Authors: Alice Borchardt
“And?” Regeane prompted.
“And tell him I sent it. He will know what to do and how to do it.” Lucilla gave one last gasp.
“The choice of life or death is his,” Regeane said.
Lucilla didn’t answer. She sank down next to Regeane on the bed.
“Very well,” Regeane replied. “I will do as you ask. I will wish a reward.”
Lucilla said, “Naturally,” with a negligent wave of her hand. Her head was bowed.
“I will need help with the marriage contract,” Regeane said. “I want it written to give me a separate residence, my own servants.”
“And bodyguard—men-at-arms you can pay and who are correspondingly loyal,” Lucilla added.
“You are clever,” Regeane commented.
Lucilla smiled.
A dreadful smile
, Regeane thought.
A smile the ghastly-faced woman must use in place of tears or madness
.
“Is that what I am?” Lucilla asked.
The wolf turned away, afraid, her hackles up.
“God knows what happened last night. I certainly don’t,” Lucilla whispered. “You vanished. You simply vanished. One minute Basil was after you with his sword, the next … nothing. But Basil’s men were screaming and, by the amount of blood, wounded when they ran.”
When Regeane made no response, Lucilla gave her an appraising glance. “How I would love to get that fool Charles here. We’d hear no more of mountain lords. He’d want to plunder your blossom himself. At least for the first time. I could plant you at the Frankish court as a friend of Hadrian’s. You
would be a wealthy woman, powerful, able to engage in any nefarious activities you …”
The wolf didn’t listen. She was far away. She’d found the morning. The sun was hot on her face. She was walking at the top of a hill. The countryside was open, a parkland. The grass at her feet was low, not lush, but still rich, though tufted and coarse.
Many small trees were scattered across the hills. They had thick, deeply ridged bark, and small, feathery green leaves. They, and the grass, still flashed with the scattered diamonds of morning dew. Birdsong rang out all around her. The wind’s voice rose and fell in her ears. Now a ragged fluttering followed by a rasp as it visited undergrowth and the tree trunks, then fading away into a sigh.
The wolf lifted her head. The hills rolled away into the distance. Green at first, the closest ones, then hazy pale blue until they reached the edge of the world at the horizon’s rim.
“Now go and bathe,” Lucilla’s voice intruded. “We will dine together and take the poison to Antonius.”
Regeane rose and went in search of the baths. She bathed, and when she stepped out of the pool, she found two of Lucilla’s maids waiting for her. They dressed her in a chiton. A Greek garment of great beauty that draped over her slender form. It hung straight down to the floor in soft folds.
Lucilla’s maids offered her jewels. This required more thought. At length, Regeane selected an antique necklace of silver and pearls. The links were large, the metal very soft. She could dent it with her fingernail. Gold sandals were laced to her feet and a gold fillet bound her hair.
She realized she was being dressed for Lucilla’s pleasure when she looked at herself in the mirror. The soft, tightly woven linen was almost transparent. Not quite, but almost. It showed the pink breast tips and the dark pubic triangle.
One of the maids showed her how to undo the girdle at the waist and the two clasps at the shoulders. This would allow the chiton to fall around her feet.
Regeane asked to see Elfgifa, and was conducted to a small, comfortable chamber. Elfgifa was sleeping curled in a tangle of
knees and elbows. She looked like a grimy little ball. It appeared as if she might have spent the afternoon playing in the garden. A few tendrils of soft, blond hair curled on her forehead. Regeane brushed them aside and kissed her gently.
The maid who shared Elfgifa’s chamber was a stout, motherly woman with graying hair. “I was Antonius’ nurse once,” she told Regeane. “We haven’t had a child in the house for some time. I miss them.”
“What do you think? Did she take any great harm from her captivity?” Regeane asked.
“No,” the woman said. “I don’t think so. She is, as she claims, gently bred. Despite her sometimes hoydenish ways, she is very mannerly and obedient. Always has a ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ for everyone waiting on her. She has been a bit indulged. She says her mother died before she can remember her. Her father did not care to marry again. I believed he cherished the child. She worships him. He must be wild with grief. I hope he can be reunited with her as soon as possible. Theirs is a cruel separation.”
Regeane nodded.
“So tender, and she is not even your own.” Lucilla was a dark shape in the doorway. “Imagine how you would love her if she were your own.”
