The Silver Wolf

by Alice Borchardt

  “It’s been a day and a half since I last slept,” she told Lucilla as she guided Regeane across the villa porch toward one of the cubicula.

  Regeane sat down on the edge of the bed. Lucilla handed her a cup of wine.

  “You say he’s well?” Lucilla asked, furiously. “How can that be?”

  “Lucilla, please,” she pleaded. “I haven’t the strength. All I can tell you is I’ve accomplished this night all you could ask and more. Now, in the name of God, let me rest.”

  “Yes, yes. To be sure,” Lucilla said.

  As Regeane gulped the wine, Lucilla asked, “Food? Do you need food?”

  Regeane shook her head and smiled. “I’ve eaten,” she said.

  Lucilla shuddered. “I guess I’d better not ask where or how.”

  Regeane chuckled as she slipped between the covers and sheets on the bed, then yawned.

  “Only mice,” she said.

  “Mice!” Lucilla exclaimed, repelled.

  “Mice,” she whispered, intrigued.

  “Mice.” Then puzzled, she asked, “Do wolves eat mice?”

  “Sometimes,” Regeane answered and was an instant later asleep.

  XXVI

  THE THREE WOLVES DRESSED IN THE SHELTER OF the peasant hut near a small fire.

  “My God. By all the gods, did you see her run?” the big gray whispered. “What a huntress she’ll be. She had that deer if she wanted her.”

  “Beautiful,” the red agreed, “but haughty. She’s attracted. I could tell. Why wouldn’t she join you in a little, shall we say, adventure? A bit of a tumble could only bring pleasure to you both.”

  “I want more than pleasure with that one,” the gray said. “Though, by God, she’ll be that, too.”

  “I think, perhaps,” the black said as she pulled on her dress, “the silver one doesn’t understand how truly free she is. She’s timid. I could sense that, and she’s ignorant of her own powers. A simple mouse hunt was a revelation to her.”

  “The wound,” the gray said, “disturbs me. Very few things injure us in a way that survives the change.”

  “It was not a normal wound,” the black said. “I knew that when my tongue touched it. Only heaven knows what torments she went through before we were able to rescue her. I could tell when we found her she expected not her own kind, but our wild cousins. You suggested a run on the Campagna tonight,” she said to the gray.

  “I had ulterior motives,” the gray answered. “I hoped we might meet. The Campagna is where I would go if I lived in this stinking city.”

  “Oh, I don’t know that the city’s so bad,” the red said. “I’m kind of learning to like it.”

  “Indeed,” the black said dryly. “I know what you like. Is that how you picked up the fleas?”

  “I don’t have fleas,” the red said, belying his words by scratching his ribs vigorously as he slipped into his shirt.

  “Whatever you say,” the black answered maliciously. “But stay away from me until you bathe and fumigate yourself.”

  “Even as a shape changer,” the gray said, “Gavin, you’re a true lowlife.”

  “Catch as catch can, Maeniel,” Gavin said, “and between one thing and another, I catch a lot.”

  “Fleas, among other things,” Matrona said.

  “There’s more than one bitch in the forest,” Gavin said. “I met the cutest little thing living down by the Forum our first night in.”

  “Dog or woman?” Maeniel asked.

  “As it transpired, both,” Gavin said. “We did it one way, then the other, then both. She was quite impressed the way I dealt with my rivals. She was none too tidy about her person, but what are a few fleas between lovers?”

  “Pervert,” Matrona said.

  REGEANE WOKE SEVERAL TIMES FROM HER LONG sleep. Once she saw Antonius looking down at her, Lucilla beside him. She saw no trace of his former disease on his body.

  He kissed her once, very chastely, on the forehead and then she returned to sleep.

  She was awakened again by a hug from Elfgifa. Lucilla’s voice scolded in the background. Again she drifted away into slumber.

  She woke finally, spontaneously, to find herself fully aware. Through a narrow window flowed a shaft of morning light. She sat up and saw Lucilla had set out clothing for her. A white shift and gown were draped over a chair near the bed.

  She yawned and rose to her feet, and was in the process of dressing when Lucilla came into the room.

