The Silver Wolf (48 page)

And she knew that once he held her in his arms, she would refuse him nothing. She would, instead, yield up her innermost being to him, eagerly and without shame.

If only she could blot out the knowledge, the foresight that made her human. These three were safe, careless and carefree in their double state. All the things she could never be. What would happen to their lives if they were suddenly hunted by a king, a pope?

The black wolf glided toward her. She joined in again: the touch on her nose, the head on her shoulder. The sense of love and trust. Ablessing. A farewell.

Then the silver wolf turned and without looking back, ran. As she crossed the first hill and looked down on the city, she saw a strip of light on the eastern horizon; the stars were dying in its glow.

LUCILLA MET THE WOLF AS SHE LEAPED THE WALL into the villa. She was standing near one of the peach trees with
a lamp in her hand. She extinguished the flame when she saw the wolf gliding toward her.

“Thank God,” Lucilla breathed.

Regeane stood before her as a woman.

Lucilla wrapped her mantle around Regeane’s shoulders.

Regeane clutched at it tightly as Lucilla helped her back to the villa.

“Antonius?” Lucilla snapped.

“He’s well,” Regeane replied. “You’ll see when he returns. I’m exhausted.” As she said the words, she realized how great that exhaustion was. The fury that had saved her from death at the stream and then the exhilaration that carried her across the Campagna with the other wolves had completely drained away.

“It’s been a day and a half since I last slept,” she told Lucilla as she guided Regeane across the villa porch toward one of the cubicula.

Regeane sat down on the edge of the bed. Lucilla handed her a cup of wine.

“You say he’s well?” Lucilla asked, furiously. “How can that be?”

“Lucilla, please,” she pleaded. “I haven’t the strength. All I can tell you is I’ve accomplished this night all you could ask and more. Now, in the name of God, let me rest.”

“Yes, yes. To be sure,” Lucilla said.

As Regeane gulped the wine, Lucilla asked, “Food? Do you need food?”

Regeane shook her head and smiled. “I’ve eaten,” she said.

Lucilla shuddered. “I guess I’d better not ask where or how.”

Regeane chuckled as she slipped between the covers and sheets on the bed, then yawned.

“Only mice,” she said.

“Mice!” Lucilla exclaimed, repelled.

“Mice,” she whispered, intrigued.

“Mice.” Then puzzled, she asked, “Do wolves eat mice?”

“Sometimes,” Regeane answered and was an instant later asleep.

THE THREE WOLVES DRESSED IN THE SHELTER OF the peasant hut near a small fire.

“My God. By all the gods, did you see her run?” the big gray whispered. “What a huntress she’ll be. She had that deer if she wanted her.”

“Beautiful,” the red agreed, “but haughty. She’s attracted. I could tell. Why wouldn’t she join you in a little, shall we say, adventure? A bit of a tumble could only bring pleasure to you both.”

“I want more than pleasure with that one,” the gray said. “Though, by God, she’ll be that, too.”

“I think, perhaps,” the black said as she pulled on her dress, “the silver one doesn’t understand how truly free she is. She’s timid. I could sense that, and she’s ignorant of her own powers. A simple mouse hunt was a revelation to her.”

“The wound,” the gray said, “disturbs me. Very few things injure us in a way that survives the change.”

“It was not a normal wound,” the black said. “I knew that when my tongue touched it. Only heaven knows what torments she went through before we were able to rescue her. I could tell when we found her she expected not her own kind, but our wild cousins. You suggested a run on the Campagna tonight,” she said to the gray.

“I had ulterior motives,” the gray answered. “I hoped we might meet. The Campagna is where I would go if I lived in this stinking city.”

“Oh, I don’t know that the city’s so bad,” the red said. “I’m kind of learning to like it.”

“Indeed,” the black said dryly. “I know what you like. Is that how you picked up the fleas?”

“I don’t have fleas,” the red said, belying his words by scratching his ribs vigorously as he slipped into his shirt.

“Whatever you say,” the black answered maliciously. “But stay away from me until you bathe and fumigate yourself.”

“Even as a shape changer,” the gray said, “Gavin, you’re a true lowlife.”

“Catch as catch can, Maeniel,” Gavin said, “and between one thing and another, I catch a lot.”

“Fleas, among other things,” Matrona said.

“There’s more than one bitch in the forest,” Gavin said. “I met the cutest little thing living down by the Forum our first night in.”

