The Wolf King (38 page)

“No,” Dulcinia said. She found she was whispering. “No, both your mother and Lucilla may need the services of a woman when we catch up to them.”

Ludolf nodded absently. He was peering through the tangle of vines at the other side of the river. “How many do you think?” he asked one of the older men with him.

“Not many, but we are few and it wouldn’t take a lot to block the trail.”

Just then the blacksmith arrived, riding in quickly and taking cover with the rest. They held a council of war, heads together, behind the thick, stunted oaks and vines.

“How many?” the smith asked.

“Only a few,” Ludolf answered, “but two would be enough.”

Looking across the river, Dulcinia could see why. It was wide but shallow here; on the opposite bank a steep track ran up to a ridge. If they tried to rush the archers’ position behind the ridge, the archers could slaughter them while they crossed the river, and they could be targeted on the slope to the top of the ridge.

“They mean to slow us down,” Ludolf said. “They will probably leave, slip away at nightfall.”

“No,” the smith whispered, “that was my wife they killed. About a half mile farther on there’s another ford. My sons and I can go on foot. We will come up behind them. Seem to make a sortie, my lord, let them drive you back. In an hour I and my sons will bring you their heads.”

Ludolf turned to Dulcinia. “Stay here. Stay down.”

Ludolf and his men got together and ran down the riverbank into the water. Arrows arched over the ridge on the opposite side. This time they were not crossbow bolts. The sortie party fled back to cover.

Dulcinia could hear some of the men chuckling, those who still had breath. The rest were huffing and puffing. Ludolf was laughing.

“We could force it, my lord,” one of the men said.

“Yes,” Ludolf answered. “They’d run and we wouldn’t know where they were going. This way is better. He will take them alive.”

“What do you mean?” Dulcinia whispered.

“We will find out where they’re going,” Ludolf told her.

“Suppose they won’t tell?” she asked.

Ludolf and the men around him really did laugh at that. And after a few moments, Dulcinia could see why.

Stella and Lucilla reached the monastery at dusk. Adalgisus and Eberhardt virtually pulled them from their mounts and drove the women ahead of them into the cloister. The monks were at dinner at the refectory table in the hall. The monks rose to their feet, amazed to see two women enter the dining room. The prior rose to his feet and protested.

“My lords!”

Adalgisus drew his sword. “Where is my lord abbot? Send him here at once.”

“He is dining in private with some friends,” the prior replied.

“Take me to him. Eberhardt, you remain here. Watch the women.”

“I don’t know where we’d go,” Stella stammered, and threw back her veil.

Every man in the room stared at her, astonished.

“Oh, lord,” Lucilla whispered and drew her own veil more tightly over her face.

Stella was still beautiful. Even weary, wind burned, and disheveled, she might have been a peacock prancing amidst a flock of crows. She was a small blonde with fair skin, blue eyes, and shapely features. Lucilla was sure none of the men in this room had ever seen anything like her before. Lucilla put Stella’s veil up, brushed back her hair, and wrapped her mantle more tightly around her shoulders.

“Please,” Lucilla asked Eberhardt. “Find us somewhere we can…” She was about to say
stay out of sight
, but changed it to “rest and refresh ourselves.”

He also looked nervous. “As soon as I can,” he said.

“I’m sore,” Stella said, sounding like a child. “And so weary I can barely stand.”

Lucilla took Stella in her arms. “Hush, Stella. Everything will be fine.”

“Oh, what a dear liar you are,” Stella said. “But no, nothing will be fine. Still, I would like to lie down, if I might.”

Adalgisus returned. He was with a man, obviously a soldier, big, hard-eyed, and wearing a tunic and sword. He began laughing when he saw the two women.

“Presents for me?” he asked. “What about it, ladies? Eh?”

Stella shrank away from him.

He shrugged. “Ansgar’s wife. Why the hell bring
her
here?”

“I wanted to be sure he didn’t follow,” Adalgisus said.

“He probably will, but I’ll handle him.” He spoke to the prior. “Take the ladies to the guest house. See they get something to eat and some wine. Come,” he told Adalgisus and Eberhardt. “The pig is so near done it’s falling off the spit.”