  “At last,” she exclaimed. “Come out when you have finished. I was about to have my morning meal. Come join me. We have much to discuss.”

  Regeane followed Lucilla to a small garden set away from the main atrium. It was private and quiet. Sweet woodruff bloomed in flower beds around a fishpond and against the blank whitewashed walls of the storerooms surrounding them.

  “I’m a bitch in the morning,” Lucilla said, “and the servants seldom bother me here.”

  There was a marble table to the right of the pond. Two comfortably cushioned chairs were drawn up to the table. Regeane seated herself in one of them. Lucilla sat in the other.

  “I think,” Lucilla said, “that you’ll find this a bit more substantial than the usual Roman breakfast. I don’t follow the custom of beginning the day with a dry, crisp bread, sour wine, and perhaps if you’re in the mood for luxury, a few figs. One never knows what difficulties the day will bring, and I prefer to be well fortified.”

  Regeane, looking at the table, decided Lucilla’s idea of fortification was more than adequate. The table held sliced cold breast of capon with a raisin wine sauce, warm fresh-baked bread, honey, butter, and white cheese. All served with a mild white wine blessed with slight basil fragrance.

  “How long did I sleep?” Regeane asked between mouthfuls.

  “All of yesterday,” Lucilla answered, “and through the night.”

  Regeane sighed. “I was tired.”

  Nothing else was said until they’d both worked their way through the food and were relaxing quietly, over their wine.

  Lucilla frowned. “I have some bad news for you. I saved it until you finished breakfast. I didn’t want to spoil your appetite. But you should know, Regeane, your prospective husband is here in Rome.”

  A wave of silent shock went through Regeane. She looked down at the wine cup in her hand, a beautiful thing made of opalescent glass resembling mother-of-pearl. She set it carefully on the marble table. Her hands shook.

  “And?” she asked.

  “My, but you’re calm,” Lucilla said.

  “Remember,” Regeane said, “I’ve been expecting him for some time. What should I do? Screech? Weep? Run up and down, scratching my face, tearing my hair in handfuls? No, Lucilla, whatever I am, I’m not made that way. So have you met him? Tell me, what’s he like?”

  “From your point of view, the news is the very worst imaginable. I haven’t seen him, but I dispatched Augusta to greet him at Ostia.”

  “Augusta?” Regeane asked.

  “Yes,” Lucilla said. “She whined and made pathetic noises, but she owes me something for assisting that despicable uncle of yours. In any case, she reported back to me that he’s not old. I’d hoped he might be. Men in their dotage sleep soundly at night and think a lot about their stomachs and their bowels.

  “It’s quite easy for an attractive young woman to lead them around by the nose. Worse luck, he’s not effeminate either. That class of men is often easily dealt with. One simply ignores their little peccadillos and offers them the honest friendship one gives to a sympathetic woman friend.

  “But no such luck. He’s a well-formed man in the prime of life. Augusta found him intelligent, mannerly, and well spoken. She thinks you are a very lucky woman. She said his understanding was quite impressive for a barbarian.”

  Regeane threw her head back for a second and looked up into the bright blue autumn sun. Then her eyes closed. She pressed two fingers to her lids. A voice in her mind spoke clearly. You will have to kill him.

/>   “No,” she whispered. “No. I don’t want to.”

  Then she lowered her head and opened her eyes. It seemed as if a long time had passed. She found herself looking into Lucilla’s face.

  Lucilla’s gaze was flat and opaque. She was smiling, a harsh quirk of her lips.

  “Yes,” Lucilla said, answering Regeane’s thoughts. “I know you don’t, but the less said the better. Even the walls have ears.”

  “Did he raise any objection to the marriage contract?” Regeane asked.

  “No,” Lucilla answered. “Hadrian had it drawn up by the chancery at the Lateran. Maeniel saw it.”

  “He is able to read?” Regeane asked.

  “It would seem so,” Lucilla responded, “because Hadrian said he asked a few questions about the provisions in the contract, but raised no serious objections.”

  Regeane nodded. “Thank heaven for that.”

