The Wolf King (51 page)

A few hours later they went to see Charles. He was with Bernard and several entrusted with the procurement of supplies when they entered. He dismissed them all except Bernard when Maeniel and the rest entered.

“These,” Maeniel said, “are the men who have been attacking our supply wagons.” He indicated Robert and Nivardd.

Charles nodded. “So, the obvious question is, Why are they not in chains, not hung, and not dead?”

“With your permission, my lord,” Maeniel said. “I would like Antonius to address that question.”

“Indeed,” Charles said. “His majesty is honored. Antonius is always fulsome in his eulogies of my words and deeds. So must the orators, who once addressed the ancient Roman senate, have sounded when they heaped praise on the world conquerors. You make me feel like I am already dead, Antonius.”

“Heaven forfend, your majesty,” Antonius said. “Say rather that I err in extending my weak art in honor of one whose deeds are of such magnificence that they render all ordinary praise superfluous.”

Bernard burst into a roar of laughter. “Nephew, you can’t win. He always bests you.”

Charles smiled. “What is it this time, Antonius?”

“My lord, I believe you have in all but name conquered the Lombard kingdom. We will arrive at Pavia tomorrow and, while Desiderius will hope to stand a siege, he will offer no other resistance.”

Charles nodded.

“Desiderius is clever. He hopes that starvation will hound your troops as well as his city,” Antonius continued.

“Yes, that’s why we were having the present meeting. We are troubled about the matter of supplies.”

“Once,” Antonius said, “there was another great man who led an army against Italia. His name was Hannibal of Carthage, a commander of note.”

“The career of the great Carthaginian has not escaped my notice,” Charles broke in. “Get to the point.”

“The point is he won every battle he fought but the last,” Antonius said.

“The only one that is absolutely necessary that any commander win,” Bernard said.

“Just so,” Antonius said. “And do you know why he lost?”

“I’ll bite,” Charles said. “Why?”

“Because the brilliant Carthaginian was as noted for his cruelty as his military prowess,” Antonius said. “In the end the cities of Italia feared him like death and they turned to the devil they knew, Rome, rather than face the devil they did not know.”

Charles nodded.

“My lord Maeniel brings these two brave men to you. Not because they fear you, but because the king in Pavia betrayed them both in an important way.”

“I know,” Charles said. “He hanged his bishop Ebroin. I thought this action might lessen his popularity. Ebroin was related to half the Lombard nobility.”

“Was my mother killed?” Robert broke in.

“No,” Charles said. “And don’t look so surprised, Maeniel. I have independent sources of information in Pavia.” He turned to Robert. “Your mother escaped the attentions of Desiderius’s executioner. I don’t know where she went, but she’s not there.

“Nivardd, do you truly wish to enter my service?”

“Yes, but not alone. I would like to bring Robert with me.”

Charles turned to his uncle Bernard.

“I can use both of them,” Bernard said. “Most of the aristocratic whelps you send me are as ignorant as the average clod of dirt kicked up by a plow. I can use two experienced men who can read and write and are not ignorant of military matters. The great landowners will listen to Nivardd and…” Bernard hesitated. He wasn’t a man to put things delicately. Robert was not noble.

“Yes,” Nivardd said. “But there are those who will listen to Robert, to whom you and I would be only a pair of lazy nobles trying to feather our own nests.”

Bernard gave a grunt of approval.

“Then it’s settled,” Charles said. “They will both join the
scarae.”

“Come on,” Bernard said as he rose. “We will find you a place to stay and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the boys.”

“Maeniel, I wish to see you,” Charles said.

He waited until the others left and only Antonius and Maeniel were present. Charles opened his writing case and handed a small piece of paper to Maeniel. Maeniel walked to the door of the king’s tent and looked at in the light. The paper had been both ruled and creased.

Gerberga, your late brother’s wife, is in Verona. Regeane has gone there.

“Is that Hadrian’s hand?” Charles asked.

“It is,” Antonius answered. “The pigeons.”

“Yes,” Charles said. “They were bred in Geneva. I took the precaution of having two dozen shipped to the pope. A special courier brought me this only this morning.”

“Will you need me for anything else?” Maeniel asked.

“No.”

“I’ll be leaving for Verona then, before dark,” Maeniel said. “Speak to Matrona or, if she isn’t present, Antonius.”

Maeniel hurried away.

