Wolves

by W. A. Hoffman

  “How are you here? How long have you been here?” I asked them to distract myself.

  “How are the children? Did Agnes and Yvette birth?” Gaston asked.

  The Marquis and Theodore smiled at one another.

  “We have been here since March. We would have been here sooner, but we had to wait for the women to birth and recover. You have two healthy sons,” Theodore told me, “and their mothers are quite well, as are all our people. We only lost one dog in our travels.”

  “I have two sons,” I breathed. Despite this avowal of their existence, I felt these purported children were less real to me than they had been when I had written to them from a church in Panama. I wondered where Cudro and those letters were. I wondered which dog had been lost.

  “What were they named?” Gaston asked.

  “Ulysses and Alexander,” Theodore said. “Ulysses was born to Mistress Williams—excuse me, Lady Dorshire—on December Eighteenth, and Alexander was born to Madame Doucette on February Eighth.”

  “Well, two sons… I suppose I shall not need to worry about begetting an heir,” I said.

  Grimaces appeared on the Marquis’ and Theodore’s faces.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It is somewhat more complicated,” Theodore began. “Where shall we begin…”

  “Non!” I snapped. “Do not dare think I will sit still through a rambling chronological dissertation. Please relay the salient facts as quickly as possible. We will sort through the rest of it later.”

  He appeared chastised and unsure of what to say.

  The Marquis was chuckling and patted Theodore’s arm reassuringly before addressing me. “Agnes is your wife, and her eldest child will be your heir.”

  I frowned at that, wondering what he was making a distinction about; and then Gaston gasped beside me.

  “My son is Will’s heir,” he said with wonder.

  “Oh Gods…” I said as I realized what we had wrought with our web of deceit and marriages.

  The Marquis did not appear upset. He was laughing at our expressions. “It is all for the best. And truly, my boys, we thought it would not matter to you, so we did not attempt to explain the details of that matter to Whyse. He knows you have had a Catholic ceremony with Agnes.”

  It did not matter to me. That realization was a sudden beacon in the storm swirling in my heart. The light steadied my Horse. The children were what were important. I looked to Gaston and found him smiling as if we had defeated an army.

  “Our children,” I said.

  His smile widened. “Oui.”

  “Speaking of that—and as we are avoiding ordered explanations…” Theodore said. “Where is your wife?” he asked Gaston. “Did you truly say Panama?”

  Gaston shrugged helplessly even as worry tightened his features. “We pray they are well. We left her with Pete. He was wounded and we left them both with our good friend Pierrot at a fortress they had taken. Then we marched on Panama. We have hoped they were able to sail with Pierrot. There was a plan to secret them away on his ship. And… She probably should not be considered my wife any longer. She is with Pete now. Though I know not…” He sighed and looked to his father with guilt. “I have made such a mess of things.”

  The Marquis shook his head and smiled anew. “Non, my son, you have done me proud. I am the one to blame for…” He sighed and grinned ruefully. “The state of my affairs.”

  “My lord, what is the state of your affairs?” I asked.

  “I am a nobleman without lands—or country.” He shrugged. “Truly, I have come to terms with it.”

  “They drove you out?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I chose to save the Church and my enemies the trouble. When I received Monsieur Theodore’s letter explaining that they were in Rotterdam, I took what I would—including my precious granddaughter—and I arranged for the lands to be managed in my absence; and for my wife—who is not pleased with events, or me—to live at a fine house with a fine fortune near the rest of our grandchildren. Then I went to meet your people. My enemies can do what they will in my absence. I do not think I will be returning to France.”

  My matelot’s eyes were closed with pain, but he opened them and said, “So my daughter is with you.”

  His father nodded. “I would entrust her to no one else.”

  I was as heartbroken as my matelot, but the Marquis did indeed seem well with his state of affairs. “So you went to Rotterdam and then…” I prompted.

  “The Marquis arrived, and we discussed your plans,” Theodore said, “and, he felt you were being rash and we should intercede. Once the babes were born, we came here to learn what we could and see if we could find you before you accomplished your goal. Our inquiries alerted the Earl of Whyse to our presence; and he made us aware of the king’s curiosity about you and your father.”

  “We changed our minds about… Why in the name of… Why does the king have interest in me?” I asked.

  “Do not flatter yourself overmuch,” Theodore said with a grin. “His interest was in Modyford and Morgan; and how their dealings with the Spanish related to English foreign policy. You were an interesting permutation of that; and related to another problem—or rather, another annoyance of the king’s.”

  “Your father,” the Marquis said. “He was hated by your king. Not personally, but for what he represented. Your father—and many other lords concerned for their immediate well-being—sided tacitly with Cromwell during your civil war. Yet they remained on their lands and with their titles after your rightful king returned to the throne. And now they are a thorn in his side: one he cannot remove directly. He saw you as a way of plucking one of them.” He shrugged amicably. “Much as my enemies saw revelations concerning my son to be a way of plucking me. What is a disadvantage in one arena has proven our benefit in another.”

  “I suppose we should be very thankful of that,” I said. Despite my belief in the Gods, They were still distant things compared to corporeal powers like kings: powers that I feared. I did not want the interest of the king or his involvement in my life. Kings always wanted things.