  “Your thanks are premature, my dear,” Lucilla said. “Once you’re out of Rome, that contract is just a piece of paper. There’ll be no way for pope or king to enforce it in the mountains.”

  “I don’t know,” Regeane said, biting her lip. “He’ll want preferment. The king will be very jealous of his honor. Abusing me might bring royal anger on his head.”

  “Yes,” Lucilla said. “And you must present yourself as the road to royal favor. And toward that end, I have a plan. Which brings me to the betrothal feast. It will be tonight at one of Augusta’s villas.”

  Lucilla produced a wax tablet from the skirts of her gown and set it on the table.

  “You will wear white. Silk, lightly embroidered with golden daisies. There is a Frankish count in Rome now. Incidentally, he supplied the Frankish mercenaries who are guarding my villa now. His name is Otho. He’s fat and has eyes like something you find hopping through a flower bed on a wet day, but bat your eyelashes at him and do your best to charm this toad. I won’t say the Frankish king trusts him, but he uses him often. I’m certain he’ll carry word back to Charles about what a prize he’s bestowed on this Maeniel. With a bit of luck you’ll be summoned to court and this unfortunate marriage may not last very long.

  “I don’t know, Lucilla,” Regeane said. “Suppose, just suppose, I can reach an accommodation with this Maeniel, what then?”

  “There’s no help for it,” Lucilla said. “Otho has to be invited to your wedding feast in any case. And impressing him will certainly help your cause with your husband. But that’s not the important part of my plan, it’s just an outside possibility.

  “Think, child,” she said, reaching forward and tapping Regeane on the forehead. “No matter what happens, you’re going to be alone with this man for several years.”

  Regeane nodded again.

  “What I plan to do,” Lucilla continued, “is to send the same troop of mercenaries guarding this villa into the mountains with you. I don’t think I’ll have the slightest difficulty persuading Otho that it would be a good idea. Added assurance of this Maeniel’s continued loyalty, shall we say.”

  “I see,” Regeane said. “They would enforce the marriage contract.”

  “Just so,” Lucilla answered. “Which brings us to another difficulty.”

  “Gundabald,” Regeane said unhappily.

  Lucilla’s plucked brows lifted, and she smiled at Regeane with satisfaction. “Clever girl,” she said. “How did you know?”

  “Because,” Regeane said, “I know Gundabald. He’d have nominal command of the mercenaries. He’d set about corrupting them at once. By the time he was finished, they’d be loyal to no one, and nothing, but him.”

  Lucilla laughed shortly, then leaned back in her chair and stared into the distance, a faint smile on her lips.

  Regeane felt cold dread creeping over her. “What do you plan to do about Gundabald?”

  Lucilla leaned forward over the table, poured herself another cup of the fragrant wine. Her face was very close to Regeane’s. “I intend,” she said, very softly, “to have him strangled.”

  Regeane jumped to her feet. “No,” she shouted.

  “That’s it,” Lucilla hissed in a soft, sibilant whisper. “Tell the world.”

  Regeane sat down again, very quickly. “No,” she repeated more quietly.

  “What?” Lucilla snapped in an undertone. “Do you love him so much?”

  Regeane’s fists clenched. She looked down at the marble top. “It’s murder. Murder.”

  Then Lucilla said, “Have you another solution?”

  Regeane didn’t answer. She was remembering the ghost of the fiery river, the wound in his chest. “Wolfstan forgave him,” she said.

  “He what?” Lucilla asked.

  “My father, I met him in the world beyond death. He forgave Gundabald.”

  Lucilla made a wavering gesture with her hand as though to banish Regeane from her sight. She cupped her chin in her fist and leaned toward Regeane. “Now let me get this straight. You met your father in the world beyond death. When? How?”

  “The night I saved Antonius,” Regeane said. “I journeyed into the other world. I met my father there. He still bore the wound Gundabald had given him.”

  “You can speak with the dead?” Lucilla asked, breathlessly.

  “Yes. I saw the Abbess Hildegard at the convent. She was dead. It frightened the nuns.”

  Lucilla threw back her head and howled.

  Regeane started up, appalled and afraid Lucilla was having some kind of fit and then realized Lucilla was laughing.

