Wolves

by W. A. Hoffman

  When we arrived, we hurried inside to relieve and refresh ourselves before departing again with Whyse to the party. Gaston had been fine all afternoon, but now he appeared as pale as he had when first we had learned what we would do this eve.

  “At the party at the Governor’s,” he said, “we agreed that if my Horse should become startled or anxious that I should tell you I needed to smoke or take air or some such thing. Will we have that option tonight?”

  I shook my head regretfully, but said, “Perhaps.” Then I considered the problem from another angle. “How is your Wolf with your Horse, or vice versa? Does you Horse trust your Wolf? We have ever seen how your Horse is calm and well-behaved when you need to be a physician. Even though I think it unlikely we will need your medical talents this evening, can your Horse view the matter as being within your professional—and thus your Wolf’s—purview?”

  He frowned with thought, and then with such evident unease my gut roiled. “Non, that is the problem. My Horse does not trust my Wolf, and He feels too much has already been handled with too little regard for…” He sighed and shook his head in frustration, his fists clenching.

  “I have been thinking,” I said lightly.

  He met my gaze with hope and only the trace of his Horse.

  “On the way back from the House of Venus…”

  “I like that name,” he said quickly with a small smile, and then he was frowning again. “My Horse even loves the place. It angers Him that we might not be allowed it. That we must bow to the Dragon—and properly—to even have a chance at such happiness as I feel we could have there.”

  I smiled. “As ever, my love, it is as if you hear my thoughts.”

  He took a calming breath and smiled weakly. “Not the ones with a solution.”

  “Dragons like to have their arses kissed; but truly, they are only as powerful as the wolves they have around them. This one’s father was slain by rabble. He has no reason to wish to anger us. I have not heard that this Dragon is a capricious tyrant. And, we are giving him—without any argument—money in the form of the businesses. And we will offer to pay for the House of Venus. I have not heard of a Dragon yet that did not need a great pile of coin. He has no reason to deny us—the house.

  “But truly, the house is the least of my concerns. I will not throw our happiness away in the name of the good of all. I am not such a fool to think that we will be able to live as we did in the West Indies, but I will not live—anywhere—if I cannot live with you. The children can bloody well grow up elsewhere. I am sure they will be content as long as they are loved. Our childhoods were filled with titles and coin and look where that got us.”

  He took another deep breath, and then frowned anew. “I have been thinking that perhaps it would be better if the children grew up without titles and coin for that very reason.”

  I nodded. “Yet, it is as you have all been telling me: we need not remain here.”

  He sighed and his words were quiet. “Will, I am afraid we will become mired in the luxury of it. Not that it will be gravel strewn before us, but that it will all be mud clinging to our hooves and wheels.”

  I saw it. “Oui,” I said.

  There was an urgent knock on the door.

  “The Earl is inquiring if you are ready,” Rachel said.

  “We will down in but a moment,” I assured her.

  He was gazing earnestly into my eyes. A slow smile curled his lips and warmed his emerald orbs.

  “What?” I asked.

  “What is the best way to negotiate mud?” he asked.

  “Keep moving?”

  His smile twitched into a grin. “Throw gravel into it.”

  I laughed. “Then, my love, I am sure the world and even the Gods will conspire to keep us from becoming mired.”

  As we traveled to his house, Whyse told us a great deal about who we would meet this night. Then we sat about in his parlor while he changed his attire to an even more garish scarlet ensemble than his usual. Once we were on the way to the party, he asked questions to see what we had remembered of his earlier lecture. He seemed quite pleased—and perhaps relieved—that I had a head for social nuances.

  Though it was well dark when we at last pulled up before a fine house, it seemed early for the type of party I had been led to believe we would see. When I saw few other carriages about, I could not but ask, “Are we not early?”

  “Aye, considerably,” Whyse said. “The king is here, though. I sent him a message earlier, and he said he wished to award you a little of his time before the revelry began.”

  “How very kind of His Majesty,” I said with sincere surprise at this royal largesse.

  Gaston was growing pale beneath his blood-red curls again. As we left the carriage, I thought to take his hand for a reassuring squeeze; and then I remembered I should not. I immediately felt a flare of anger from my Horse. He was correct.

  I leaned close and kissed Gaston sweetly on the corner of his mouth. He regarded me with surprise and then flicked his gaze to Whyse. I glanced at the Earl and found him watching us with amiable amusement—but no censure.

  “Lord Montren has not met a monarch before?” he asked as we ascended the steps of a fine stone house.

  “Nay he has not,” I said with a grin. “Does it show?”

  Whyse chuckled. “I have been a friend of His Majesty for many years – since we were youths. He is in many ways much as any other man, and in other ways he is very much a king: awe delights him.”

  Gaston sighed heavily. “I shall please him, then.”

  As I knew my matelot’s duress was not truly due to awe of his new monarch alone, I was even more pleased than Whyse with my man’s response: it meant he had some of his humor about him.