“He didn’t ask leave to quit my presence,” Charles noted.

“Would it help if I begged your pardon?” Antonius asked.

“No,” Charles said. “It wouldn’t help at all.” on a stone block looking at Armine lying on his face

beside an archway in the tangled green, and the bear in Chiara’s arms. He was inhabiting Hugo.

The dead, the ones they had killed, were scattered around them.

“What happened?” Chiara asked. “Where did we go?”

“I think,” the bear said, “I just received a lesson in my own inconsequence.”

“I don’t think so,” Regeane said. “No, I don’t think so at all. But I’m—give me something to wear.”

Lucilla dreamed and in the dream a faceless woman was offering her a cool cup of fresh water. The taste was the sweetest she’d ever enjoyed. When she woke the rain was pouring from the border of the recessed grating into her mouth. Lucilla stood under the grating, mouth open, arms wide in welcome until she had drunk her fill, then she was able to capture more in the jug that once held the drugged wine and in every other container she could improvise from the shards that she’d uncovered in her days of digging.

At dawn the rain ceased, blown away as the weather front that brought the rain passed. Then, stacking her precious containers of water away from the grating, back where during the day it would be dark, she lay down on her bed of grass and drifted into a natural sleep.

When she woke it was afternoon. She lay quietly, eyes closed for a time, thinking. She had hope now and hope can be as cruel a thing as torture if it goes unfulfilled. She struggled with herself not to be too optimistic, knowing that if the bishop and his minions found out she had survived this long, they would certainly send someone to kill her. At length she sat up and checked her water containers. There were four of them. The wooden cup, a broken bowl, a concave shard that had been part of something much larger, and the clay flask that had held the drugged wine.

In the far edge of the cell, a dip held a fairly large puddle. She crawled over and drank from that first. Then she tied her hair up with a strip torn from the hem of the woolen gown, picked up her tools, crawled back in the corner, and began to dig.

When it grew too dark to make any further progress, she crawled back, drank from the puddle again, cut another notch in the tally stick, lay down, and drifted off to sleep.

In the morning the puddle was dry, so she drank from the broken bowl and then from the big shard. Otherwise this day passed the same way, except that it was a little colder. She was able to work longer. By now the blisters on her hands had broken and were oozing blood. She drank it, unwilling to let any source of liquid or nourishment be wasted.

On the eighth day all the water except that contained in the wine jug was gone. She drank sparingly from that because she was beginning to feel real hope. She was digging through clean soil now, and it was damp, soft, and friable. She encountered roots for the first time. And she was sure she was close to the surface of the hillside.

That night Adalgisus came.

The moon was out and full when she heard him whispering just outside the grating.

“Lucilla! Lucilla, are you alive? The man I bribed said you’d be dead and stinking but I don’t smell anything.”

At first Lucilla thought her mind was playing tricks on her, since she had just awakened from sleep. But then the fourth or fifth time he called her name, she knew he was there,

“Lucilla, please, if you’re alive, answer me.”

He sounded his usual whiny self, and such a wave of sheer fury surged through her that her whole body trembled with an absolute need to kill him where he stood. And then the more cautious part of her mind whispered,
Girl, don’t be a fool, as this may be your only chance
. The rage vanished below consciousness as she searched her mind for directions on how to play this one.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“God, yes, you are alive. I knew you wouldn’t give up so easily as they said.”

Again the rage shattered her calm and fury turned the darkness behind her lids red. “I am, but just barely,” she answered. “Get me some food, some water. If it hadn’t rained two nights ago, I would be dead.”

He pressed something down through the grating. Wine in an earthenware jug, a napkin with a few loaves of bread, some cheese and—blessing of blessings—a hard sausage. She knelt, drinking the wine and tearing the hard loaves with her teeth.

“Lucilla, you have to help me.”

For a second Lucilla almost laughed. God, he was a child. Her—help him?

Better find out,
her cooler self said. “Why?” she asked between mouthfuls of bread.

“Charles has passed the mountains and has besieged my father in Pavia. It is said that the big landowning families are taking Charles’s side and helping supply his army.”

Lucilla sighed. Too late for her, perhaps, but what she and Hadrian had hoped for was happening. She’d won. Small consolation. Now, maybe she could use it as a bargaining tool with Adalgisus.

“Get me out of here,” she said. “I’ll help you make your accommodation with the pope. You might still salvage something.”