He turned to the monks sitting at the table still gaping at the women. “A round of extra wine for everyone in honor of the king’s son.” Then he went off with Eberhardt and Adalgisus, arm in arm.

The prior, an elderly man with a fixed expression of disapproval, led them to the guest house.

“Who was that one?” Lucilla asked.

“Dagobert, one of my husband’s friends. I suppose he’s harmless,” Stella whispered. “But he’s so big and loud.”

The monastery formed a square, church on one side, the monks’ quarters across a garden on the other. The front and back were protected by high walls on the inside; the guest house ran the length of one wall, the stables the other.

The room they were shown into might as well have been in the stables. On second thought Lucilla decided it might have been warmer in the stables. At least there would have been hay to lie in. In the guest house, two icy stone platforms served as beds and a small hearth in one corner was intended to warm the room. Or would have if a fire had been present, but since the hearth was dark and cold, the only thing it was doing was creating a draft as the cold mountain air blew through the smoke hole in the roof.

“You can rest here,” the prior told them, then turned to go. It was dark now and the only light the lantern in his hand.

“Wait,” Lucilla said. “We need fire, blankets, and food.”

The prior pushed his way past her. Lucilla jumped in front of him again.

“At least leave us some light,” she said as she snatched the lantern out of his hand.

He shoved her aside with his shoulder. “No woman has any right here. I have shown you to shelter; I see no reason to offer you anything else.”

He left, slamming the door behind him.

Stella was weeping quietly. Lucilla still had the lantern in her hand. She set it on the hearth and went in search of wood. She found some near the door, wood and kindling both. And in a few minutes she managed to get a fire going on the hearth. When she saw the fire, Stella dried her tears and came to kneel with Lucilla near the blaze.

“That’s comforting,” she said.

Lucilla blew out the lantern, saying, “The fire will do for light. Stella, I’m very much afraid we won’t get anything to eat tonight. This Dagobert, can he be trusted to take care of you until your husband or son can find you?”

“No,” Stella said shortly. “Like so many of them, the soldiers I mean, he’s a drunk. That’s why the prior is so angry, because he’s here—he and his men drinking up all the wine the monks have laid down for the year. Nominally he’s the abbot, but he never comes here except to stop and empty the cellars. It will be months before the harvest is in and the wine will be gone. Dagobert and his soldiers will sit in the kitchens and eat and drink, especially drink, for the next month. Then the monks will be impoverished. It’s not our fault, but the prior doesn’t know that, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t care.”

“Desiderius lets his soldiers do as they please?” Lucilla asked.

“Oh, yes,” Stella answered. “Exactly as they please.”

Lucilla concentrated on feeding the fire. The room grew warmer. “There’s not even a lock on the door,” she said. “I think we should sleep near the hearth. It will be more comfortable there.”

She had dressed for the journey and had her heavy mantle. She spread it near the hearth for Stella, who came and lay down close to the fire and made a sort of pillow out of her veil.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered. “I have been such a fool.”

But then her eyes closed and it seemed she slept, leaving Lucilla awake and worried.

Lucilla spent some time trying to find a way to lock the door. She finally had to settle for wedging it shut with a piece of kindling. From time to time she could hear the sounds of revelry coming from near the monastery kitchen. Once it sounded as if a woman screamed. Women? Here? Yes, but then Dagobert and his men wouldn’t be traveling without women. Soldiers almost never did. And they wouldn’t be worried about sparing the prior’s feelings. She suspected the opinions of those whose lives were devoted to work and prayer meant less than nothing to Dagobert and his followers. So she tried to sleep but the floor was cold, not to mention hard, and Stella was hogging most of the woolen mantle, and in addition she’d picked the spot closest to the fire, leaving Lucilla to the cold and dark. But, finally, Lucilla fell into a light doze, so she was the one who was first awakened by the sound of someone trying to open the door.

It was late, the sun touching the hills beyond the river, when the smith and his sons came across with their prisoner. There was only one. There had been four archers on the other bank, but the other three were dead.

