Time Enough for Love Read Online Free

tell me what happened,” the king continued. “I would also have you divulge all details of my enemy and his camp.”
    “Before I do that, I would repeat the queen’s words, something she requested I tell you in person.”
    Otto’s gaze softened. “What did my lady say?”
    “Sire, she expressed this to me the last time I saw her. We were sitting in my uncle’s farmhouse…” Prand’s voice trailed off and he drained his cup, then without thinking held it forth to the king.
    “Yes, Liutprand. I was told what happened to your family.” Otto poured them each another round. “All the more reason to wish for settling old scores.”
    Prand looked at the king’s expression: sober, but not vengeful. “Yes, my lord.”
    “You were saying?”
    “That eve, the queen was filled with contentment – bless her soul – for she anticipated two things: reunion with her daughter and victory over Berengar. But then, reality intervened, and we discussed strategy, fearing Lord Alberto alone might not be able to make swift work of our enemy. She said, ‘Tell King Otto the Queen of Italy has need of him.’” He paused for the briefest moment, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up his neck. “I do not, however, believe she was speaking solely of troop strength and battle plans.”
    Otto sat there in silence, looking at his cup, swirling his ale.
    “Sire, I have known the queen since she was newly arrived in Pavia. Yet even at that tender age, she was immeasurably self-reliant, a brilliant, independent girl. If ever I have a daughter, I could but wish that she… that she…” He shook his head. “Never have I heard Queen Adelaide say she needed anyone before. Never .”
    Otto looked up, surprised, his feelings momentarily unmasked, then his eyes grew flinty.
    Prand blurted, “My lord, I am no gossip. She bid me tell you this.”
    Otto nodded, his gaze still hard, yet managing to express both sadness and anger. “I intend to kill Berengar,” he said, his darker nature revealed. “Only God, or the Pope, might have the power to stay my hand, or mayhap not.” The king gave a harsh laugh. “No, Liutprand. I think even they could not sway me.”
    *
    Although summer’s flowers bloomed in meadows not far below, a winter-like grip still held firm in the high alpine passes of southern Germany.
    King Otto stomped slush from his boots and then stooped to enter his tent. After his meeting with Liutprand, a sudden hailstorm had inundated the camp. Not one to leave details to others, Otto made certain his soldiers were looked after, the horses well tended. He had walked through the icy muck, taking time to stop by dozens of campfires, sharing conversation with his men, eating a bite with them here and there, or swigging ale.
    Feeling drained after the long day, Otto removed his fur-lined cloak and placed his hands before a brazier. The glowing coals made his freezing fingers ache even more.
    His body servant, Henry, quietly came to his side, holding a large mug of wine. “Sire.” The man bowed and exited the tent, leaving Otto alone for the first time that day.
    Yawning, Otto sat by the brazier and stretched out his legs, then sniffed his drink. Spiced wine, heavy with cinnamon and cloves. He took a sip. The heat was perfect, just enough to warm his tongue and soothe his fingers.
    Savoring the moment, he knew it was, in all probability, the final lull before open war. He and his men would soon cross the Brenner Pass into Italy. After that, he planned to unleash hell on his enemy, and rescue the woman who ruled his heart.
    His thoughts drifted back some four years. A widower with young children, Otto had been a vigorous thirty-five, already a king, a friend, and honored wedding guest of Lothaire of Italy. Ah, yes, he remembered the trip so well.
    Pavia, what a grand city! The architecture was open, airy when compared to his capital, Quedlinburg, the weather sunny and bright, the cool, westerly breeze bringing the first bare