Regeane didn’t answer. The maidservant made as if to squeeze past Lucilla.
“Fausta!” Lucilla said to the woman. “You loved him as much as I did. Don’t abandon me to my grief.”
“My lady,” Fausta said softly, “years ago my family took me to the slave dealer. My mother wept while my father bargained for the best price. I was but thirteen years old. They saw my sister as the beauty who would ensnare a husband. My brother as a strong back to work the land. In me, the purchase of a new bullock. You took me from the slave dealer because you said I had a kind face. I helped you bring up your son. Everything good in my life has come from you. I have loved him. I have loved you. But no one in the world loves Antonius as you do. If he finds his death tonight, so will you. Don’t ask me to betray either of my loves. You are not the only one in mourning.”
After so speaking, she slipped away softly, taking the lamp and leaving only darkness behind her.
Once the light distracting her eyes was gone, Regeane found she could see quite well. The wolf was present.
Lucilla’s face was blank with shock. She was trembling.
The wind was flowing into the casement, blowing Lucilla’s scent away from Regeane. She was glad. Even the wolf didn’t find the atmosphere Lucilla walked in interesting.
“Your son, Lucilla?” Regeane asked. “Your son?”
Lucilla didn’t answer. “I’ll go bathe now. I will meet you in the dining room. And … I cannot bear any more discussion of the matter. My decision is made. Did I not love Fausta, I would put her out on the street tomorrow to beg her bread on church steps and spend her old age sheltering in doorways from the rain.”
Before Regeane could reply, Lucilla turned and hurried away. The night air coming through the window was cold. Regeane closed the shutters, bolted them, and covered Elfgifa. The child stirred. Regeane kissed one soft, still-grimy cheek. Elfgifa heaved a deep sigh and stretched out a bit under the warm coverlet.
Regeane was uncertain. Was the child safe here?
The wolf was satisfied. Something about Fausta. Her quiet speech. Her ripe apple smell reassured the wolf. A fine pack member, not bold, but always to be relied upon. One of the steady ones.
Regeane hurried toward the dining room.
THEY DINED IN PRIVACY AS LUCILLA HAD PROMISED. The two couches faced each other over a low table containing what to Lucilla was obviously her usual fare—and, to Regeane, a sumptuous meal.
A perfumed breeze drifted into the room from the dark garden.
The dinner was spread out on the table before them: venison done over an open fire, covered by a sauce made with the drippings; a larded capon cooked with honey and almonds; black olives; bread; and a few boiled eggs.
A silver tray with red glass cups and a jug sat on the table.
Lucilla lifted one of the red goblets and poured Regeane a cup of wine. “This is my very oldest vintage. I preserved it for my son’s wedding feast, but it will do as well for his funeral, because he must die tonight. Tell me where he is.”
Regeane shrugged. “I wouldn’t know how. I found a secret place.”
Lucilla stared at her. “You’re lying.”
“No.” Regeane denied the accusation. “I’m not a huntsman. I don’t travel the same way Basil and his clumsy henchmen stumble around. I’m … different.”
Lucilla sobbed deep in her throat. Then she lowered her head, resting her brow against the high-raised cushion at the end of the dining couch.
Regeane stretched out her hand to the food. Her fingers swirled a chunk of venison in the sauce and carried it to her lips. The wolf was hungry, half starved, and she set Regeane to work as quickly as possible.
The wolf’s feelings were too strong for the woman’s verbal mind. The wolf knew only that somewhere in the depths of her being, she had come to a decision.
She had come to it without argument or analysis, almost without thought of the ramifications or consequences. She was going to save Antonius. Regeane was in accord.
With the clarity born of the almost hysterical tension within her, Regeane looked around the room at the beautiful frescoes on the walls that gave the illusion of light and space, at the alabaster lamps, the purplish-red velvet cushions on the dining couches.
Lucilla didn’t eat, though she took a goblet of the dark wine.
The dining room that had seemed so splendid the night before now seemed tawdry and cheap. The frescos were stained and darkened by time and the sooty smoke of a thousand contaminated dinners. Here and there bits and pieces of paint were flaking away, showing the bare walls.
The dove-shaped lamps were the overstated touch of a procuress, a brothel keeper. But that was what Lucilla was, wasn’t she? Whatever pretty words she put on it—a pander.
