The Wolf King (11 page)

Once he saw what had been a big villa and he almost turned to seek hospitality for the night, but he’d gone only a few steps when he realized the still-closed shutters on the windows were fire blackened, the fields and pastures around it were thick with weeds. The empty building, which must have harbored human beings until not too long ago, gave him a particular sense of disquiet. He felt as if eyes watched him through crevices in the charred shutters, and something wandered through the empty roofless rooms behind them.

He hurried on. These plains, which were subject to raids from the sea and quarrels between the Lombard states and the pope, had been depopulated centuries ago. Only a few strong points stood. Now these were falling, as internal and external disorders spread.

He began to be fearful he could not find a safe place to spend the night when he saw the remains of a village just ahead. Like almost every structure now, it was located on the highest point for miles around.

Just then the old Roman road vanished, gone, washed away by winter floods that had formed a shallow ravine reaching down to the sea. At the edge of the road, Hugo saw that if he turned and followed the dry ravine, it would lead him to the town in the distance.

When he reached it, he realized that, far from being a town, it had been a small city, but most of it was gone, broken up and washed away by the torrents that created the ravine. Whether its abandonment had been caused by the destruction wrought by the flood, or it had been abandoned long ago and then destroyed, was impossible to ascertain.

So Hugo climbed the slope of the ravine and found himself in the forum. The ruins of a temple loomed over him on one side, and a colonnade on the other that must have held shops now stood looking out on the empty ravine and the beach beyond. The cobbles flooring the ancient town were almost buried by windblown beach sand. There were plenty of tracks in the sand. Birds, mice, rabbits, and, here and there, wild cat prints could be seen, but no human footprints.

Hugo shivered. This was the most desolate place he’d ever been in. He climbed the steep steps up to the temple that had been set on a high platform overlooking the sea. He found the temple platform cold; the wind from the ocean, earlier a refreshing breeze, now had a bite to it, and the sun was not far above the horizon’s rim.

From his perch, he could see the surrounding
countryside. There was no sight of any human dwelling anywhere. Night was coming on and Hugo didn’t want to be caught in the open. He found shelter in a pit near the temple. It must once have been a shop that looked into the forum, but the floor had rotted or burned when the town was abandoned and it left only this shallow cellar. There were plenty of deadfalls in the ravine leading to the sea, enough to build a fire, and the walls of the cellar were high enough to shield it from any prying eyes.

By nightfall he had a good blaze, not too high—he didn’t want it to be seen by others adrift in the war-ruined countryside—but sufficient to keep him warm. He had a little wine left. He drank that and ate the bread, but hugely enjoyed the cheese until a voice asked, “I wish you’d save a little of that for me.”

Hugo looked up and saw Gimp sitting across from him. The hole in his throat was still open but no longer bleeding.

Hugo began to scream.

One of the papal guard, a captain, awakened Lucilla the next morning. He looked pleased with himself.

“I think we found one of the men you’re looking for, my lady.”

He was carrying a sack. He set it down, picked up the end, and Wedo’s head rolled out.

“You killed him?” Lucilla said accusingly.

“No,” the captain said. “We know better than that. He was dead when we found him. Somebody slit his throat. His head kept trying to fall off, so we sawed it off the rest of him and left the carcass for the crows and wild dogs. Seemed a lot simpler that way.”

Lucilla nodded. “I was hoping to get one or more of them alive.”

“Wish we could accommodate you, my lady, but this is all we have. Some shepherds found it on the via Aurelia. They were in an old cave or tomb. It’s still cold out. They sheltered there for the night. Found him. Lot of blood on the floor, though. Might have been some wounds. Little falling out among thieves?”

Lucilla nodded. “On the road to Lombardy.”

Silvie was fetched. She hung back until the soldiers told her the man was dead. Looking at corpses didn’t bother her.

“It’s not Hugo,” she said.

“I know that,” Lucilla said between her teeth. “But is it one of them?”

“He looks different.” She rolled the head face up with one foot. “Yes,” she said. “That’s the one Hugo called Wedo. He stole my money.”

“Yes,” Lucilla said.

“Did they get it back?” Silvie asked disconsolately.

