The woman wanted to question her dark companion, but the wolf didn’t reply to questions. She simply was and, as always, brought all her being to bear on the moment’s problems. She sensed the woman’s suffering and wished to bring her to peace.
Here, together at last in this little splinter of wilderness, caught amidst the vast matrix of human works, unthreatened and alone, they became one.
To the wolf there was no right or wrong, good or evil. There was only the pattern and she was part of the pattern. To judge as the woman did was as foreign to her nature as were hope and despair.
To the wolf, the world was a tapestry of things given—sunrises scarlet, then gold; sunsets arrayed in purple shadow and bloody light; plains awash in tall grasses and mountains drifting against blue skies; and gray storms that rose, coalescing seemingly out of nothing in the upper air, then roaming at random, drenching the earth with rain. Spending their fury in wild bursts of lightning.
Life was part of the pattern and death, too, as were blood and pain. She herself had struggled uncountable times, sodden with suffering, down the long, dark path into starless night. But this, too, was part of the pattern, part of the seamless tapestry of light and darkness whose only assurance was in its own endless, ever-changing repetition, always different, yet the same forever.
The pattern was beauty, somehow always in everlasting harmony with itself. Beauty was! Ugliness, sadness, despair were human judgments imposed by lesser, frightened minds on the whole shining spectrum of reality whose boundaries the wolf couldn’t even dimly comprehend.
She knew only that it was, and she was part of the pattern and content with being itself and engulfed by endless and everlasting love for her reality and her world.
The wolf’s mindset faded slowly as she slipped into silence, leaving the woman’s mind fully awake, still questioning, but at peace.
She rested quietly on her heels beside the basin, listening to the musical sound of falling water, drinking in the sweet air cleansed by the storm a few hours before.
I am human, Regeane thought stubbornly, and more than the wolf is. Or am I less? She couldn’t answer her own question, and didn’t care to try.
The wolf’s ears, ever alert, told her someone was coming. The woman’s mind knew the step.
Lucilla.
XVII
LUCILLA RAISED THE TORCH, ILLUMINATING REGEANE kneeling by the fountain. “My, but you’re hard on clothes,” she said, giving a disapproving look to Regeane’s gown.
Regeane got to her feet and looked down at the dirty, blood-spattered brocade. Her long hair hung around her face. “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll wear something dark. It won’t show the stains as much.”
“Whose blood is that?” Lucilla asked. “Yours or the horse’s?”
“Mostly mine,” Regeane answered. “Gundabald slapped me. My mouth and nose bled. He means to chain me up and lock me away forever.”
“He won’t succeed,” Lucilla said. “It’s much too late for that now. He just doesn’t realize it. As soon as you broke free, you’d kill him.”
“Yes,” Regeane said bitterly. “I would.”
“Don’t sound so downcast,” Lucilla said. “Why shouldn’t you?”
In the torchlight Lucilla’s face was hard. Deep lines of strain were etched around her mouth.
“I didn’t want to kill the horse,” Regeane said. “I’ve never killed so much as a chicken before tonight.”
“Then it’s time you learned,” Lucilla said harshly. “Sometimes it’s necessary. Here.” She thrust a comb and the pearl snood into Regeane’s hand. “Fix your hair. I must have something presentable to bring before the pope. Besides, you killed an animal, not a man.”
“We are all animals,” Regeane said. “No more, no less.” She pulled the tangles out of her hair and coiled it in the snood.
“Perhaps,” Lucilla said. “I can’t say. I believe men die harder, kick longer at the end of the noose that wrings their life away. Be the noose in the hands of man or time, it closes just the same. We all come to it in the end. At least the horse died quickly and without pain. I’ll wager if you’re caught, you won’t be offered as quick and clean a death as the horse had.”
Regeane flinched at Lucilla’s words.
“Stop it!” Lucilla snapped. She took a few, deep tearing breaths and Regeane realized Lucilla was shouting at her because she was having difficulty controlling herself. Regeane’s fear was contagious. “Be still,” Lucilla continued. “The whole city is aflame by now. The riots are spreading everywhere. I have to find somewhere to put you. My house isn’t safe anymore.”