  “So what did the king want; for me to kill my father?” I asked.

  “Non, non,” the Marquis said. “He wanted the feud to somehow discredit your father.” He sighed and shrugged. “Actually, good Theodore and I have often worried about what form the king’s plan might take concerning the resolution of this matter. Our only reassurance has been that Whyse has been sincere and emphatic that the king would rather have you as the Earl of Dorshire than your father. Provided…”

  Theodore’s loud sigh interrupted him.

  “Provided what?” I asked.

  “We’ve learned much of your father’s business dealings these past months,” Theodore said seriously while studying me with concern.

  “Oui,” the Marquis added. “In France, he would have suffered dérogeance for engaging in business not befitting a lord.”

  “I suspected as much,” I said. “Why are you worried?” I asked Theodore.

  He sighed again and chewed his lip. “I am worried you will have a fit of conscience and lay our plans to ruin.”

  “Now I am worried I will have a fit of conscience and lay your plans to ruin,” I said with dread.

  The Marquis found this amusing.

  Theodore remained grim. “We have explained much to Whyse, and he in turn has told us of the king’s expectations of you—should you becoming the Earl of Dorshire come to pass: which it has.”

  Gaston and I glanced at one another with worry. I met Theodore’s gaze again. “Tell us.”

  “To start, the king would have you surrender the business interests: some he would have you surrender to the Crown,” Theodore said quickly. “The estate is more than adequate to support… everyone.”

  “And, there are interests the king does not want that can easily be transferred to others,” the Marquis said and pointed at Gaston.

  “All right,” I said and shrugged. “I am not conce
rned about the money or businesses; though I know I should be for the benefit of those who depend upon me.”

  That thought weighed heavily across my shoulders. No matter what disagreeable thing the king might want, I must consider the needs of everyone... first; lest I deliver even more trouble and harm upon our loved ones. It was likely that with the Dorshire lands alone I could support us all. Our son would be a lord. Agnes would be a Lady. We would all live very well indeed—as long as I did as was expected… This was the wage of being a man.

  My father’s parting words rose to haunt me, You cannot win. They will not let you. I shuddered.

  “What else?” I asked quickly. “What else does he want? Am I expected to be discreet? Am I expected to surrender Gaston? Am I expected…”

  The Marquis held up his hand. “Non! We explained that that was not a thing you would do. Whyse told us that the king cares not what his loyal nobles do in their homes; as long as they are loyal.”

  I frowned and anxiety continued to tinge my words. “How does the king define loyalty? And does that mean I must not admit my relationship with Gaston except behind closed doors?”

  “The king defines loyalty as voting as he wishes in the House of Lords, and supporting his plans and agendas, and serving his needs,” Theodore said carefully.

  “In exchange,” the Marquis said with a reassuring smile, “he will support you against any complaints or concerns about your private life. It is my understanding that you should be able to attend court functions with my son at your side.” He shrugged. “You should not publicly announce your relationship, but it being tacitly known will be accepted. You will not have to hide from the servants for fear of their gossip in the market.”

  “You are sure?” I asked.

  The Marquis and Theodore nodded solemnly.

  “According to Whyse, the king is pleased you have a wife and two sons,” the Marquis said with another eloquent shrug. “You have done your duty to maintain the continuity of your title and estates. Who you bed now is not important.”

  I looked to Gaston. He appeared as relieved as I. However, I knew I would need to hear these things from the king before I truly trusted them—and even then… Well, monarchs often change their minds with the wind of political necessity.

  “There is one other thing,” Theodore said with a sigh. “You must be a good member of the Church—of England.”

  I sighed and poignantly recalled Father Pierre’s words about lying to men in order to do good in the name of God. I would not be lying to the Gods if I lied to men to make a safe home for my family. “Of course I will,” I said.

  Theodore studied me with concern before at last apparently judging me sincere. He sighed with evident relief.

  I met his gaze. “If I can truly live as I wish with Gaston, I will do whatever else I must… I will shoulder this yoke of responsibility: in order for all to prosper.”

  He nodded solemnly with a small guilty smile. “I am sorry I doubted you.”

  “Non, do not be. I have given you cause.”

  The Marquis chuckled and patted Theodore’s arm. “See, I told you all would be well. He understands the responsibilities with which he is entrusted.”

  I supposed I did. I felt harnessed and yoked more thoroughly than I had spent the last months chained. My Horse trembled. Gaston was steady beside me, though; and I did not fancy I heard our heavily-laden cart even creak. We would survive: we would endure and conquer—despite the dragon crouched in the road ahead. Aye, the King of England was a great beast we could not slay. I supposed the Catholic Church was another; and though we had run from it, we could never hope to escape its clutches—unless we hid in the shadow of another dragon…

  There was a knock on the door, and at Theodore’s call, two maids entered with trays containing hunks of bread, pots of jam, and steaming bowls of some heavenly-smelling soup that made my stomach growl. The women set their burdens on the desk and curtsied before slipping out again. Gaston and I fell upon the food like starving dogs. I decided I would not be moved to release the cook from my service.