“Of course not,” Lucilla answered. “But don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you. Not that I give a rat’s ass one way or the other, but Regeane would want me to.”

“I’ll need it,” Silvie said. “I’m pregnant.”

Regeane elected not to present herself at what could only have been a council of war.

Charles arrived. He was accompanied by his horsemen companions, the
scarae
. Today Arbeo was among them, bursting with pride.

The king met Maeniel, would not let him bow or kneel, and clasped his hand. Charles said to Arbeo, “He spoke well of you; that’s why you’re here today.”

“Thank you, sir,” Arbeo stammered.

“How is Otho?” the king asked.

“Doing better. A lady of my household, Matrona, is caring for him. She is a skilled physician. Otho could not be in better hands.”

When it came to sickroom visits, Charles left his escorts outside. Matrona was relaxing in the same camp chair she’d been in the day before. Though she wouldn’t have admitted it, she’d dressed for the king in an impossibly beautiful dalmatic patterned like two bird wings overlapping, with full sleeves, and under it a severe long-sleeved shift of white silk. Her jewelry, a choker with a hundred golden chains dangling from it. When Charles entered, she rose and went to one knee, bowing her head.

The silk clung to every voluptuous curve of her body.

Charles was impressed and indicated for her to rise, which she did with an almost inhuman grace.

Otho, lying in bed, was smiling a wicked smile.

“I must thank you for giving my friend such excellent care that he is now recovering from his injuries.”

“I find it pleasurable to exercise my skills for such a good cause. I will, with your permission, now withdraw and allow you to speak privately with your servant.”

He nodded, getting a good eyeful as the patterned silk drifted against her body as she glided away.

She entered the next room where Regeane and the Saxon were standing. The soft murmur of voices drifted through the canvas wall.

The Saxon said nothing because, though he could hear only a muttering sound, Regeane and Matrona were obviously listening. Once or twice their eyes met. Matrona nodded and then so did Regeane. After a time, even the Saxon could hear Otho weep and the king comfort him.

“Genuine tears,” Matrona whispered. “He loves the king.”

Regeane’s eyes filled. “Matrona,” Regeane asked, “what was that thing?” She placed her hand on the Saxon’s shoulder. “We fought it at the monastery, but before, I met it near Rome at a tomb. I fought it then. It tried to take me or Silvie. I think it wanted me most, but I think it would have taken Silvie if it could have gotten her. But she ran. I told her to run. Then I fought it. In the end, after nearly paralyzing me with horror, it fled. That was why Silvie believed me a witch and testified at my trial. She told the truth, but no one thanked her for it, least of all Gundabald and Hugo.”

“Silvie told the truth as she saw it,” Matrona said. “Remember that. Silvie’s mind is limited, at best, and she was never able to comprehend what she encountered in either it or—” She paused and raised a finger.“ —you.”

“Yes.” Regeane nodded thoughtfully.

Maeniel entered just then. “My lady.” He extended a hand to Regeane. “Come be presented to your kinsman, the king.”

Regeane was dressed for the occasion also, but not as

Matrona was. Magnificently, but with a Byzantine stiffness that concealed as much as it beautified. Shift, fine Egyptian linen; long-sleeved overgown of silk shot with gold thread; and over that a dalmatic of stiff gold brocade. The ensemble was finished with a white lace veil that covered a stiff gold wimple, starched and held in place, covering her hair, by long gold pins.

Maeniel led her forth proudly.

The Saxon turned to Matrona. “She might as well be a nun.”

He’d seen some in Lombardy. They wore long blue or black dresses with white headcloths. Someone told him they were the Christian God’s women, but if they were, the god never seemed interested in them, since they had no children. Another Christian among the slaves said that was as it should be. He’d answered somewhat nastily, asking of what use is a woman if you do not get her with child? But the other slave was apparently not that convinced a Christian, since he had answered, “Don’t know. It puzzles me, too.”

It hadn’t been a long conversation. They were both exhausted, having been condemned to pull a plow that spring. The Saxon had broken the jaw of one of the drivers. He didn’t know what his companion had done, and he never found out because after three days of brutal labor in the hot sun, his companion died.