  There had been a number of men standing about outside, but once we were in, one would not have known a king was in the house. The servants were pleasant and discreet, and we were ushered without fanfare to a fine sitting room filled with spindle-legged, gilded furniture, a lovely young lady in a bejeweled gown, and a tall and august dragon. I studied King Charles the Second as he stood and kissed Whyse upon the cheeks in greeting. He was an imposing man with a long face and nose and keen eyes. He appeared every bit the wolf, even if he were not also a dragon.

  “Your Majesty,” I said and bowed deeply when he looked to us.

  Beside me, Gaston did the same.

  “My lords,” he said with a rich voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

  I smiled. “Your Majesty, it is a great honor to meet you; and to have you receive us in this manner. And we are deeply honored that you hold such interest in our persons, and somewhat mystified by it.”

  He chuckled. “You may well consider yourselves blessed or cursed by circumstance.” He turned to the young lady waiting expectantly beside him. “This is my dear friend, Miss Etta. It is her birthday this day. My dear, these are Lord Dorshire and Lord Montren.”

  I stepped forward and kissed her proffered hand. “It is a pleasure, my lady. Thank you for allowing us to observe it with you.”

  She giggled and curtsied. “You are very welcome.”

  Gaston followed me in stepping forward to kiss her hand. He did not attempt to say anything. Despite our circumstances, I was amused to note he was quite intent upon not staring at her abundant décolletage as she curtsied for him—and she saw him not looking.

  She darted back to the king’s side and stood on tiptoe beside him. He obligingly leaned down so that she could whisper in his ear. He smiled indulgently and chuckled.

  “Now if you will excuse us for a time, my dear,” he said.

  She nodded and slipped from the room with one last glance at us over her shoulder.

  The king gestured for us to find seats as he sat in an over-stuffed chair. As soon as we were perched upon the settee, a manservant appeared and proffered wine. Whyse was already seated and drinking. I happily took a glass and forced myself to only sip it. Gaston seemed engaged in much deliberation concerning hi
s goblet: he finally downed it in a single gulp and then set it carefully on the side table.

  “Etta is an actress,” the king said. “Not as talented as my Nell, or even Moll, but she can be as amusing in the correct circumstances. Do you enjoy the theater?”

  “Very much so, Your Majesty,” I replied. “I look forward to attending plays again.”

  “It is a fine amusement,” the king said. “When I first claimed my throne, I had to do much to restore English theater to its former glory.”

  “And Your Majesty does much to support it still,” Whyse jibed.

  King Charles laughed. “Aye, a stipend here and there. There are some who think my only reason for licensing theaters to use actresses is to amuse myself.”

  I held my hands wide in surrender. “Your Majesty, I have been so long away from matters of courtly gossip—and never in my own country—that I can have no opinion on the matter, as I have seen or heard nothing to give me one.”

  This brought the king even more amusement. “I am to understand that you are no naïve colonial lad, however.”

  “Nay, Your Majesty, I am surely not that. And believe me, I look forward to seeing what your court has to offer; and I am pleased to be invited to join it.”

  “Are you truly?” he asked archly. “Whyse says you have concerns.”

  I sighed and smiled. I could not but like him. As of yet, there was little off-putting about him. He was such the dragon, and thus so assured of himself, that his earlier remarks had not contained the challenge and probing for weakness or assessing of strength that would come from another wolf.

  “Once again, I must say I am surprised that Your Majesty gives one whit what my concerns are,” I said, “but, that being said, I do have them, aye. I have been concerned that I will not be able to live as I wish among civilized men: that I will find the duties and constraints of the nobility to chafe such that I must cast them away.”

  “And you would?” he asked with seemingly genuine curiosity.

  “Aye, Your Majesty, I would.”

  “For the love of the man at your side?” he asked.

  “Aye, for this man, Your Majesty.”

  He glanced at Whyse, smiled, and nodded agreeably to himself. “Well, Lord Dorshire, I think that a fine thing in one of my lords. I have no end of greedy and hedonistic men who see their nobility as nothing more than an excuse to debauch and their title as a means to an end. They ever have their hands out, expecting this favor or that. You will be a unique exception.

  “You already have heirs. As long as you serve me, the Church, and our great nation, I give not a damn with whom you consort or how.”

  I judged him sincere. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Hearing those words lifts a great burden from my heart.” And it did indeed. I felt muscles I had not known I held coiled release. Yet…

  “Might I ask how I can best serve Your Majesty?” I asked. “I understand you wish for me to divest myself of many of my father’s holdings. I believe my solicitor is already making those arrangements. Beyond that, what would you have of me?”

  He smiled. “You have long lived among Catholics, have you not?” he asked.

  I frowned. “For much of my life, Your Majesty; yet I have never converted to that faith.”

  He waved that aside. “You have no particular dislike for them, do you?”

  I chose my words carefully. “Nay, I do not dislike Catholics.”

  “Would you harbor animosity toward the possibility of a Catholic king of England?”

  Gaston gasped quietly beside me and I felt my heart become lodged in my throat.

  “Is Your Majesty planning on converting?” I asked.

  “Nay…” His gaze was riveted on my matelot.

  I stole a glance at Gaston and found him pale once more, and studying the carpet.