As Ludolf promised, eventually he talked. But even Dulcinia was surprised that it took him so long. She didn’t watch the questioning but she heard enough to know pretty much what was being done. The blacksmith and his sons took an active role in the interrogation, but then Avernia had been their mother and they might be excused for being a bit too enthusiastic in their inquiries.

When the prisoner did break, he talked about everything. But even he didn’t know where Adalgisus had hidden Gerberga. They gave the man enough grief to be sure he was telling the truth about not knowing where Gerberga and her two sons were hidden, and then Ludolf drove his sword through the mercenary’s heart.

By then it was dark. Dulcinia drew close to Ludolf again while some of his men finished stripping the archer’s corpse and carried the body away to dump it in a ravine.

There was also a lot of grumbling among Ludolf’s followers because the smith and his sons had despoiled the corpses of the other three mercenaries and kept the loot for themselves. Ludolf simply said they did the work and should take the pay.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said to her.

“I didn’t see most of it.”

He nodded. “I don’t think any woman wants to see her man at war, but Stella is my mother. I won’t allow her to be abused. Not without recompense. How could I ask to hold my lands if I didn’t defend her honor? Are you still willing to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“I can see how this nonsense might make me a great lord.”

“Hsssst,” Dulcinia whispered. “Don’t let yourself be overheard.”

“No, we’re alone now, but if King Desiderius loses to Charles, there is a great deal of empty land between my father’s domain and Rufus’s. We could split that land between ourselves. Rufus and my father, I mean. And pledge our allegiance to the pope and the Frankish king. One city and at best a dozen towns once stood there. And they can rise again and make the overlords wealthy.”

Dulcinia took his hand. “But then you won’t want a singing girl for a wife.”

He brought Dulcinia’s hand to his lips. “Oh, yes, I will. Stella is a good mother to me and a good wife to my father, whatever men may say of her. Yes, I’ve heard the stories. But I don’t care. Besides, you come dowered with Lucilla’s trust and Hadrian’s favor.”

“Yes, Hadrian does like me, and may even contribute to my marriage portion. I believe he would. Especially if you manage to rescue Lucilla and find the runaway Frankish queen. I think he would look with pleasure on your desire to clear the land of brigands and bring it under cultivation. In fact, I think he would be delighted with such an offer.”

“Mount up. I will have to deliver on a number of things. We will attack when we reach the monastery tonight. I know the place well. One Dagobert will be there with his men. If my mother is well, I will be merciful. If not…”

Dulcinia watched as the same look moved over his face that she had seen when he watched the blacksmith and his sons bring the prisoner up from the river. He hadn’t enjoyed what he’d done, but that hadn’t stopped him for one very small second. She’d seen the same expression on Lucilla’s face and just as often on Pope Hadrian’s. They did what they had to do. And if they lost sleep over it, she’d never seen any indication of the fact. Yes, she did still want him. More, far more, than any other man she’d ever known or seen. And if, one day, those eyes rested on her with that same cold resolve, well, she would have to abide the outcome.

Lucilla woke fully, cold and frightened. She knew she must have slept for some time, no matter how stiff she felt, because Stella had turned toward her and her head was resting on Lucilla’s outstretched arm. The fire had burned down and was only a few blue and yellow flames dancing over the blackened coals on the hearth. The room was almost pitch-dark.

The scratching sound came again. Lucilla closed her eyes and willed herself to ignore it. Something pushed against the door. Lucilla saw the planks shift. Her arms tightened around Stella. This was what she’d been afraid of. One or more of the drunken ruffians from the church had come tomcatting around in what she was sure must be the early hours of the morning.

She cursed the prior and Dagobert for a pair of filthy turds. Why hadn’t they given her and Stella any more secure quarters? Or seen fit to set some kind of watch over the guest house? She looked away from the door toward Stella. She was lying there, eyes wide open, looking absolutely terrified.

“Whatever happens, Stella, don’t put up a fight,” Lucilla whispered. “You’re too small; those men are too strong. Please, please promise me.”

Stella nodded.

Someone knocked softly.

“They’re probably very drunk. Maybe they’ll go away.”

“Stop whispering together and open the door. You whores have customers. Open up and accommodate us. Otherwise, we’ll have to rouse the whole house.”

Lucilla scrambled to her feet.