The Silver Wolf (56 page)

Gundabald’s eyes shifted from hers to the shadows in the half-darkened room. “Nothing,” he muttered.

“Oh, you’re wrong, Gundabald. It might get you worse than nothing. My new lord and husband is very pleased with his lady of the royal house. He might decide you are a madman or a liar and have you silenced himself. Or the pope who greatly supports this marriage might see you as a dangerous troublemaker. You must ask yourself, are you willing to take the chance?”

Gundabald snorted, then smiled, though rage still smoldered in his eyes. He spoke between his teeth. “My dear niece, you are
a clever woman. Far cleverer than I had previously thought. I can see if I’m to benefit by our close blood tie, it will be on your terms.”

Hugo rose from his knees, purse bulging. He looked from Regeane to Gundabald and back again. “Father,” he said hesitantly, “I think we better do as she says.”

Gundabald shot a glare at him, but the look he gave Regeane was carefully neutral. “Very well,” he said quietly. “What would you have me do?”

Regeane relaxed. She was sure she had them. They waited, bought and paid for. Bullied into submission, not by her, but by their own greed. They were ready to be herded into her trap.

The wolf had a memory of this moment. A lot of memories. The memories of a huntress. Her experienced eyes scanning a herd for prey; looking for the telltale stagger where the footing wasn’t difficult; heavy breathing with no expenditure of effort; the limping fawn not able to keep up with the rest; the bull or cow touched with the signs of age. She eyed Hugo and Gundabald for a second with the cold, mechanical gaze of a killer.

Hugo backed up a few paces and a muscle jerked in Gundabald’s cheek.

“What do you want us to do?” Hugo asked nervously.

“Take a bath, for one thing,” Regeane snapped. “All the money left on the table is yours.”

Hugo forgot his fears and began snatching it up at once.

“Buy new clothes so you’re in a fit state to be presented to my lord. Gundabald, you still have connections at Charlemagne’s court, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Gundabald said slowly.

“Very well,” Regeane said. “I’ll need you.” She took a deep breath. “I really need you very badly. I can’t turn this lord of mine into a great man all by myself. I’ll have to have the help of an experienced man of affairs such as you. I’ve been remiss in never paying attention to politics.”

Gundabald began helping himself to the gold on the table also. Nodding as though he’d come to some decision.

“I’ll have Lucilla’s servants show you out,” Regeane said. “Come back in a few days and we can dine together quietly and talk over the future.”

“To be sure,” Gundabald said. “A congenial family dinner.”

“Yes,” Regeane said wearily. The wolf was ready to kill. There was little more to be said and she was anxious to be rid of them.

At the gate, Gundabald turned and faced her. “I’m sure,” he said smoothly, “now that we’ve come to an estimate of your true worth, there will be no more quarrels between us.”

“I’m sure,” Regeane replied. “Partnership will be so much more fruitful than dissention.”

WHEN THEY WERE GONE, REGEANE FOUND LUCILLA and Antonius waiting for her in the garden. She sank down on a bench beside the pool. She looked not at them, but at the dark water. “You listened?” she asked.

“Of course,” Lucilla answered. “I listened closely. What do you take me for? Some silly incompetent? You’re my protégé.”

“Did I succeed?” Regeane asked.

“I don’t know,” Antonius said. “I think you might have been a little less … honest.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Regeane said. “I detest them both.”

“It showed,” Antonius said, turning a troubled gaze to the portico through which Gundabald and Hugo had exited.

“What they thought doesn’t matter,” Lucilla said. “I accomplished my objective. She was seen to receive them in a civil manner. They accepted rich presents from her. My guess is the pair of them, scoundrels that they are, will spend at least part of the money on a drunken spree in the lowest taverns and brothels in Rome. My man will take them tonight or tomorrow.”

Regeane raised a stricken face to Lucilla. “You really didn’t care what I said to them, did you?”

Antonius shrugged and smiled, then strolled off along the pool.

Regeane leaped up and stamped her foot as she confronted Lucilla. “You had this all planned.”

“Yes,” Lucilla said with infuriating smugness.

“I’m surprised you even consulted me,” Regeane said bitterly.

“I very nearly didn’t,” Lucilla snapped back. “but you needed to know how and why these things are arranged. But, be
aware of this, my dear. Once I knew your secret, I never intended to let the wretch live.”

“But why?” she asked. “You hadn’t even met him.”