“I don’t understand,” Regeane said. “What happened? Didn’t the pope’s militia drive off Basil and his men?”
Lucilla laughed softly. Terrible laughter, laughter that took the place of tears and screams. She raised the torch, reached out, and caught Regeane’s chin between her fingers. The fingers and thumb squeezed Regeane’s cheeks. “You don’t understand, do you?”
Regeane tried to shake her head, but found she couldn’t. Lucilla’s grip on her face was too tight. “No,” she whispered through lips made numb by fear.
“Very well,” Lucilla said. She paused and Regeane felt the tremor flow through her fingers and her body as her control over terror was tightened by an iron will. “We are riding a tidal wave and no one can tell if it will bring us safe to shore or drown us. Time out of mind, this city has ruled itself. And its citizens remember they have toppled popes and dethroned emperors. Even Desiderius and Basil fear them.
“Tonight they helped the pope’s forces drive off Basil,” she continued, “but tomorrow if Hadrian can be discredited, they may throw open the gates and welcome Basil and the Lombard king as their saviors. If … if, as I said, Hadrian can be discredited. In the meantime, they, the people, rule here. Tonight, at this very moment, I have no doubt they are plundering Basil’s villa and putting such of his servants that haven’t been able to flee to the sword.
“Tomorrow they may plunder mine, or even the Lateran itself, if Hadrian can be proved to be tainted with Antonius’ disease. To do this, all they need do is produce Antonius in his present state, alive or dead! You …” She shook Regeane’s face lightly for emphasis. “You will see this doesn’t happen, or I promise I will include you in my fall.”
Regeane pulled back, and Lucilla’s hand fell from her face. “You needn’t threaten me, Lucilla,” Regeane said. “I have as little choice as you have. Only the pope’s promise protects me. Win or lose, succeed or fail, we’re in this together.
“But,” Regeane continued, “I can’t help anyone if Gundabald gets me. He said he had a cage for a wolf. And you know he has. If he can win Hadrian over, I won’t be able to help anyone ever again.
“Don’t you see?” she said desperately. “He’ll torture me until I no longer have the strength to withstand him. Until my heart, my spirit, my will is broken. Forever. I’ll end up like my mother, doing anything, everything he tells me to do.”
“Gundabald!” Lucilla spat out choice words in gutter Latin. “How did he get here tonight?”
“Augusta,” Regeane said. “Didn’t you know Augusta betrayed me?”
Lucilla’s teeth clenched. “Bitch, whore,” she whispered. “Daughter or no, I’ll have the heart out of her body for this. How dare she interfere with my plans …”
Lucilla paused. Her face paled and the skin seemed to tighten over her bones as though she were struck by some terrible realization. “Christ,” she whispered, “even now Gundabald’s probably pleading his case before the pope. We must get you away from here. Hide you. God in heaven above knows what he’ll tell Hadrian, and after what happened in the square tonight, Hadrian will listen.”
At the same moment the terrifying realization struck, the wolf heard footfalls.
“Hurry,” Regeane whispered. “Someone is coming.”
Lucilla raised the torch. Her eyes searched around the little courtyard feverishly. Regeane realized she was trap
ped. There was only one entrance.
A moment later Regeane and Lucilla were surrounded by torch-bearing soldiers. A tall man wearing ornate armor bowed to Lucilla, saying “I see you found her, my lady. His Holiness wished that you return to the triclinium at once. Her uncle is there and some,” he paused, then continued, “some … very … serious charges have been made.”
Regeane hadn’t realized the wolf was still present until she noticed the torches seemed unnaturally bright. The creature endured suffering for only a few heartbeats, then slipped away into the depths of Regeane’s being in dreary resignation and defeat. Leaving the woman alone, an icy knot of anxiety in her belly as she prepared to confront the worst.
The wolf might dream but the woman had to live if the wolf was to fight back. All Regeane felt was an icy determination to survive no matter what she had to do.
She looked down at her ravaged finery in fear. Fear for the impression it would make. She would need every possible advantage if she were to persuade Hadrian not to yield her back to Gundabald.