  “It frightened the nuns. Oh, my God,” she chuckled. “Oh, Mother of God. Oh, Son of God. I imagine it did. No wonder Emilia was so hot to get rid of you.” Lucilla was holding her sides. “The night you ran away, I sent word to them that you were here. They went to Hadrian the next day. They gave him every reason possible why he should leave you in my care. The attempted poisoning, Sister Angelica’s hysterics, every excuse but the right one.

  “Oh, oh, oh.” Every “oh” was a hiccup of laughter. “Girl, you are most uncomfortable company.”

  Then Lucilla’s mirth subsided. She stopped laughing and began to wipe her eyes. All at once another thought seemed to strike her. Her eyes darted quickly around the small garden.

  “You don’t see any here, do you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Thank heavens for small mercies,” Lucilla said, shaking her head.

  “Though,” Regeane said hesitantly, “I don’t know when I do see them. Sometimes they seem so mortal.”

  This set Lucilla off again, and it was a while before she got herself under control. When she did, a hard, rather cold expression crept into her eyes.

  “Did you see Adraste?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Regeane said. She looked away from Lucilla at a patch of sweet woodruff. The new sun gilded its white flowers. “She is in hell.”

  “And may she rot there,” Lucilla shot back. She reached out and seized Regeane by the wrist. “Look at me, girl.”

  Lucilla’s face was set and remorseless. “Your father may or may not have forgiven Gundabald. I’ll assume what you say is true and you did meet him in some world we common mortals have no access to. But you haven’t the luxury of your father’s generosity. You can’t afford it. He’s dead and nothing can harm him. It’s well and good to forgive past injuries, but you must consider the future harm Gundabald could do to you.”

  It grew warmer in the small patio, and bees visited the flowers at the border of the pool. Regeane closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Sweet fragrances surrounded her. The delicate scent of the flowers, the heavier smell of Lucilla’s clean body lent a warm human flavor in the clean air. But above all, the air itself that seemed a fresh white wine. That made every breath a draught of pleasure.

  How strange it was to sit surrounded by beauty and plot a man’s death.

  “What’s wrong?” Lucilla asked.

  “The wolf,” Regeane said. “Sometimes she comes and just wants to revel in the world around her.”

  “You’
re dodging the issue,” Lucilla said. “And tell the wolf to go away. No mere animal could possibly understand dissimulation, or at least not the sort we’re planning.”

  The wolf wandered back into her daytime darkness. And Regeane’s mind snapped back to the present.

  “What kind of dissimulation are we planning?” she asked with an interrogative lift of her brows.

  “Your uncle is a frequenter of low companions, is he not? Brothels, taverns, wine bars, and the like.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” Lucilla said. “Murder is always best and most easily accomplished when it seems to grow out of the manner of a man’s life. Now, no doubt, your uncle sees you so successful at finding other friends. Friends, I might add, in a position to be of more help to you than he has been.

  “I think that your charming uncle will see he has been wrong in the methods he chose in dealing with you. He will believe you’re more clever and more powerful than he realized. He will arrive at my villa anxious to—shall we say—mend fences.” Lucilla paused and smiled maliciously.

  “You really think so?” Regeane asked. “Last time I saw him, he threatened to kill me.”

  “And he still intends to,” Lucilla said, “but first, he will have to win you over. Because otherwise, how can he achieve his objective of lining his pockets with this Maeniel’s gold?”

  “I want nothing to do with him. His very nearness makes my flesh crawl,” Regeane said with a shudder.

  “Naturally,” Lucilla said. “But when he comes, as I have said, you must seem won over by his sweet words. Mind you, don’t allow yourself to be persuaded too quickly or he might become suspicious.

  “Be very reluctant at first. These things require very deft, delicate handling. In fact, my dear, you may even show some measure of mistrust at the conclusion of your conversation. But above all, you must make him believe that you can, eventually, be persuaded to fall under his sway—in short, to become his accomplice, willing or unwilling. Send him away confident and you will have won the engagement. Then, of course, I’ll hire my man and he’ll begin his stalk.