“Why would I need to meet him?” Lucilla asked. “I saw that ghastly lodging house. The stinking sty where they kept you penned up. The weals on your back. What else did I need to know? Pray, tell me.”

Antonius turned and walked back toward them. “Regeane,” he said, “consult the wolf. What does she think?”

Regeane turned away in confusion. “I already have,” she whispered. “I know what she thinks. The wolf is … indifferent.”

“Your better half, I think,” Antonius said, “or at least your smarter half. Listen, girl, in all places among all peoples, husbands are granted by law certain authority over their wives. We … the three of us … have already taken steps to make you independent of your husband.”

“Yes,” Regeane said.

“Fine.” Antonius spoke slowly as if speaking to a child. “Now, the other group empowered to control women are their male blood relatives. Are they not?”

Regeane nodded.

“With Hugo and Gundabald gone, how many blood relatives would you have left?”

“None, or at least none close enough to matter,” she said. “I see. I would be free.”

Antonius glanced at his mother. Their eyes met and an unspoken message passed between them.

“There is more, isn’t there?” Regeane said.

“In a sense I suppose Gundabald is my wedding gift to you, Regeane,” Lucilla said. “And possibly Hugo, too.”

“I’ve never agreed with you about Hugo, Mother,” Antonius said. “I believe Hugo is a porridge-brained, nincompoop, blabber-mouth who would spill the contents of his empty head in every tavern and whorehouse in Rome and the surrounding countryside. And sooner or later, his drunken ravings would be sure to come to the wrong ears. Take him down, too. Regeane’s right. They both need a long bath. Give them one … in the Tiber.”

“God in heaven!” Regeane exclaimed.

“Face facts, girl,” Antonius said. “Neither of them can possibly do you any good, and it is in their power to do you a great deal of harm.”

“Face facts? My God, Antonius!” Regeane exploded. “Do you know Gundabald once said that to me? He wanted to use me to help murder my own husband. I told Gundabald I wouldn’t spend even one day under his supervision. Well, I won’t accept yours either. Yours or your mother’s. No,” she sobbed. “No, I don’t want to be involved in this heinous act. Did you see them with the gold? They can be bought off. I’m sure of it.”

Antonius threw up his hands and turned away.

Lucilla sighed deeply. “A very fine-tuned moral sense you have. I’m quite sure they can be bought off … for a time. But what happens when you run out of gold?” she asked gently.

Regeane continued to weep quietly, tears pouring down her face. “I can’t bear it,” she whispered thickly. “Let them live. I hated Gundabald once, but poor Hugo. I never hated him …”

Lucilla embraced Regeane and rested her head on the girl’s shoulder, patting her gently.

“Let them live,” Regeane repeated.

Lucilla pushed Regeane away at arm’s length and studied her tear-stained face. “Oh, no …” Lucilla said sadly.

“Let them live,” Regeane insisted stubbornly.

“Mother,” Antonius said, “she needs to be free. She must make the decision herself. We can’t make it for her.”

Lucilla looked at Antonius over Regeane’s head, then gave a deep shuddering sigh. “My only son, best of sons, I believe you’re probably right. Very well, Regeane, I wouldn’t do this for another living soul, probably not even Antonius, but I will spare them for you, my dear daughter in love. But—” Lucilla raised one finger. “There is something more you need to know.”

Regeane wiped the tears from her eyes with her fingers and looked up at Lucilla.

“Regeane,” she continued, “I suppose, once in the wonderful realm the Romans created, a man or woman could carve out a niche for themselves and live an independent life. This is no longer possible. In this disorderly, broken world there exist only
the rulers and the ruled. You must decide for yourself which one you would rather be.”

A FEW HOURS LATER, REGEANE FOUND HERSELF alone in a mule litter riding toward her betrothal feast. She’d been the recipient of advice from both Lucilla and Antonius before departing, lots of advice.

While she was dressing there was a short, sharp conversation with Lucilla about piercing her ears.

“They don’t stay pierced,” Regeane said.

“What do you mean?” Lucilla asked.

“They just go away.”

Lucilla sat down on a couch, looking shocked. “Are you telling me the holes just go away?”

“Yes,” Regeane replied. “What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking about your hymen, my dear. Things might become very uncomfortable for you if your hymen were to perpetually be, ah … renewed.”

“I’m not worried,” Regeane said. “My mother told me she didn’t have a moment’s discomfort. I don’t think I will have, either.”

