Supplication
3 September 2016, 12:40 p.m.
42° 26' 41.6" N, 87° 49' 32.5" W
That evening, in a caffé in San Polo, for some reason I had my laptop with me, and for some reason I looked up the website of that B&B, the one where Matilda, the Pope and Hugo were staying, and for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to show the site to my companions.
Big mistake.
You see, the site included pictures of the lodge’s three available guest rooms, including, you know, photos of the beds, which immediately led to a lot of raucous joking and wagering about which bed the Pope and the Countess were shacking up in, and exactly what perversity they were engaged in at that very moment. Lambert was the only one who maintained that the Countess was simply a chaste and devoted servant of the Throne of St. Peter, but Bruno and the Rabbit Warriors twisted every word he said into something filthy and depraved, so Lambert gave up trying to defend Matilda, and stormed back off to his room. Henry ordered a round of shots for everyone in the caffé, as if he had just won a battle or something. Guess who's credit card ended up paying for that tab.
As nights out go, that evening was a total waste of time, but I remember some moments almost as if they happened yesterday. I suppose that makes sense—that I would have sharper memories of those last few days. We were getting close to the big finale, weren’t we? The moment when whatever was going to happen was going to happen?
So the next day, the day that would be the second day of Henry’s supplication—supplication being one of the words that had been twisted into something filthy the night before—most of the Rabbit Warriors were too hungover to gather at the minivan. And apparently Henry didn’t give a damn how many of us went with him. Bruno, for his part, had convinced Bertha to let him spend the day taking care of Conrad, so when we set off for Canossa we were a much smaller group: Henry and the younger Gozilo on their motos, followed by the minivan with Lambert in the front passenger seat, Feller the Blessed alone in the middle seat behind Lambert, and of course myself, as usual, in the driver’s seat.
We dropped off Henry and Gozilo at the hunting lodge—actually I just sort of slowed down and watched them as they turned into the driveway—and then we drove on to the castle.
It was a gray and drizzly day. A lousy day to be a tourist. The three of us—Lambert, Feller, and myself—were the only visitors on the castle grounds. I tried to keep myself busy studying the little multilingual placards I found here and there. At one point, I got kind of excited because I thought I had found the spot where Henry would have been kneeling if this day had been one of those days, back in 1077, but Lambert just looked at me and shook his head. We didn’t have much else to talk about. I felt kind of jealous of Lambert, with his black book of prayers to help pass the time, and even more jealous of Feller, who somehow had a working data connection.
After four hours, Feller got the call. Henry was done for the day. We drove back to town.
That night, nothing happened—at least nothing interesting enough to lodge in my memory for the next seven years.
Next episode: Alumna
For the impatient:
Buy ebook, audiobook on Amazon
Buy paperback on Lulu
Or just wait for the next episode…
Share this post