“I’m afraid I’m in no condition to be presented to His Holiness,” she said softly. “May I …”
She saw the soldier’s mouth tighten—saw the refusal ready in his face, and so she modified her request. “May I borrow someone’s mantle so that I may cover myself decently?”
One of the soldiers handed her a dark mantle of heavy woolen stuff.
Regeane threw it over her shoulders and wrapped it around her body, concealing as much of her clothes as possible. Then, she accompanied the men into the villa. Lucilla followed.
The big room was darker than it had been earlier. Many of the lamps had burned out and the candles guttered in their sockets. Overturned tables and couches lay where they had fallen amidst splatters of spilled food and puddles of wine. Shattered crockery and a scattering of fallen silver vessels littered the floor.
The walls and corners of the room were in shadow. The few remaining lamps and candles illumined the pope and the red-garbed cardinal priests of the city where they stood gathered beneath the stiff, glittering mosaic of the Byzantine Christ. They waited in the center of the room below and in front of the pope’s couch.
The chaos within the once-graceful room seemed to Regeane to mirror the disorder in the square outside. She could hear clearly the shouts and screams of the rioting mob as they exulted in their victory and plundered the dead Lombards.
Then across the room she met the pope’s eyes. The chill of terror in Regeane’s belly seemed to radiate upward to her heart, turning her whole body cold.
The dark eyes probed her face relentlessly as though trying to reach into her soul and pull out the secrets hidden there.
He knows, she thought. Perhaps he doesn’t want to know or really believe what he knows, but he knows.
Regeane lifted her chin and met the pope’s stare unflinchingly. I’m innocent, she thought. Innocent and guilty. I didn’t will the wolf into existence, but she is there and I must defend her. Her and myself. We are one and whatever I am, I had no choice. I will not turn away from her or you or Antonius. She tried to will the thought into her gaze, into Hadrian’s mind. Please protect me, protect me from this man who wants to destroy me.
Hadrian’s eyes dropped first and he turned to Gundabald.
Regeane felt something brush the edges of the mantle at her arm and she realized Lucilla stood beside her. “He’s dangerous,” she said in fearful realization.
“Yes, my dear,” Lucilla said. “Dangerous as only a man of principle can be. Dangerous to himself.”
Regeane glanced around and realized most of the guests at the feast were still present, though they were dressed as she was, their battered finery covered by dark mantles. They gathered like black-winged moths around the little light left and the comforting presence of the pope.
“Your niece, I believe, my lord,” Hadrian said to Gundabald.
Regeane could feel her heart hammering in her breast.
“My dear niece,” he said, starting toward her with his hands outstretched.
Regeane felt an instant’s confusion; then she realized the game he was playing and decided she must play it, too.
His hands clasped hers and she met his eyes. Eyes malicious, not even raging, but cold and dark as the entrance to a tomb. She felt fingers slowly closing ever more tightly as if he wanted to crush the fine bones in her hands. She curled her fingers over and her nails, longer and sharper than most women’s, sank into the soft flesh of his palms.
Nothing in his face or eyes changed, but the crushing grip on her hands slackened and he bared his big, blunt, yellow teeth in what he obviously hoped was a fond smile.
Regeane showed her teeth to him, too. “Alas, my kinsman,” she said, “I fear we were separated in the confusion.”
“Never fear, sweet niece,” he replied heartily, “we’re here to take you home.”
Regeane pulled her hands free of Gundabald’s, brushed past him, and fell to her knees before Hadrian. “Your Holiness, please!” she whimpered. “Hear my plea!”
Hadrian looked down at her, his eyes narrowed, the dark brows drawn down toward the nose, the eyes questioned her. “Certainly,” he said, seeming slightly bewildered.
“Oh, please, I know my kinsmen wish nothing but my best interest, but please—oh, please—I am afraid. No, ‘fear’ is too weak a word.” She extended her arms toward the pope, palms up in beautiful supplication. “I am quite distracted with terror at the riots and confusion in this unhappy city. Is there no convent, no establishment of holy virgins dedicated to Christ’s love where I may find shelter until this dreadful confusion and madness is ended? I have the deepest trust and affection in my kinsmen, yet they are but two men.”