He was silent.

“If you let them kill me,” she whispered savagely, “you’re doomed. If you help me, I’ll speak for you. Hadrian will listen to me, and Charles will listen to Hadrian. I promise you. But for the love of God, Adalgisus, please—” She was shocked at the desperation in her own voice. “—please get me out of here.”

For a moment she thought he might be gone, but then when he answered she was equally horrified by the relief she felt: it seemed to shake her whole body.

“I can’t,” he whined. “The man I bribed to tell me where you were wouldn’t give me the keys.”

O Jesus, God, have mercy,
Lucilla thought, and it was not a curse but the only prayer she’d uttered since she’d been shut in this hole. He had the man with the keys to this place of hideous torment under his hand and he’d let him go.

The rage overwhelmed her.

“You pig, you pig with the prick and balls of a mouse! Run, you bastard, run. You—you—king? You aren’t fit to be the ruler of a dung heap. Run, go to Genoa, Venice, you cock-sucking heap of offal. Take ship and live in exile, rotting in exile till the day you die.”

Her voice rose to a shriek. “Till the day you die, you hear me? Till the day you die.”

The sound of her own voice shocked her into silence. And just as well, because she heard the sound of running feet, shouting, and she saw the glow of lights through the grating. She snatched up the food from the floor and scuttled to the back of the cell far from the lights, cowering against the wall next to the pile of dirt she’d dug from the hillside. She remained there until silence returned and all she could see through the grating was the light of distant stars and the only sound was the soft churr of insects in the grass and the wind rustling the leaves of a few trees somewhere far away

And then she wept. For how long she never knew, but eventually she ceased, feeling nothing but a bottomless, endless, hopeless despair. She’d ceased weeping and was resting, limp against the pile of dirt, when she heard the wolf howl.

Syagrius, Gerberga, and Karl were sitting together. They were listening to Audoin, the public executioner. He was speaking of Adalgisus.

“He is gone. And no doubt halfway to Genoa by now, if not all the way. He will probably be in Constantinople by the end of the month.

“You should have heard her curse him—and most appropriate curses they were. So she still has some strength left.”

Syagrius looked horrified. “She is still alive? I can hardly credit it. It’s been eight days. Brother, I would be happier if you had cut her throat while you had her in your custody. Why this charade?”

Gerberga sniffed. “She hasn’t suffered enough. I can imagine her with him, watching me cross the square on my way to mass while they wallowed in their filthy lust. I—I, who offered him a throne. Thus does he use me. Well, Karl has paid him out for it.”

Karl chuckled. “I wonder how much longer she will last. It would be interesting to know.”

“No,” Syagrius said. “Enough. Audoin, take two men and go to the cell. Settle matters now. She should have been garroted when she was brought before you.”

“Don’t take on so,” his brother Karl said. “Everything has worked out perfectly. Gerberga wanted revenge for Adalgisus’s perfidy; you wanted him frightened away so we could have a clear field to make our own bargain with the Frankish king. You both have what you want.”

Gerberga’s mouth twisted. “Do we have to treat with Charles?”

“No, not yet,” Karl said. “We must wait, see how this siege goes. I can’t think of any lord or king powerful enough to keep an army in the field for more than a few months. Even the Great Charles, the Hammer, wasn’t able to keep men under arms for more than half a year. And while his attentions are focused on Pavia, we will be able to strengthen our hand.”

Syagrius felt uncomfortable. The woman should be dead, should have been dead. The same for Adalgisus. But Karl was a little too fond of inflicting pain, and someday his dear brother might outsmart himself. Still, he couldn’t find any flaw in Karl’s reasoning. He bowed to his brother. Karl left with Gerberga on his arm. Well, she was not wasting any time choosing another champion.

He turned to Audoin. “Go and finish her.”

“In the morning—”

“Now! I’ll sleep better when she’s dead.”

“But I blocked the locks.”

“What locks?”

“The padlocks on the chains holding the grating closed. The bishop told me to. He said she might be able to pick locks. The chain will have to be sawn in half.”

Syagrius sighed. “Very well.” He was too tired to argue. “But first thing in the morning. No slipups.”

“No, my lord,” Audoin said. “No slipups.”

The wolf howled three times before Lucilla realized what she was hearing. She crawled toward the grating, stood up, arms extended, hands gripping the bars, and shouted.

