Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (18 page)

Gastonsmiled happily. “Good.”
Somberness had descended on Theodore again, and he was studying my matelot thoughtfully. “Your father would be happiest, of course, if you were married to… Agnes. Yet, I am not sure if you will be. There is no proof. After things began to go poorly in Port Royal, and we realized we would leave, the Comtess… Miss Agnes and I went to speak with the priest to obtain documentation of the marriage. He said it did not exist:he said he did not perform the ceremony and we were mistaken. Then he admitted it and said the records were lost.” He sighed heavily. “Then several men from the militia arrived—summoned by the deacon to rescue the good father fromour wrath. We left and did not pursue the matter again.”
I fought to suppress a smile at the idea of Theodore chasinga priest around a chapel. “Did he need rescue?”I asked.
Theodore read my face quite accurately and gave a sheepishsmile. “I was goingto strike him. I trulywas. Do not tell mywife. She is veryconcerned about suchthings.”He chuckled. “As I should be,”he sighed.
Gaston was smiling. “Nay, you should not. I wish you had.” He sobered. “So, without proof from the Church of England, I must marryAgnes in a Catholic ceremony as soon as possible. We knew we would need to do that anyway.”
Theodore shook his head sadly. “I amsorry, Gaston; but Verlain’s proclamation coupled with a lack of documentation— and your absence—cast a great shadow of doubt upon the matter with Father Pierre. As it now stands, I can tell you without doubt that no French priest on this island or elsewhere

on Hispaniola will perform the ceremony until the matter is resolved in some other fashion. And, short ofthe Spanish clergy, I do not think you will find another Catholic priest in the New World. And by the time we could reach France, I am sure the whole Churchwillhave beeninformed.”

Gastonslumped anew, his face once againinhis hands. I sighed as the implications tugged at my soul as well. They did not invoke anger, rather a floundering sense of disappointment.
“So Thorp probably did not lie about there being no record of Sarah’s marriage,” I said. “And Sir Christopher Vines was verylikelyat the Governor’s ear throughthe whole ofit, and asked to have the records of Gaston’s marriage expunged along with the other. I cannot see that fat bastard attempting to tamper with Church documents by himself. In fact, someone else might have suggested this ruse to him. I cannot see most good Christians attemptingto tamper withrecords ofmarriages.”
I shook my head with bemusement. “I find it ironic that I feel so very scandalized by it all. I trust the churches very little, and yet I too apparentlyview their documents as sacrosanct.”
Theodore chuckled. “I feel much the same. The Church is empowered with keeping such public records for the civil good. I amappalled they can be tampered with with such ease. I so wishfor menofthe clothto be… holy.”
I shrugged. “Sadly, I have not met one who was not a manfirst and foremost, witha man’s faults.”
“Neither have I,” Theodore said with equal somberness. “Though some I have met have been good men, they have not

seemed willing to be more. Father Pierre seems to be a man of that sort. He cares a great dealabout the proprietyofthis matter, yet he also cares about the political consequences of defying his superiors.”

He awarded me a guilty glance and turned to my matelot. “Gaston, you have asked for my advice. Even without knowing your father’s instructions to you, I will impart this. It is myunderstandingfromFather Pierre that the onlywayfor youto be married to Agnes in the eyes of the Catholic Church and French law—or remain married, as the case may be—is to convince the priests here that you are sane and that your marriage to Agnes is legitimate, and
important
to you.” He grimaced sympathetically. “I believe the words Father Pierre used to me were that he must feelyou place her before allothers —save God and Crown, of course. He has assured me the Church is very sympathetic to a lord’s wish to have an heir, your father’s plight in losing two sons, and his wish to accept you and pass the family holdings—and the family titles—through the son you have now. And, Father Pierre personally feels that marriage vows—if sincerely taken—should be sacred and stand above politics. Yet there is only our word against those of people with far more political power; and he knows of your relationship with Will. I feel Father Pierre will be swayed by nothing less than evidence that you truly view her as your wife in all ways. With that in mind, I would advise you make much of sharing her bed, and get her with child again as soon as possible. You and Will must be verydiscreet.”

I swore quietly. It was much like finding oneself stabbed ina brawl:one knows one is wadingabout inviolence; still, it is a ina brawl:one knows one is wadingabout inviolence; still, it is a surprise whenthe blade strikes.

