The Wolf King (30 page)

Chiara was standing near the throne, just to one side, next to her father and Hugo. Maeniel’s eyes rested on her for what was to her a truly frightening moment, but he gave no sign of recognition. Well, the church was dimly lit and perhaps he hadn’t got a good look.
Don’t be an idiot
, she told herself.
He knows who you are, but he also knows better than to make a fuss, here of all places
. She gave a sigh of relief.

The bear was present. He was riding Gimp; Hugo and the bear were on the outs at the moment. They’d wound up throwing things at each other after the bear visited Chiara. The commotion roused the palace guard and Hugo was almost ejected forthwith. Chiara again intervened and persuaded the bear to leave. He found the tavern where Gimp was getting sozzled and, in a serious snit, took up residence with his more amiable disciple. Gimp was a more comfortable residence than Hugo at present, since he was a quiet drunk. After a certain amount of any intoxicating beverage was consumed, he went to sleep; he was, in fact, dozing at present. The bear had taken over more of his body functions than he did with any of his other hosts, even down to telling Gimp when to scratch, piss, and shit. Gimp didn’t mind. He was happy. He was drunk most of the time now, and he had more than enough to eat. His guest could never get him very clean, and he hadn’t even the intelligence and skill to dig up the occasional coin hoards the bear showed Hugo. Though he was not particularly useful to the bear, he was at least restful and cooperative—more, much more, than could be said of Hugo.

There was one thing the bear didn’t realize. His possession of Gimp showed on Gimp’s face. Chiara was uneasily aware of his presence and so was Maeniel when he got a good look at Gimp.

The bear, studying Maeniel kneeling in the dust, couldn’t forgo the pleasure of gloating. “You should have listened to me in the first place,” the bear told Maeniel. “You know what they’re going to do to you, don’t you—well, don’t you?” he asked gleefully.

Maeniel looked up at Desiderius, Gimp, and Chiara.

“They’re going to burn you, burn you alive!”

Chiara gave a gasp of horror. Then, equally horrified by her reaction, she clapped her hand over her mouth.

The bear roared, laughing. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

In the crowd, Regeane, standing next to Remingus, heard him also. “That evil thing is here,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Remingus answered quietly. “Be careful. I do not think he has yet sensed your presence. I saw him from afar the night we met. He summoned me from silence and darkness, back, back from peace, from the waters of Lethe where I could drift and dream the dreams of joy and sorrow abandoned by the living on those misty shores. Back to the searing light of being and belonging, love, hate, and pain. I came to you. I live.”

Regeane shuddered as she felt his hand on her arm. Then she froze, because the king was speaking.

“This man,” he said, and pointed at the kneeling Maeniel, “is an enemy of our people and a servant of the Frankish king Charles. He has openly admitted his guilt. I think there is not more to say before—”

“May I speak?” Maeniel asked.

“No,” Desiderius answered. “Silence him,” he ordered the captain of the guard, who then smacked Maeniel on the side of the head with his mace.

The blow made Maeniel’s ears ring and opened a gash on his cheekbone; blood ran scarlet down his face.

Regeane cried out. In fact, quite a few women in the crowd shouted or spoke, “No. For shame. He is bound.”

The king glared at them over the heads of his mercenaries. “Be silent,” he roared. “I’ll flog the next who creates a disturbance and hang any who think to join in the disorder. I will have no riots in this, my royal city. As for this—” Desiderious rose and pointed to Maeniel. “—take this offal out and hang him, then burn his corpse so he will not walk the night, vile sorcerer that he is.”

The roar that rose from the mob frightened even Maeniel.

Desiderius quailed back.

The mercenaries suddenly decided they would much rather not have their backs to the citizens they’d been pushing around so cavalierly, and they rushed up the palace steps and turned toward the crowd in the square, spears and crossbows at the ready.

Maeniel was on his feet, but the captain was an iron man and he held Maeniel where he was at spearpoint—the small change being that he was now facing his prisoner instead of behind him.

Regeane for the first time understood the temper of the townspeople. She knew, as did Maeniel, that they were ready to rush the guards and kill everyone they could get their hands on, and even the thickheaded Desiderius saw he’d gone too far. From Maeniel’s side, someone spoke to the king.