  “What do you wish to do now?” Theodore asked when we had scraped the bowls clean with the last of the bread.

  My belly was full and I felt bruised and battered at the base of a mountain after an avalanche of a day. My father and Shane were dead in the cellar. I was sitting at my father’s desk. Everyone I loved was purportedly safe—save those of whom I did not know the whereabouts and could not likely find.

  “Sleep,” Gaston said in echo of my unspoken thoughts.

  I nodded. The Marquis and Theodore smiled indulgently.

  We had one of Jenkins’ men locate our weapons and bags, and then made sure Whyse’s man, Captain Horn, was remaining at the house. We left Theodore and the Marquis to send a messenger to our family and then return to the guest house Whyse had lent them. We followed a chambermaid to the guest room.

  I did not feel safe even after the door was closed and we were alone in the stuffy room with a huge draped bed and a small banked fire on the hearth. Gaston crossed to the window and threw open the shutters. I scattered the fresh coals off the flame.

  “This will take a great deal of… inuring,” Gaston said with a weary sigh and a nose wrinkled at the muggy night air sluggishly drifting in the window.

  I did not ask him to what he referred with this: it was all going to take a great deal of accommodation.

  “We have escaped the wolves only to find ourselves between the legs of a dragon,” I said. I told him of the image of a dragon on the road. “I feel I must bow to it.”

  “If we are to remain here,” he said gently.

  I threw myself back on the thick feather mattress. It felt wonderful after months of hard wood, but it seemed to grasp at my limbs like the mud of a bog: attempting to drag me under with its seductive luxury.

  “I did not want this,” I said. “I want everyone to be well. I want what is best for everyone. But damn it all, I do not want this for me. It is heavy. I do not feel that it makes me walk taller. I feel it lurking in the shadows like a great shroud that will fall upon me and smother my life away.”

  Naked, Gaston crouched atop me and pulled at my clothes. I let him strip me in silence. Then we were curled together nose to nose in the terribly soft bed. His eyes were dark and barely green in the dim candlelight. I could not see myself in them, only his love for me.

  “This is the test,” he whispered.

  “At the moment, I feel I would rather have been tortured by my father than spend the rest of my life chained on my knees by the circumstances of my station.”

  He nodded. “But my love, it need not be forever.”

  “Oui, someday I will die as all men must.”

  He snorted and caressed my cheek. “Non, if it is unbearable, we will simply leave.”

  “And take the children, and…”

  He laid a finger on my lips. “Why not?”

  “It will anger our people, and possibly the damn dragon, and…”

  He hushed me with a kiss. “Dragons must bow before Gods. We cannot know what the future will hold. If this day has proven anything, it has surely proven that.”

  I sighed. “Why are you so calm?”

  He grinned. “One of us must be sane.”

  “Am I…”

  He shook his head. “You should be worse. I would be if I were you this day. But I am the lucky one.”

  His humor teased my own: I grinned. “Oui, you will not inherit.”

  “I am a very fortunate man,” he said solemnly.

  We laughed, and held one another, and finally slept with pistols beneath our pillow.

  I woke still tired to bright afternoon light streaming in the window. My sleep had been filled with nightmares, and I felt I had run throughout it. I found relief in that I did wake in the soft bed and not chained in the hold of the Lilly or in the cellar below. The truly horrifying and miraculous occurrences of last night had not been a dream.

  Gaston was speaking q
uietly with someone at the door. Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder. He smiled with relief when he saw me awake. He turned back to the person he spoke to and said some other thing quite curtly and closed the door.

  “What is wrong?” I asked with concern.

  “Whyse is here,” he said with a sigh as he came to join me.

  I sorted through my disjointed thoughts and recollections. “Good, I have a thing I would ask of him.”

  “What?”

  “About us: I wish for an audience with the king: to determine his true disposition toward us.”

  He nodded and sighed. “I would say it did not matter, but it does. The maid walked in on us this morning. I almost shot her. Then I almost shot her because having a pistol pointed at her was not what appeared to disturb her most—nor even my scars, though they attracted her attention next. I feel she was scandalized we were naked in bed together. I instructed her to knock and then wait for us to call before coming in to check the fire and bring water. Then I had to suffer through her stammering and blushing while she cleaned the water and shards from the ewer she dropped. And just now the damn chamberlain—or whatever he is titled here—was quite rude. I do not know if he feels he need not show respect because you are a sodomite, or because he does not yet feel you are truly his lord.”

  He was quite angry, but I was yet too tired to even feel umbrage. “I slept through this?”

  He let his anger go. “Like one dead,” he teased.

  “I do not feel I slept at all.”

  “You did not sleep well,” he said gently; and I saw the circles about his eyes and surmised he had not slept at all.

  “We will likely have to release them all and hire new ones,” I said. “Their minds and hearts will be poisoned against us by their expectations and the gossip Jenkins spoke of—even if we were not matelots. I will not behave as my father did, and therefore I will not behave properly. And I will not bear their censure.”

  Gaston nodded thoughtfully. “It will be months before we can feel comfortable here—if then. At this moment, all I want to do is see the children. And then we must tell Striker of Pete, and I must speak to Yvette—and my father, and…”