Theodore said sincerely.
“How willit be a hardship to Agnes?”I asked wryly. “She is a demure and decorous girl for the most part,”

Theodore said with a heavy sigh, “but the priests have expressed concern that a lady should produce art such as hers, or go on about manners of the natural world and the like. Mistress Theodore and I have had to advise her against, and even steer her from, activities she is used to engaging in without censor. Yet she wishes very much to be the Comtess Montren, and though she bridles at the strictures placed upon her because of that, she is still willing to do all she can to insure she is not found unacceptable.”

Anger, not for myself, but for Agnes, welled in my heart; and Theodore grimaced guiltilyat what he found inmygaze.
“I would read my father’s letter now,” Gaston said abruptly.
His tone had been devoid of emotion, and I looked to him with curiosity. He sat still and composed, staring straight ahead, his face as expressionless as his words.
Theodore stood. “ThenI willfetchthe letters.”
“Letters?”I asked.
“Aye,” he said as he walked to the door, “I assume you willwishto read the one to me as well. I feelyoushould.”
“Thank you,”I said, and he left us.
“How are we?” I asked my matelot. “I am not terribly…” I sighed. “We knew that some of this would be terribly…” I sighed. “We knew that some of this would be required.”
“Did we?”he asked withbemusement.
“I did,”I said flatly.
Gaston smiled. “I amhaving the strangest thoughts. I do not know if I amsane or mad,” he whispered. “We must discuss what willserve me best.”
“I would suggest we hold your Horse in reserve until we see how best He could be used inbattle.”
He laughed briefly. “He is actually quite content to do that. I wish to invite Him out, though; and allow Him to make a mess of things. It seems simpler that way. It is horrible. As we have discussed, I have ever felt I was not to blame if I succumbed to my madness and behaved poorly—like with Christine—or you in Porto Bello. And so I wonder once again if my wishing to run amuck in order to escape my troubles is a form of madness in itself, or a way in which I lie to myself in order to justifymyactions.”
“Or sanity,” I said kindly as I puzzled on it. I had often ascribed the rationale of unbidden madness to Gaston allowing his Horse to run, but was that the manner in which it should be perceived?
“I have overcome the triggers, but not the urge to pull them,”Gastonadded witha sigh.
“Oui, yet, be that as it may, your aim has surely improved.”I was stillthinkingofHorses. “He protects you.”
He looked to me.
“Your Horse:He protects you:or me. Youfeelyouneed protection. You felt you needed protection from the threat of Alonso. You felt you needed protection—or I did—from the threat ofChristine.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “And now I want protection from…” He sighed and pressed his forehead into my shoulder like a tired dog. “Will, I do not wish to live the way Theodore says I must.”
“Neither do I,” I sighed. “Man nor Horse, nor anything inbetween.”
“What shallwe do?”he asked.
Theodore returned. He looked momentarily concerned and glanced toward the door and about the room. I wondered why until I realized Gaston was still leaning upon me. I sighed loudly but stifled my anger. Theodore was merely doing what he thought was in our best interests. I was growing very tired of people doingthat—and I had avoided it for sixmonths.
Theodore handed Gaston the letters, I picked up our weapons, and the three of us retreated to the surgery where we could close the door. Once safely behind that thin wooden barrier, Gastonhanded the letters to me.
I opened the sealed missive addressed to the Comte de Montren. It was dated September fifteenth. As the Marquis’ letters always were, it was written cleanly, with deliberation and a very fine hand. I was amused and suffused with love when I saw the greeting was made to
My Beloved Boys, Gaston and Will
. He opened by saying he hoped his missive found us well, and how appalled he had been concerning the contents of our last letter. He was decorous and circumspect in his mention of what had beendone to us—especiallyme—but he praised us for surviving Thorp’s attack and our respective imprisonments. He expressed great faith that we were strong young men who would emerge fromthese tragic events stronger and wiser still.
He next wrote of his grandchild: going on at length about the fine sprinkle ofcopper-colored hair onher head and how she resembled Gaston and his sister at birth and not the only other infants he had seen in their first days—his children by his second wife. I saw that the Marquis had doubted she was Gaston’s until he laid eyes on her, and now he was very sure, and keen to claimher as his kin.
This led to his great concern and dismay over the news that Agnes was also bearing him a grandchild. He obviously wished to claim both as much as my matelot did, and was at a loss as to how. I could well imagine his further dismay when he learned the gender ofAgnes’ babe:as in this letter he went on to discuss his concerns that Christine’s family’s damnable claim of marriage, if allowed, would likely prevent Gaston fromhaving an heir. He well understood his son’s reluctance to bed the girl again, and thought she would not be agreeable to it, either. It was obvious fromhis words concerningChristine that he disliked her intensely, and not merely because ofher family’s claimor her acceptance of it. They had apparently not gotten on well during the voyage, or after she was ensconced at the Tervent manor.