  “Let me explain, Your Majesty,” I said quickly. “While we bear no animosity to the… Catholic Church, we do not believe the same can be said of its feelings toward us. Due to Lord Montren’s father’s political troubles in France, my man here is wanted for… questioning on absurd charges—by the Catholic Church. And I… killed a priest.”

  The king’s face froze in a grimace of indeterminate emotion.

  Whyse chuckled dismissively. “Surely it was an accident during the heat of battle.”

  “Nay, it was deliberate and with great passion—on French soil.”

  It was Whyse’s turn to grimace. The king slumped in his chair with a look of resigned weariness.

  “So you see, Your Majesty,” I said apologetically, “we would have concerns living under a Catholic monarch.”

  He nodded and sighed. “My brother is Catholic, and I wish for him to be my successor. The damn Parliament will never agree to put one of my bastards on the throne, and they fear a Catholic monarch. I need men who will allay their fears and vote for my choice in the succession.”

  “Oh,” I said with surprise. I could see his problem. I was not surprised so much that he had it, but that I truly wished to help him solve it; but to do so, I would need to solve ours in relation to it.

  He was still king. And we need not remain here when his brother’s coronation became imminent.

  “Your Majesty is not planning on dying anytime soon, is he?” I asked.

  He chuckled mirthlessly. “Nay, God willing, I will have far more years to wrestle with this matter.”

  “Well, I see no reason why I cannot give support to Your Majesty’s choice of successor—in good faith and with all sincerity. My troubles with the Catholic Church are my own. They do not reflect on my feelings for Catholics in general. I do not see where a Catholic king would be better or worse than an Anglican one—provided England retains its autonomy from the Empire in all ways.”

  The king smiled. “My brother is Catholic, but he is not an idiot. Nay, he has no thoughts on the matter of returning England to Papal control. He merely wishes to remain Catholic. The people would never have it. James would be beheaded faster than my father was.”

  This was true, yet I saw a conundrum. If the King of England was Catholic and refused to bend to the Pope’s will, he would be excommunicated: at which point he would no longer be Catholic. It had happened to Henry the Eighth. But it did not matter: we would simply not be here when those dragons fought.

  My current dragon was studying me intently. “You would leave England when my brother becomes king, would you not?”

  I smiled resolutely. “Aye, Your Majesty. I would feel it in our best interests. Until then, I am yours to command.”

  He nodded to himself. “Then welcome to my court, Lord Dorshire.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said while holding in a sigh of relief.

  I felt Gaston sag a little in his seat.

  “Oh, and he wants the Marston Estate,” Whyse said. “They wish to have their entire family reside with them near London—wives, children and all,” he added with mirth.

  The king seemed to find the matter less amusing. “I think that admirable.”

  “We will, of course, compensate His Majesty,” I said.

  He snorted disparagingly. “Has your solicitor informed you what you are conveying to me?”

  “I did not wish to hear, as it did not matter,” I said. “The estate and what I will convey to Lord Montren will be more than adequate for our needs.”

  The king laughed. “My dear Dorshire, I do like the way you think.” When his mirth subsided, he added. “The estate is yours, along with any additional titles and all that is beholden to them.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said. Now I truly felt at ease.

  “Now, I have heard this fool’s,” he indicated Whyse, “recounting of your adventures. I would hear some from you. Did that madman Morgan actually march priests with ladders to the walls of some Spanish fort?”

  “And nuns,” I said.

  He laughed. “Damn it all, I do not know what I will do with that bastard. I am having him and Modyford arrested to appease the Spanish, but�
�� They have done well by England—forced the damn Spanish to a treaty.” He shrugged.

  I suppressed another sigh and took solace in knowing Morgan and Modyford would at least suffer some indignity, even if they would apparently not hang as they richly deserved. Of course, the king might have a change of heart.

  I spent the remaining time before the other guests arrived regaling the king with tales of Morgan’s recklessness and stupidity.

  At last the house was filled with guests, and Gaston and I were excused from the royal presence and escaped into the raucous party.

  I snatched goblets of wine from a tray and led us into an empty corner. “How are we?” I asked quietly as I handed Gaston a glass and watched him gulp it.

  “Can we leave?” he asked earnestly.

  “Must we leave?” I asked. I saw nothing of his Horse about him. I also saw nothing of his Wolf. He was not displaying the mannerisms of his Child either, though.

  He frowned and asked, “Should we leave?”

  “We perhaps should mingle a little,” I said regretfully. “At least I should.”

  He took a steadying breath and then my goblet and downed it. I wished to ask him if that was wise, but he said, “It is for my Horse,” before I could properly phrase the question.

  “He wishes to be drunk?” I asked.

  “He does not wish to rampage,” Gaston said with a thoughtful frown. “I think leaning quietly against a wall will do.”

  “You can lean on me,” I offered.

  He looked about warily. “Are you sure?”

  “Oui, I am very sure. And if it is not so, then it will be better we learn it now than after we have settled.”

  He took a steadying breath and looked around at the carousing guests. He smiled ruefully. “I suppose it is no different than any tavern in Port Royal.”