“Majesty, I believe it is our custom to allow the accused an opportunity to defend himself before sentence is pronounced.”

She recognized the voice as Robert’s.

“Y-yes,” Desiderius stammered, then pointed to Maeniel. “Speak… speak.”

“I have little to say,” Maeniel said. “Yes, I am Charles’s man. Yes, I came to spy out your defenses, but I was captured before I could accomplish my mission and so was unable to do any harm to you, the city, or its people. I believe my actions were honorable. I never made a pretense of being your friend, and I believe it is your custom to allow a captured prisoner to ransom himself.”

A distraction was what Desiderius needed, and this was a good one. “What are you offering?” he asked bluntly.

“For you, two pounds of gold.”

“That is a large sum.”

Maeniel could see the wheels turning. “And further, one half pound for the bishop. Ten gold pieces for each of the gentlemen of your court and one for every family head in your city.”

This was a truly staggering sum, but Regeane had seen Maeniel’s coffers, and she didn’t doubt that he could pay that and more. His duchy was awash in prosperity, and his people were not such as to desire much in the way of possessions. For a moment, the ill humor of the people departed. The courtiers murmured among themselves and even the mercenaries did some mental arithmetic, as some were in arrears as to their wages. For a short time, everyone was immersed in the pleasant task of spending imaginary money.

But Hugo proved a spoilsport. “What?” he screeched. “What? Are you going to let him go? And on what? His word alone? Who? Who, I ask you? Who will be his surety?”

“Hugo,” Maeniel shot back. “Hugo, many things have been said of me, both good and evil, but none have ever been so base as to question my honesty. What I promise, I will perform. I kept faith even with you and that vile father of yours.”

“You killed him.” Hugo was almost frothing at the mouth. “I saw you kill him.”

“So you were there? Well, if you were watching, then you know he tried to murder my wife, Regeane. Regeane, who begged mercy for you both. Enough.” The chains on Maeniel’s wrists and ankles clattered. “Oh, you’re lucky, you piece of dung, that I am fettered. Any man who calls himself a man would defend the woman joined to him by law and love.”

The answering shout from the crowd was deafening.

“They know what happened by the river,” Regeane whispered.

“Did you think they didn’t?” Remingus asked.

Desiderius looked frustrated. Hugo stepped forward. He looked both frustrated and infuriated. He shouted at the king, “What? Will you let this sorcerer, this stinking murderer, buy his liberty with nothing more than promises?”

“Yes.” Desiderius frowned. “There is the matter of sureties. What manner of guarantee will you give me that you will keep your word?”

Regeane stepped forward, pushing back her veil as she did so. “Your majesty,” she spoke in a loud, clear voice that carried to the edges of the crowd. “I will undertake to be surety for my lord and husband.”

Chains or not, Maeniel spun around. “Regeane? You? Here? How?”

The color drained from his face. He reached out one hand, chained at the wrist, toward her. Regeane took the outstretched hand and stepped up beside him.

“I will be my lord’s security,” she repeated. “He does not lie. I know this well. He will pay the ransom down to the last copper, but set him free and I will remain—prisoner or your guest, the choice is yours—until he returns with payment.”

“No,” Maeniel said.

“Yes,” Regeane said, and looked directly into his eyes. “Yes, I will. You need have no fear he will default.” She pressed his hand. “My love,” she whispered. “Don’t deny me this opportunity to save you.”

In spite of the crowd and the courtiers peering down from the porch at them, the two seemed alone together. He stretched out his other hand and rested it against her cheek. Then, gently, kissed her on the lips.

“So fair a victor, how can I help but be conquered. It will be as you wish, my love,” he said.

Women in the crowd were weeping; Chiara was weeping, tears pouring down her face.

The bishop studied them both, then said to Desiderius, “Better it is to settle quarrels with money than blood. Release him.”

“Very well,” the king said.

He was cheered. He looked uncomfortable. Desiderius wasn’t used to being popular. Maeniel said the same thing to Regeane when he whispered to her, “The king is not used to the affection of his people.”

“Don’t worry,” she replied in an even softer voice. “He won’t have it long.”

Maeniel pulled her closer to his side, then looked up at the sky. It was noon or only a little later. The sun beat down on the crowd. Only the porch, where the king had his mercenaries, courtiers, and other notables, was in shade. Not a breath of air was stirring.