With a pang ofsympathy, I imagined how very poor and miserable the situation must have been for Christine. Being thoroughly disagreeable had probably been her only weapon while trapped in a strange house with an unwanted babe growing in her belly. I prayed no one had allowed her to turn to drink to ease her anger and solitude. Then I prayed she would not be allowed to exercise her anger at the child.
I repeated that prayer with more fervor as I read the next paragraph. The Marquis said Christine wanted nothing to do with the infant and had left her to the midwife without even a glance. As of his writing, she had not taken the babe to her breast. The only time she had wanted to hold the girl was for the christening where she had been determined to be recognized as Gaston’s wife. The Marquis had not allowed it, and though the girl had been christened, it was as a bastard. He admitted his localclergy were quite upset with his decision on the matter, and that he did not know what should be done. His doing as he did left Christine free to take the baby from his home, and she was planning to do so as soon as she was deemed healthy enough and the child old enough to travel. The Marquis was delaying that as long as possible, using the coming winter weather and Christine’s difficulty with the delivery and her still-weakened state as his excuse.
The girl had been christened Marie Eloise Christina Danielle Vines. Thinking of the boy here who had been dubbed Apollo, I wondered at a divine appellation for this child. The God Apollo had been born—along with his twin sister, Artemis —ofZeus’affair with a daughter ofTitans, Leto. And though my matelot’s two children were in many ways twins of different mothers, I did not feel the name Artemis was appropriate. I could not think of Christine as an avatar of the long-suffering Leto, who Zeus’ wife Hera denied the ability to give birth on land. Nay, Agnes—secretly born ofTitans in a sense—had been driven from one island to another to find a home amongst Brethren wolves. She, I could see as Leto. Perhaps someday she would give GastonanArtemis.
But for the girl child at hand, I thought Athena a better name. Athena had sprung from her father’s head after he had devoured her mother. I knew some might think the girl should have been named Dionysia or some such thing, as the divine offspring Dionysus had sprung from his father’s thigh. But the pairing that produced this little girl had not been one of lust, but of madness; and I felt it better represented by Athena’s origin. Gaston had felt Zeus’s mighty headache, such that he had split his ownhead asunder; and out ofit had come a motherless child.
My eyes were hot and moist as fear and frustration gripped me. What were we to do to save this child? How would we get our hands on her once she was spirited away to some house of Verlain’s? I supposed we could always go and abscond withher…
“What?”Gastonasked withconcern.
I shook myhead and continued reading.
The Marquis’ appraisal of the political situation was indeed troubling. I was both pleased and dismayed when the Marquis apologized to me directly for the matter of Gaston’s marriage eclipsing his attempts to aid in my situation with my father: pleased he cared, and dismayed he felt it warranted an apology. I had forgotten about my letters to the House of Lords and my father, and that the Marquis had planned to insure their delivery through his acquaintance with the French ambassador to England. In light of what my father had now done to me, my paltry letters seemed very trivial. I needed to tellthe Marquis not to pursue that course: if I was going to have to kill my damn father, we did not need attentiondrawnto the matter. Things had progressed too far for there to be anything gained by airing my family’s laundryinCharles II’s court.
And as for the matter of the purported marriage to Christine… The Marquis professed to blame himself for our woes and apologized profusely to his son for the entire scenario: saying he wished he had not asked Gaston to marry: and he wished for the sake of his son that he had spent more time in his King’s court currying favor. He was not sure what to do now. He wished very much to know what Gaston desired, and to know what Agnes had given himas a grandchild. Then he stated emphatically that his first concern was Gaston’s happiness and the production of a legitimate heir. He did not feel either would ever result fromlegitimizingthe marriage to Christine.
Then he went on to bemoan the state of French politics. Speaking of how appalled he was that so little mattered now beyond the maneuvering and backstabbing in the halls of Versailles. He had apparently been dismayed and embarrassed to discover that it no longer mattered how good and noble a man was. He apologized for chiding me about my poor opinion ofthe nobility, and said he had beenthe naïve one.
In closing, he repeated his prayers for our wellbeing and the like, but my eyes were too full of tears to read further. I handed the letter to my matelot, who was watching me with concern. “There is nothing here that engenders ought but love from me for the man,” I assured him. “But there is much to