to wield a sword, or bind a battle wound? Stop hiding behind your cowl,