The Wolf King (52 page)

“Hard?” The Saxon’s eyebrows came up.

“Yes, she could outface most men. Such behavior is uncharacteristic of her. Keep an eye on both of them, please.”

The Saxon nodded and followed Regeane.

Lucilla had taken another bath and while Regeane’s clothes wouldn’t have fit her, Matrona’s did, and so Lucilla was respectable-looking when Charles arrived in the camp.

The Frankish king wasn’t a man who was long on ceremony. Ansgar offered him a cup of wine, and he sat down, and they talked for a few moments in the doorway of Ansgar’s tent before the fire about the unseasonably warm spring weather. Ansgar noticed the group of well-armed young men who accompanied Charles were very watchful, but nothing happened except that Ludolf arrived—he had been reconnoitering near the city—and was introduced to Charles. He went gracefully to one knee and bowed. They seemed to relax.

Maeniel and Regeane arrived then, along with more food and wine provided by Matrona. Lucilla and the Saxon followed them. Matrona had lent Lucilla a pale blue gown of silk linen weave, very simple but with long, flowing lines and full sleeves. She wore it over a divided leather riding skirt, and Matrona had insisted she wear a light mail shirt between the gown and her shift.

Lucilla had wrapped her head in a heavy linen veil, but when Charles looked into her eyes, something dreadful seemed to leap out of them at him. Whatever it was, for a moment it took his breath away. They glittered like icicles in the firelight, gray-green, blue, all at the same time. Then she bowed and also bent the knee to him.

He invited her to be seated. She sat.

“Ansgar has told me that you have been to the city and can tell us what to expect there.”

Lucilla nodded and then, in a clear, calm, well-modulated voice, she told him about the layout of the city, its defenses, how many men Syagrius had, where they were quartered, where the horses were stabled and extra weapons stored. Then she went on to draw a picture on a scrap of paper giving the probable location of Syagrius’s and Karl’s houses, the cathedral, Gerberga’s residence, and the layout of the rooms where she and her women slept, as well as the other wing where the two princes were.

Impressed, he assimilated the information. “The Romans fortified the city well. How do we get in?”

Lucilla laughed. Regeane saw her eyes glitter. She turned to Ansgar. “Have they the slightest idea we’re here?”

Ansgar smiled, his smile as cold as the gleam of ice in Lucilla’s eyes. “No.”

“I thought not. In the morning, every morning, they open the gates to let the farmers bring fresh meat, eggs, vegetables into the city. The watch opens them when the carts appear between first light and sunrise. The road is not far away from here. We are hidden by a vineyard and a large grove of olive trees.

“When you hear the creaking of the carts and the shouts of the drivers, the gates will open. Simply, quickly, before the watch can gather their wits, ride past the farm carts and the city is yours.”

“I had been watching them,” Ludolf said. “Her plan is workable, but we must move quickly. By day they will see our encampment and raise an alarm.”

Lucilla took Regeane’s hand and the two women left the tent and the quiet bustle of the encampment behind. They moved silently together through the vineyard. Regeane saw the light was blue now. The vines were just leafing out; the air was as it usually is at first light—very still.

“Are you better now?” she asked.

“Yes, but I need you, Regeane. Promise, don’t leave me. No matter what, don’t leave me.”

“Yes.” Regeane was somewhat mystified by Lucilla’s fear. What was there to be afraid of now? The wolf’s eyes were better than the woman’s, but even to a human the blue of first light was growing pale. It was possible to see the ground mist turning to dew on the thick, ropy vines and settling in droplets on the soft young green leaves, and Regeane’s eyes could pick out the Saxon and Maeniel mounted and standing among the trees in the olive grove when she heard the first of the carts, the wheels rattling along the big cobbles of the ancient Roman road.

Audoin had been uneasy and had slept badly. Syagrius had been unhappy about that Roman woman being alive, so he pulled two of his assistants out of bed early and they were nearing the city gates at first light.

He heard but didn’t see the gates open. He began to hurry. At the gate, he stepped aside to let a cart laden with firewood pass and found himself looking down the road into the misty predawn light when she appeared. The woman from the cell. She rode out of the foggy morning light with some others, another woman and four men, and he had the sense that others were behind them.

Audoin felt every muscle in his body stiffen and the hair on his neck lift in terror. Of all creatures between hell, earth, and heaven, she was the last, the very last, being who should be here. And he found himself praying she would not see him.