Lucilla sighed. “In a way, it’s a pity … a real pity.” Then she turned and began fumbling through the contents of her dressing table.

“What’s a pity?” Regeane asked. She was wiggling into a coan silk shift. The shift was embroidered with crystal and seed pearls at the neck, sleeves, and hem.

“Be careful of that. It might tear,” Lucilla chided.

“What’s a pity?” Regeane repeated.

“A woman able to perpetually renew her virginity would drive men wild. You would have been an immense financial success as a courtesan,” Lucilla said.

Antonius was standing in the next room behind a curtain. “Mother!” he said in reproof.

“I know, I know. ‘Don’t give the girl ideas.’ In any case, I have a little jar of ointment here. You rub it on just before the act and it decreases the discomfort. Here,” she said, extending a small glass bottle to Regeane. “Take this and keep it with you.”

Regeane staggered back and sat down heavily on Lucilla’s bed. “Tonight?” she gasped. “Is it tonight?”

“My dear girl,” Lucilla said, “you will never be more married than you are now. Yes, certainly tonight.”

Regeane’s head was spinning.

“Considering the way he greeted you,” Lucilla said, “I think he will be eager.”

Regeane remembered Maeniel, the gentle chaste kiss he’d given her as a greeting. The wolf, deep in her brain, started up from sleep and eyed her with a knowing expression. This might be fun. Regeane leaped to her feet, palms against her burning cheeks. “We’ve been longing to try it,” she said.

“Both of you, eh?” Lucilla gave her a look of disapproval as she tapped one foot.

Behind the curtain, Antonius burst into gales of laughter.

“Hush up!” Lucilla exclaimed in the direction of Antonius. “Regeane, you must listen to me. Virgin brides aren’t supposed to be eager. You must be diffident, timid, a little afraid.”

From then on, the cascade of advice rained down around Regeane’s ears.

“Let him take the lead,” Lucilla said. “When he does it, pretend to be in pain.”

“But suppose I’m not in pain,” she replied.

“Pretend you are anyway,” Lucilla said. “They expect it.”

“Mother, stop frightening her,” Antonius said. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. But Regeane, don’t let yourself get too frightened. No matter what happens, remember you can’t be hurt permanently.”

At this point, the advice degenerated into a shouting match between Lucilla and Antonius. Regeane dressed quickly and fled.

Lucilla had planned to ride in the litter with her, but Antonius put his foot down, saying, “Be quiet, Mother. She doesn’t need you making her any more nervous than she is already. She needs a bit of solitude to compose herself.”

So she rode alone.

The wolf scented the night breeze, and Regeane wondered if it would be permissible to push back the litter curtains. There was no one to ask, so she did.

The air was chilly. They were passing the Colosseum. It
lifted a wall of dark ruins on her right. There were few houses and shops there and the streets were nearly deserted in the gathering gloom of evening. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled. Or had it been a dog? She, even with her superior senses, couldn’t be sure.

The wolf lifted her head and sniffed the air. Power games. Antonius and Lucilla were instructing her in how to play them. The bulk of their advice had been concentrated not on what she was to expect or do, but on how to please him. Maeniel.

Regeane consulted the wolf. Her midnight sister wasn’t afraid of him. She knew, in the same way she had known Lucilla was a friend, that Maeniel would never abuse or harm her. But did she want him? She thought of the gray wolf. Who was he? What was he when he walked on two legs? She had no idea. Not a young man, she surmised. His first youth was past. Certainly not old, either. He had been the undisputed ruler of the pack. She could not imagine any creature bold enough to challenge him. Yet, perhaps, he was an ordinary man, a tavern keeper, a priest, or small merchant.

She wondered what it would be like to be the wife of a commoner. Living in a small apartment above his shop, caring for a brood of children. Cooking and cleaning daily. Washing clothes in a tub in a courtyard and hanging them out on a line strung over the street.

A life of simple day-to-day routine, coping with small crises, teething children, colicky babies, getting meals ready on time, keeping business and household accounts. Yet, also, a life of laughter. Life with a man she could trust with her innermost self. A man of whom she would never be afraid.

The wolf waited in the darkness, ears up, alert. Ready to serve her. Change, slip down to the cobbles rattling under the litter’s wheels. Run away. Go find him, the gray one, and yield herself to him. Together they could flee across the world. To Byzantium, to Franca where no one would ever find them.