“Regeane, Regeane, Regeane.”
God, please, please, let it be her.

There was an answer, a low moaning cry, and a few seconds later something wet touched her hand and a wolf’s head blotted out the stars.

A second later Regeane was crouched over the grating. “I knew you had to be near here. I knew it,” Regeane said.

“Lavinia got to Rome,” Lucilla said. “I didn’t let myself dare hope. I thought she had so little chance to get through. Oh, my God, my God, it’s so good to know I’m not alone. You will never know.”

“Oh, won’t I? Lucilla, these locks have been tampered with. How do I get you out? Tell me quickly. I’m freezing.”

“Here.” Lucilla had been wearing the linen shift. She shoved the woolen gown through the grating up to Regeane.

Regeane wiggled into the gown. “That’s better.”

“I’ll bet it stinks.”

“It does, but it’s warm. Now, how do I get you out?”

“Is this cage on a hill?” Lucilla asked.

“Yes,” Regeane said.

“Good, the cell runs underground a few paces to my right. I began digging there. I think I have almost broken through.”

“Show me. Make noise. I can hear things others can’t.”

Lucilla crawled to the back of the cell and began stabbing at the dirt with her improvised pick.

A second later it gave way without Regeane’s intervention and Lucilla looked up into her friend’s face.

At first the opening was not wide enough for her to pass through, but it was the work of only a few minutes on the part of both women to create an opening large enough to crawl through.

Lucilla took Regeane’s hand and together they stumbled down the hillside to a stream in the valley.

The water was icy, but it seemed to Lucilla that she couldn’t get done scrubbing herself. She crouched in the water naked, using handfuls of stony sand from the stream to scrub her face, arms, armpits, breasts, under the breasts, stomach, buttocks, and groin, and in between, what Regeane saw as trying to sandpaper herself raw. She drank mouthful after mouthful of the sweet, invigorating, cold, clear water.

Last of all, she threw the ragged linen shift into the stream and pounded it with a rock, then kneaded it with her feet until it was more or less clean. She threw the tough garment back on, to dry on her body. Then she threw herself down on the stream bank and drank some more.

“Lucilla.” Regeane shook her. “Ansgar is not far from here. We must get to his camp. I’m sure you can find clean things there.”

Lucilla rose to her feet. “Hell, Regeane—do you know what hell is? It’s a hole in the ground with no food, no water. I’ve been in hell these last eight days. They expected me to die. They wanted me to die. I still can’t believe I’m alive. Every day of the rest of my life I will get up and thank God that I am alive. No matter what else is wrong in the world, I will do that.”

Then, abruptly, sense seemed to return to her mind. “What is the hour? Good God, what are we doing hanging about here? We might be found and captured. Where is Ansgar’s camp? Show me. Stella died, didn’t she? Does he blame me? I did what I could. Are you sure it’s safe to go there?”

“I don’t know what hour it is, but the wolf knows it’s very late. Nothing is stirring. I don’t think we will be found. Yes.” She was helping Lucilla, now suddenly weak, to rise. “Yes, Stella died. No, I don’t think Ansgar blames you. Or rather I should say he blames others more. And yes, it’s safe to go to his camp. Maeniel is there and in the morning the Frankish king will arrive.”

A half hour later they both stumbled into Ansgar’s camp. They created quite a stir because they weren’t expected. Ansgar had been told Regeane had left Rome, but he had no idea of what she could do, or her probable destination. When Maeniel had joined him, the gray wolf knew she was in the immediate vicinity, but since she did not reveal herself to him, he could only guess at her activities.

After she got into camp and got something to wear from Matrona, she found the Saxon. Did Maeniel…

“Obviously not,” the Saxon said. “I am here and in one piece.

“No, my lady, he was not bluffing. I cannot think he ever bluffs. He simply decided not to act on his threats. He knows he cannot make me answerable for your actions. He accepts this now. He made me a magnificent present. Or perhaps I should say he introduced me to a wonderful friend.”

Regeane met the horse, but she didn’t have long to get acquainted with him. Matrona came and told Regeane that Lucilla was calling for her and had become agitated when she did not return quickly enough.

Regeane hurried away to care for her friend.

Matrona stared at Regeane’s back through narrowed eyes.

“What’s wrong?” the Saxon asked.

“I don’t know,” Matrona answered. “But Lucilla is a very self-possessed and, let’s say, hard individual.”