Regeane finished the venison. She snapped a wing and a
breast from the capon and her teeth tore at the soft-scented white meat.
Even if Lucilla served the first families of Rome, her goddess was still lust. Aphrodite with golden fingers. Noble lords took the girls as Maeniel would take Regeane. Lucilla took her pay. And her son’s blood.
For what seemed like a long time, Regeane ate without speaking. She felt caught in a maze. A journey that began when Gundabald told her she was going to be married and what he wanted her to do to Maeniel after she wedded him. He wanted her to be a compliant wife and lure Maeniel into a false sense of security.
But come the night of the full moon or even, she thought joy-fully, any darkness, she could change. Change and tear her inconvenient husband’s throat out. The men in the garden last night hadn’t stood much chance against her. She was not only much bigger than a normal wolf, she was much more intelligent. She could wait and pick her time.
She glanced around again at the luxurious room’s shabby grandeur. She felt sickened, disgusted by Lucilla’s readiness to murder her own son because he was politically inconvenient.
Lucilla’s voice broke in on her thoughts. “Where is he?” she asked again.
“Why do you want to kill him?” Regeane asked.
Lucilla reached across the table and snatched Regeane’s hair. She shook her head viciously. “Why do you torment me with this nonsense?” she screamed. “What’s Antonius to you? Why should you care if he lives or dies? Tell me where he is and be done with it.”
It took everything Regeane had to keep the wolf from coming into being, but the beast spoke, and the voice echoed in Regeane’s throat. At the same time, the woman’s arm swept out. Her palm landed with a loud crack on Lucilla’s cheek.
The growl and the slap cut through Lucilla’s rage. She drew back with a shudder and whispered, “Christ, what was that sound? God, what are you?”
“Keep your hands off me,” Regeane spat. “I’m … not … taking … any … poison … to … Antonius.”
“You said—” Lucilla began.
“No,” Regeane shouted as she jumped off the couch to her left.
“You promised.” Lucilla’s voice was shrill and murderous as a bird of prey’s.
“I lied!”
Regeane shrieked. “I had to get out of that room with a bolt on the door. I had to … I don’t know if I can help Antonius, but I’m going to try.” Regeane’s head snapped back as the wolf tried to seize her. Then the night creature fled, snarling as the woman slapped her away … hard. Regeane stopped. She was gasping, partly with the effort of keeping the wolf down, partly with purely human fury.
Lucilla stared at her, shocked into silence. “Regeane, Regeane. Do you think I want to kill my own son?”
“No,” she answered. “I think you feel you must.”
Lucilla nodded. “I do. You saw that mob today, saw how quickly they surrounded my litter, heard the insults they hurled at me?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” Lucilla said, “if that mob really comes to believe Hadrian’s family is tainted as Antonius is, they will destroy him. Factional politics, my dear, aren’t simply a problem in this city, they are a disease.
“All that has restrained him so far is that Hadrian is deeply respected by the old senatorial families and wildly loved by the people. But if Antonius is found and publicly shown to be a leper, it may be all Basil needs to unseat Hadrian.”
Lucilla turned, swung her legs over the side of the couch, and got to her feet. She turned to Regeane with outstretched arms. “Since the disease began to show itself three years ago, we’ve hidden him. Now … now I can’t save him. And even if I could, dear sweet merciful God, for what? For what, I ask you, girl? Until the rot reaches some vital organ and he dies, slowly and in misery?”
Lucilla’s arms dropped to her sides. Then she raised one hand and thrust it into her hair, dragging at the long, blond strands as if she wanted to tear them from her scalp. “Or until Antonius takes matters into his own hands and does what he must to prevent himself from being the instrument of Hadrian’s destruction.”
Regeane didn’t reply. She had, in truth, no answer for Lucilla. She felt the tug of the night in her flesh, in her bones. The wolf wanted to be away, to smell the clean wind, to run across the fields under the stars. Far from the humans like Lucilla who had for so many years imprisoned her in narrow stone rooms with bars on the windows. Far from the humans who created such agonizing, incomprehensible conundrums as politics and war.
The room grew dim around her. The wolf reared in the gathering darkness. Wolf and woman smelled the freshening night breezes drifting in from the atrium.