Regeane wrung her hands and, to her surprise, found real tears running down her cheeks. “What if some evil chance,” she gasped, “some terrible moment should come when they are powerless to protect me? Brave as they are, two men alone might be easily overwhelmed and I would fall victim to a dreadful fate, with the added burden of being guilty of their deaths in my heart. Oh, please,” she said, clasping her hands, “find me some quiet refuge among the blessed ladies, a safe harbor where I may rest until these troubled hours are over.”
“Your Holiness,” Gundabald exclaimed in a shocked voice, “I believed the matter of my niece’s residence to be settled.”
Hadrian continued staring down at Regeane, his eyes opaque. “Did you?” he asked. “I didn’t. All I promised was that I’d hear your petition. And I did. I didn’t promise anything.”
“But,” Gundabald sputtered, “it’s as I told you. She’s … The girl is wild and her mother was a baneful influence …” Gundabald seemed to flounder.
Regeane jumped to her feet forgetting to look pathetic. The thought of Gundabald maligning her mother to Hadrian was too much for her. “How dare you!” she hissed in furious incredulity. “You despised my mother. You abused—”
A voice broke in on her. “Why, of all the brazen effrontery.”
Regeane recognized Augusta’s voice. She was standing next to Hadrian with Lucilla beside her.
“How dare she present herself as a frightened innocent,” Augusta snapped stridently. “She wasn’t afraid. She was … uh.” Augusta’s eyes goggled, her mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish. Regeane realized Lucilla’s elbow had caught her hard in the breadbasket.
Abbess Emilia appeared out of the shadows near the triclinium porch, holding Elfgifa’s wrist in a firm grip with the little girl trailing behind her.
She reminded Regeane of a war galley under full sail towing a tiny fishing boat.
“Your Holiness, if I may be so bold? I have every reason to believe the young lady’s fears may be …” She stopped in front of the pope and gave Gundabald and Hugo a hard glance before continuing. “… well-founded.”
Regeane remembered that Elfgifa also had a glib tongue and apparently she had used it to talk to Emilia.
Emilia continued rather breathless
ly. “Now, if the young lady really desires the shelter of the convent, she would be welcome among—”
A roar of fury interrupted Emilia’s words. Hugo had seen Elfgifa and finally realized who she was. He started toward her, his eyes bulging with fury.
Elfgifa dodged behind Emilia. Hugo reached out to grab her. Emilia clouted him soundly on the ear. Emilia was stout, muscular, and her aim was unerring.
Hugo sat down hard on the floor, his eyes glazed over.
Gundabald strode toward Regeane. His face was flushed with rage and, as always, he exuded the same aura of raw violence that had always terrified her.
Regeane wanted to cringe away, to run, but she didn’t. She realized she had to defy him now or perish. “Stop,” she said quietly. Her whole body was quivering. She could feel the need to change gathering around her like the shimmer of moonlight in a darkened glade.
Their eyes locked. His face was inches from her own. His outstretched hand almost touching her hair. She realized in spite of the gallery of interested spectators and the pope, they might have been alone so long as they spoke quietly.
So Regeane’s voice was a soft, throaty whisper. “Put one hand on me and you die. I know they’ll kill me, but it might be worth it to see you writhing on the floor, your life blood spurting out of your torn throat. Put one hand, one finger on me and you will. I swear it.”
Hatred and malice hovered palpable as a mist between them.
Gundabald bared his teeth and Regeane realized he was a hair away from blind, murderous rage. “You little bitch,” he whispered. “I’m going to kill you.”
Yes, Regeane thought. He won’t now, but as soon as he can, he will.
The sharp sound from behind her struck the wolf’s ears almost as loud as a crack of thunder. She spun around toward the pope and realized he’d only clapped his hands together hard.
“You will stop this unseemly bickering at once. I rule here and until I’m dead or deposed, I’ll make the decisions. Now, what in the name of God ails you?” he asked, pointing to Hugo.
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