She didn’t and rode on, eyes fixed straight ahead. As her horse cantered past him, he realized these people were at the head of a column of armed men that rode two by two into the city. They flashed past him in a thunder of hooves, harness and armor jingling, seeming to fly along. The men of the watch stood and stared, mouths agape, at the procession passing by, until one of them realized he was watching a military disaster happening. But then all he and his fellow guardians did was run, vanishing into the narrow maze of streets near the gate as Charles and Ansgar’s men poured into the city. When he saw the watch disappear, Audoin decided he’d best follow their strategy, and he and his two assistants took to their heels also.

Ansgar, Regeane, and Lucilla drew rein in the square before Syagrius’s residence. A half dozen of the
scarae
were already forcing the doors. They flew open and Ansgar strode up the steps and followed them into the house, Regeane and Lucilla behind him, accompanied by the Saxon.

Lucilla wouldn’t let go of Regeane’s hand. “I need you,” she whispered. “All hell is about to break loose here. Stay close, you will be safer that way.”

The servants and bodyguards of the family didn’t get a chance to make even a token resistance. Most fled, a few threw down their weapons and surrendered. A few moments later Syagrius and Karl were herded from their beds by the king’s men-at-arms and shoved into the center of the hall to face Lucilla and Ansgar.

Regeane could hear terrible screams outside and smell blood, burning wood, and roasting meat. The wolf grabbed at Regeane in panic. She wanted out. Regeane, though frightened, slapped her down. Burned meat was burned meat. Then Regeane guessed what the charring flesh was and she felt hot nausea as her gorge seemed to rise and start to gag her. The stench was drifting in through the tall windows on either side of the palace hall.

Syagrius looked baffled. “Who are you? What do you want? What’s happened? My men? My servants?”

“Your servants are gone.” Ansgar sounded almost sad. “Your men … I think that’s what’s left of them, smoke and stink. The king’s troops caught them in their beds. The barracks are already burning. I have a question to put to you.”

“What king?” Syagrius shouted, “What king is doing this?”

“Charles, the king of the Franks,” Ansgar answered quietly. “Now answer my question, please. Where is Adalgisus?”

“Adalgisus? Where is Adalgisus?” Syagrius repeated stupidly. “He’s… he’s… he’s gone. We frightened him away last night. We sent him to visit a lady friend—”

“Brother, be quiet,” Karl said. “The woman.” He pointed to Lucilla. “That’s the woman.”

Syagrius recoiled. “I told you that you should have killed her.”

Karl was standing, staring in fascinated horror at Lucilla.

“Adalgisus?” repeated Ansgar.

Syagrius wiped his mouth. “He is gone. She cursed him. We played a trick, pretended to catch him at her cell. She cursed him and he fled. He took what wealth he had stored in his house here. That’s how we know he’s gone for good. His coffers are empty. He fled toward the coast.”

Outside the din was dying down. Regeane could hear some women weeping, others screaming. Above the sounds of human despair, Regeane could hear the crashing, thudding shouts of alarm as houses were broken open and shop shutters were torn down. The looting of Verona was proceeding apace. She suspected all resistance had been snuffed out within a few minutes after the attack, but the agony of the townspeople would go on for some time.

“I see,” Ansgar said quietly. “Lucilla?”

“Karl, have you anything to say to me?” she asked.

“My dear lady,” Karl said. “You must understand I have rich relatives. They could pay a very good ransom for me. We had no bad intentions toward you. It was purely a matter of business, nothing personal, I assure you.”

Lucilla snatched a crossbow from the hand of the nearest of the
scarae
. At this range she could hardly miss. A second later the bolt thudded into Karl’s chest.

He seemed to fly backward, then landed in a heap, his body limp before it hit the floor. Regeane thought he looked like nothing so much as a bundle of dirty clothes.

Ansgar turned to Syagrius, who was ghost white and trembling visibly. He’d shit himself. Regeane could smell it.

“Syagrius,” he said. “Adalgisus called my wife Stella a whore. So did his friend Eberhardt, and later on Dagobert called on her to do the office of a whore with him.

“Now, they were all young men, none old enough to know my Stella when she was wrongly imprisoned in that house of ill repute in Ravenna. But I remember you being there. And I know someone must have told them stories about my Stella, and I think the someone was you. I can remember the fear in her eyes before I rescued her from that dreadful place. My poor, fragile little Stella. And I remember even more fear when she looked at you, and I see the same fear in your eyes right now. I smell the stench of it on your body, and do you know what? That fear is well justified because I’m going to kill you.”