“Do you feel it?” she whispered to Maeniel.

“Yes—since this morning. Even in that horrible hole they call the bottle. Even before dawn I knew.”

“Very well,” Desiderius said, and clapped his hands. “This business is settled.” He gave Maeniel an oblique glance. “And settled, I hope, to the satisfaction of all.”

Regeane felt Maeniel’s hand tighten on hers.

He’s lying,
she thought.
Maeniel knows it; I know it; he doesn’t mean to keep his bargain
.

“He’s lying,” the bear’s voice spoke from his residence in Gimp. “He doesn’t mean to let you go.” Both Regeane and Maeniel heard the bear’s words, as did Chiara and Hugo. “I’ll wager,” the bear continued, “that you will both be dead by nightfall.”

“Yes,” Maeniel answered bleakly. “I wouldn’t take that bet. You might not ever be able to collect, but you’d win.”

“I want one of you. I have the power. This enraged mob is like a fountain of life to me. Chose. Let me have one of you. Give me the woman-wolf, Maeniel, and I will get you out of the city into the forest. Or, if you like, yield yourself to me, and I will get her safely away. Otherwise you will both perish.”

Maeniel pulled Regeane even closer. She felt the comforting warmth and strength of his body against hers, but they never got a chance to answer. Robert spoke up.

“Our business is not concluded,” he said loudly.

Desiderius was turning to leave. “I will hear no more cases today,” he snapped irritably.

“Oh, yes, you will,” Robert roared. “You will hear this one.”

Robert stood among the crowd of men within the larger throng. These were the ones Regeane had noticed earlier who drank no spirits and were somewhat more heavily clothed and didn’t seem to feel the heat as much as others.

The bishop’s eyes scanned them. He was still seated. “My lord,” he said to Desiderius. “My lord, I think the matter is urgent and you should hear this one.”

Something like the snarl of a giant animal rose from the mob.

The king paused.

His courtiers, even the mercenaries of his guard, looked frightened.

Robert’s eyes were red from the long vigil in the church, and his face was ravaged by grief. To Regeane, he looked twenty years older than the boy Regeane had seen descending the stairs at his mother’s house, alarm in his face. In time, Regeane knew, he would come to terms with his grief, but he would never be so young again.

There was a commotion at the edges of the square, and she saw some of Robert’s friends escorting the five soldiers through the throng. The men had been disarmed, but otherwise, they seemed unharmed. The three older mercenaries were clearly frightened, but they had seen far too much violence to be completely intimidated by what they likely considered a few peasants. The two younger ones, not as hardened as the three older soldiers, looked terrified. The bodies of the ford keeper and his family, shrouded as they had been last night, were carried along behind them. She saw that one of the men accompanying the prisoners was Beningus, the law speaker.

A cloud covered the sun and a gentle breeze ruffled everyone’s clothing. The smell of rain was strong on the wind. Down the alleyways between the warehouses, Regeane saw the sky darkening like a bruise all along the horizon. A storm, a big one, was coming from the mountains in the north.

The five corpses were rested, each on their biers, before the king.

“These are?” Desiderius asked arrogantly.

Robert spoke their names beginning with the two men and then the boy and ending with the two women. “None died a natural death,” he said. “Their wounds attest they were killed by steel.”

Then the shrouds were removed and the wounds on each body revealed. Each body had a waxen yellow-white pallor, and the air was filled with the odor of spilled blood.

“I will agree,” Desiderius said, his face tight with disgust, “they are, indeed, dead and they died as you have said. But what has this to do with me? Or—” He pointed toward the knot at one side near the throne. “—with the guardians of my person and my peace?”

“They are the killers,” Robert said bluntly, and pointed to them.

“And have you some proof of this monstrous accusation?”

“Yes. The tavern keeper saw them leave early yesterday morning and return later with injuries. And when we searched their possessions, we found a ring belonging to my affianced wife; a pendant belonging to her mother, Itta; and two knives we recognized as belonging to the men of the household. Moreover,” he said, and pointed to the oldest of the mercenaries, “the tavern keeper states this man’s face was unmarked when he set out—as he said—to hunt, and the youngster had no wound on his arm. But when they returned, they were injured as you see.”