“Dog or woman?” Maeniel asked.

“As it transpired, both,” Gavin said. “We did it one way, then the other, then both. She was quite impressed the way I dealt with my rivals. She was none too tidy about her person, but what are a few fleas between lovers?”

“Pervert,” Matrona said.

REGEANE WOKE SEVERAL TIMES FROM HER LONG sleep. Once she saw Antonius looking down at her, Lucilla beside him. She saw no trace of his former disease on his body.

He kissed her once, very chastely, on the forehead and then she returned to sleep.

She was awakened again by a hug from Elfgifa. Lucilla’s voice scolded in the background. Again she drifted away into slumber.

She woke finally, spontaneously, to find herself fully aware. Through a narrow window flowed a shaft of morning light. She sat up and saw Lucilla had set out clothing for her. A white shift and gown were draped over a chair near the bed.

She yawned and rose to her feet, and was in the process of dressing when Lucilla came into the room.

“At last,” she exclaimed. “Come out when you have finished. I was about to have my morning meal. Come join me. We have much to discuss.”

Regeane followed Lucilla to a small garden set away from the main atrium. It was private and quiet. Sweet woodruff bloomed in flower beds around a fishpond and against the blank whitewashed walls of the storerooms surrounding them.

“I’m a bitch in the morning,” Lucilla said, “and the servants seldom bother me here.”

There was a marble table to the right of the pond. Two comfortably cushioned chairs were drawn up to the table. Regeane seated herself in one of them. Lucilla sat in the other.

“I think,” Lucilla said, “that you’ll find this a bit more substantial than the usual Roman breakfast. I don’t follow the custom of beginning the day with a dry, crisp bread, sour wine, and perhaps if you’re in the mood for luxury, a few figs. One never knows what difficulties the day will bring, and I prefer to be well fortified.”

Regeane, looking at the table, decided Lucilla’s idea of fortification was more than adequate. The table held sliced cold breast of capon with a raisin wine sauce, warm fresh-baked bread, honey, butter, and white cheese. All served with a mild white wine blessed with slight basil fragrance.

“How long did I sleep?” Regeane asked between mouthfuls.

“All of yesterday,” Lucilla answered, “and through the night.”

Regeane sighed. “I was tired.”

Nothing else was said until they’d both worked their way through the food and were relaxing quietly, over their wine.

Lucilla frowned. “I have some bad news for you. I saved it until you finished breakfast. I didn’t want to spoil your appetite. But you should know, Regeane, your prospective husband is here in Rome.”

A wave of silent shock went through Regeane. She looked down at the wine cup in her hand, a beautiful thing made of opalescent glass resembling mother-of-pearl. She set it carefully on the marble table. Her hands shook.

“And?” she asked.

“My, but you’re calm,” Lucilla said.

“Remember,” Regeane said, “I’ve been expecting him for some time. What should I do? Screech? Weep? Run up and down, scratching my face, tearing my hair in handfuls? No,
Lucilla, whatever I am, I’m not made that way. So have you met him? Tell me, what’s he like?”

“From your point of view, the news is the very worst imaginable. I haven’t seen him, but I dispatched Augusta to greet him at Ostia.”

“Augusta?” Regeane asked.

“Yes,” Lucilla said. “She whined and made pathetic noises, but she owes me something for assisting that despicable uncle of yours. In any case, she reported back to me that he’s not old. I’d hoped he might be. Men in their dotage sleep soundly at night and think a lot about their stomachs and their bowels.

“It’s quite easy for an attractive young woman to lead them around by the nose. Worse luck, he’s not effeminate either. That class of men is often easily dealt with. One simply ignores their little peccadillos and offers them the honest friendship one gives to a sympathetic woman friend.

“But no such luck. He’s a well-formed man in the prime of life. Augusta found him intelligent, mannerly, and well spoken. She thinks you are a very lucky woman. She said his understanding was quite impressive for a barbarian.”

Regeane threw her head back for a second and looked up into the bright blue autumn sun. Then her eyes closed. She pressed two fingers to her lids. A voice in her mind spoke clearly.
You will have to kill him
.

“No,” she whispered. “No. I don’t want to.”

Then she lowered her head and opened her eyes. It seemed as if a long time had passed. She found herself looking into Lucilla’s face.

Lucilla’s gaze was flat and opaque. She was smiling, a harsh quirk of her lips.