Ansgar turned to the men of the
scarae
. “Take him out and hang him. Use a slip knot and let him kick awhile.”

The soldiers had to drag Syagrius away screaming. He broke down at the end.

Regeane ran from the hall. Lucilla pursued her.

They paused because Syagrius was hanging from a second-floor balcony and he was as Ansgar said—kicking. Regeane staggered down into the street. She almost fell because she was staring up at the dangling man, his face turning black, clawing at his neck. Lucilla caught up to her, snatched her arm. Near the palace she saw another house, smoke streaming from every door and window. She ran toward it. The doors were down, lying in the street.

The Saxon caught Regeane’s shoulders and turned her around. “Don’t go in there,” he said.

Regeane glanced from him to Lucilla. Lucilla met her eyes with the coldest look Regeane had ever seen.

“The queen,” Regeane gasped. “Her sons! You knew. You knew what Charles would do.”

“Yes, and I knew you’d try to stop him and he would kill you along with them. He didn’t dare let them live, those little boys. They have as much right to the throne as he has. If they aren’t dead already, they must die. Hold her! Don’t let her get away.”

Regeane gave a frenzied cry. She twisted in the Saxon’s grip. He was a powerful man. He spun Regeane around and twisted her arm up behind her back.

“If she tries to stop him, he will kill her and maybe the rest of us, too.”

The Saxon threw one arm around Regeane’s neck to pin her more tightly. She was incredibly strong. He had never met a woman as powerful as she was.

“Break her arm if you have to,” Lucilla commanded. “It’s better than her being killed by Charles and his men. Hold—”

The Saxon didn’t hear the rest because he slipped and went down on one knee. Regeane had vanished.

“Wait—” he heard Lucilla shout.

He was back on his feet in a second.

“She has some strange powers,” Lucilla said. “Find Maeniel.”

The world wavered oddly and time became still. Regeane looked at Lucilla and saw her doppelganger next to Lucilla, being held by the Saxon. The smoke was gone and the morning silence enfolded them. She saw the king, his men, ahead of her knocking down the doors. She glided like a wraith behind him and saw him come face-to-face with Gerberga, his brother’s wife, the sometime Frankish queen.

No
, Regeane thought.
No
.

But then it didn’t matter. She had stepped out of time. What had happened was already over. All she could do was watch the play come to its appointed end. Regeane saw Gerberga run from her own rooms into the central hall. The light was bright now, the dining hall was open to a courtyard garden that looked at the horizon filled with the warm golden light of a hazy spring sunrise.

“Charles,” she said, and hurried to place herself between him and the wing where her sons were sleeping. “Charles. Please! Please! Don’t harm my children.”

“Whatever makes you think I would?” he asked quietly.

Regeane saw he was moving to his left and that Gerberga was turning slowly, her back to her sons’ bedroom now. She saw Charles was holding Gerberga’s attention.

“Charles, please, please. In the name of Christ, don’t harm them. I’ll do anything you wish.” She sank to her knees. “I’ll go to Byzantium. I’ll be your prisoner. I’ll go to a convent, let myself be shut away, but please—”

And Regeane knew with dreadful certainty what was going to happen.

Charles smiled and stretched out his hand to his sister-in-law, as if to raise her to her feet.

Bernard stepped out of the boys’ bedroom. He carried the small war ax, the Franka, that gave the Franks their name. This was a beauty, chased and filigreed in silver to cut down on weight, but the blade was edged in steel.

It was bloody.

At the very last second, the queen saw Charles’s gaze as he met Bernard’s eyes over her head. And Regeane saw, for an instant, a terrible comprehension in her face. Then Bernard swung the ax and Regeane remembered that the Franka was still the chosen instrument of execution.

The blade severed Gerberga’s spinal cord and she fell forward, dead at the king’s feet. Regeane saw him back away from the spreading pool of blood. She glided past Bernard and looked through the door. The two boys were in the bed together. One was so tranquil he seemed almost asleep. But for the yellowish, waxy pallor of his skin, he might indeed have been sleeping. But the other’s, the older one’s, head was half severed from his neck. Blood was still running down the sheets and forming a small, scarlet pool on the floor. His eyes were open and a rictus of wholly appropriate fear was frozen on his childish features.