His owner had considered it a loss and so the Saxon was returned to the work gang. Only this time they never took off the chains.

“That’s the idea. She chose to avoid trouble,” Matrona replied. “The man has an eye for the ladies. A whole procession of women has passed through his bed. Regeane doesn’t want to be among them. It’s a complication we don’t need.”

“Her husband needn’t know.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Matrona replied. “He knows everything. He’d know exactly what happened the moment he drew near her. How long, how often, who the man was, and whether it was voluntary or involuntary on her part. Don’t ever
think
to hide anything from him. Desire, even thwarted desire, is as plain as Charlemagne’s dragon standard to any of us.”

“Then he knows that I am in love with her,” the Saxon said.

“Yes,” Matrona answered, “and so do I. But so long as she doesn’t respond to you, he won’t care. As far as the king is concerned, we plan a diversion. Otho told the king I was accessible.”

The Saxon’s eyebrows rose.

“I would like that,” Matrona said, with an evil smile, “and so would the king.”

“Where did you get—” The Saxon pointed to the necklace.

“From a man called Priam at a place called Troy.”

The Saxon shook his head. “Never heard of the city or the man,” he said.

Regeane returned to the privacy of the bedroom, and Maeniel and Charles went to see Antonius’s model. All the young men crowded around, very interested, though both Maeniel and Antonius had some doubt as to how well they comprehended its meaning. They jostled each other, showing off for the young king. At least they were trying to say intelligent things about it.

“This is meant to be Geneva, where we are camped.” Antonius pointed to a piece of blue cloth at the edge of the table. From here he traced with his finger one of the routes Charles would take over the mountains.

“See,” Charles said to the youngsters of the
scarae
. “I won’t say it’s easy, but it won’t be impossible either. Not with such friends as these.”

He indicated Maeniel and Antonius with a sweep of his arm. The youngsters cheered. Antonius smiled urbanely, as if the whole thing were a quiet walk through a garden.

There were shouts and screams as a fight broke out in one of the mobile taverns outside.

“How did you manage to end up in this wretched spot?” Charles asked.

“We were conducted here, or at least my wife and friends were, after—not long after—our arrival.”

“Indeed,” Charles said. “No doubt in error.”

Charles turned to the
scarae
. “Friends, I’m sure there are better campsites. Please see to it that my lord Maeniel finds one. But don’t—” He turned to Antonius’s model. “—don’t disturb this.”

“It’s portable,” Antonius said.

Charles nodded. “I think the two of you are going to be no end of help in my endeavors.

“We will talk of this later. Now, boys,” he spoke to the
scarae
. “Help our friends break camp and move.”

The new campsite was much quieter. On the edge of a forest, it was shaded by trees and cool by day. By night it was even more appealing, at least to them.

Barbara and Matrona combined to make a feast: wild boar with sage, apples, wild onions, beans with sausage, and some of last autumn’s salt-smoked ham. Wild greens that Regeane and Silvia collected near a stream, dressed with oil and wine. Breads, a dozen kinds. Matrona was an expert baker, and what she didn’t get around to, Barbara did.

As usual, people got up from the table, stepped out into the night, and vanished. When dinner was over, Regeane, Maeniel, Antonius, Barbara, and the Saxon sat in the tent around the model, discussing it.

Antonius had formed the landslide, showing how it destroyed the road. “Do you think he understood?” Antonius asked Maeniel.

Maeniel appeared distracted. “Someone is coming,” he said. Of all of them, his senses were the most acute.

The Saxon took the candelabra and lit four more candles. Nobody wanted their eyes to do any shining.

“I think,” Maeniel said, “the king and possibly three others.”

Regeane rose. She’d been seen in cloth of gold, and that was the only way she wanted Charles to see her. But he was in the tent before she could withdraw. His eyes raked over the company.

“I see you are not so formal with your intimates.” He smiled at Regeane.

She was wearing only a long-sleeved linen shift covered by a brown gown embroidered with gold at the neck and hem. She’d put aside her veil and mantle. “With your permission.” She curtseyed and eased toward the door.

“Tell me,” Charles asked, “would you leave if I were not here?”

“No.”

“An honest girl,” the king said.