“Yes,” Lucilla said, answering Regeane’s thoughts. “I know you don’t, but the less said the better. Even the walls have ears.”

“Did he raise any objection to the marriage contract?” Regeane asked.

“No,” Lucilla answered. “Hadrian had it drawn up by the chancery at the Lateran. Maeniel saw it.”

“He is able to read?” Regeane asked.

“It would seem so,” Lucilla responded, “because Hadrian
said he asked a few questions about the provisions in the contract, but raised no serious objections.”

Regeane nodded. “Thank heaven for that.”

“Your thanks are premature, my dear,” Lucilla said. “Once you’re out of Rome, that contract is just a piece of paper. There’ll be no way for pope or king to enforce it in the mountains.”

“I don’t know,” Regeane said, biting her lip. “He’ll want preferment. The king will be very jealous of his honor. Abusing me might bring royal anger on his head.”

“Yes,” Lucilla said. “And you must present yourself as the road to royal favor. And toward that end, I have a plan. Which brings me to the betrothal feast. It will be tonight at one of Augusta’s villas.”

Lucilla produced a wax tablet from the skirts of her gown and set it on the table.

“You will wear white. Silk, lightly embroidered with golden daisies. There is a Frankish count in Rome now. Incidentally, he supplied the Frankish mercenaries who are guarding my villa now. His name is Otho. He’s fat and has eyes like something you find hopping through a flower bed on a wet day, but bat your eyelashes at him and do your best to charm this toad. I won’t say the Frankish king trusts him, but he uses him often. I’m certain he’ll carry word back to Charles about what a prize he’s bestowed on this Maeniel. With a bit of luck you’ll be summoned to court and this unfortunate marriage may not last very long.

“I don’t know, Lucilla,” Regeane said. “Suppose, just suppose, I can reach an accommodation with this Maeniel, what then?”

“There’s no help for it,” Lucilla said. “Otho has to be invited to your wedding feast in any case. And impressing him will certainly help your cause with your husband. But that’s not the important part of my plan, it’s just an outside possibility.

“Think, child,” she said, reaching forward and tapping Regeane on the forehead. “No matter what happens, you’re going to be alone with this man for several years.”

Regeane nodded again.

“What I plan to do,” Lucilla continued, “is to send the same troop of mercenaries guarding this villa into the mountains with
you. I don’t think I’ll have the slightest difficulty persuading Otho that it would be a good idea. Added assurance of this Maeniel’s continued loyalty, shall we say.”

“I see,” Regeane said. “They would enforce the marriage contract.”

“Just so,” Lucilla answered. “Which brings us to another difficulty.”

“Gundabald,” Regeane said unhappily.

Lucilla’s plucked brows lifted, and she smiled at Regeane with satisfaction. “Clever girl,” she said. “How did you know?”

“Because,” Regeane said, “I know Gundabald. He’d have nominal command of the mercenaries. He’d set about corrupting them at once. By the time he was finished, they’d be loyal to no one, and nothing, but him.”

Lucilla laughed shortly, then leaned back in her chair and stared into the distance, a faint smile on her lips.

Regeane felt cold dread creeping over her. “What do you plan to do about Gundabald?”

Lucilla leaned forward over the table, poured herself another cup of the fragrant wine. Her face was very close to Regeane’s. “I intend,” she said, very softly, “to have him strangled.”

Regeane jumped to her feet. “No,” she shouted.

“That’s it,” Lucilla hissed in a soft, sibilant whisper. “Tell the world.”

Regeane sat down again, very quickly. “No,” she repeated more quietly.

“What?” Lucilla snapped in an undertone. “Do you love him so much?”

Regeane’s fists clenched. She looked down at the marble top. “It’s murder. Murder.”

Then Lucilla said, “Have you another solution?”

Regeane didn’t answer. She was remembering the ghost of the fiery river, the wound in his chest. “Wolfstan forgave him,” she said.

“He what?” Lucilla asked.

“My father, I met him in the world beyond death. He forgave Gundabald.”

Lucilla made a wavering gesture with her hand as though to
banish Regeane from her sight. She cupped her chin in her fist and leaned toward Regeane. “Now let me get this straight. You met your father in the world beyond death. When? How?”

“The night I saved Antonius,” Regeane said. “I journeyed into the other world. I met my father there. He still bore the wound Gundabald had given him.”