Authors: Alice Borchardt
Antonius lifted one hand and his words brought the scene to life for Regeane.
“We were alone in his chambers except for the scribe. Charles, you see, cannot really write, though he can read three or four languages well. We had only a few rushlights and the scribe toiled in their glow. Charles strode up and down, hands clasped behind his back. He must have carried not only the import of those letters in his mind for a long time, but each and every word he wished to use. For the scribe didn’t have to blot or correct a single line on the parchment. And he spoke not merely with the confidence of a king, but his mien was that of an emperor.
“When he was finished dictating and the scribe was sealing the letters I was to convey to Rome, I asked him how he could be so sure that he would ever be able to carry out his plans. He put it to me very simply. ‘Carloman, my brother king,’ he said, ‘is sickly. As you have no doubt observed.’ I had. ‘It will be a miracle if he survives another winter. The Frankish lords will not support his wife, a foreign woman, or her children, not against me, they won’t. And as for my mother’s leanings toward the Lombards, well,’ he said with a faint smile, ‘that’s a family matter and I’ll deal with it when the time comes.’ And he has, Regeane. This Charles—Charlemagne—is going to become a very strong king. Your connection with his family will
become even more valuable and possibly more hazardous for you. It is given to you to learn the path of worldly power, or you will die.”
Regeane could feel her heart hammering.
“Regeane, if you will not cage the wolf, at least learn to be discreet.” Antonius leaned forward and brought his fist down on his knee. “Too many people in Rome already know.”
Regeane leaped to her feet and stared down at Antonius, fists clenched. “The shepherd boy,” she gasped. “You didn’t …”
Antonius raised one hand as if to quiet her. “No, Regeane, but I was only just able to talk Mother out of eliminating him.”
Regeane turned away, shaking. “What am I that I spread death wherever I go?”
Antonius gave a snort of laughter. “Contain yourself, girl. Death is a part of this game. Death for the great as well as the simple. You will see failure, defeat, and yes, death, around you as long as you live. The boy hazarded his life not only for you and me, but for pearls and silver. Enough to buy a farm. He will have his life and his fine farm, I’ve seen to that. So save your tears and self-reproach for the better cause.”
Regeane walked toward one of the columns supporting the porch roof and set her back against it. “How like your mother you are.”
Antonius laughed. “Yes,” he said. “I’m not only like my mother, you’ll find in time, I’m even worse. But dry your tears because this is your afternoon to be charming.”
Regeane closed her eyes for a second. Her mind drifted. She remembered Maeniel’s hands on her body. That wasn’t love, but it was something. Would the rest be as good? The wolf gave a soft grunt of pure enjoyment. Her desires right now were clear to Regeane. The sun was warm on the woman’s face and its brightness shone through her eyelids. The air was cool, but the stones in the wilderness beyond the city would hold the sun’s heat. The wolf wanted to stretch out on one of those stones and drowse through the long afternoon. She would dream of springtime, of mountain torrents that are frozen all winter and swell to a flood in the snowmelt, of meadows where the delicate scent of new grass and spring flowers madden the senses into ecstasy. Of sun-dappled valleys where birdsong is the only sound and
even that turns to silence when the long blue shadows of twilight become a star-filled night.
She opened her eyes and Antonius smiled up at her.
The wolf reached out past the woman. She felt his cold, but sad intellect. This man knew what the world was, but did not glory in his knowledge. Yet beyond the intellect burned the flame of an abiding, gentle love. The wolf gave him her trust.
“Who am I to charm?” Regeane asked.
“First, you will greet the men who are to be your household guard. I entreat you, reach down into that bag of gold Maeniel gave you and give each of them a fine present. They must know who pays them. Also, a hint of ‘I’m so pleased that you strong, handsome, stalwart men are going to stand between my flowerlike beauty and danger,’ wouldn’t hurt either.”
Regeane smiled.
“Oh, my yes,” Antonius said, admiring the smile. “Bestow those beauties freely, also, and they will buy you more than gold.”
Regeane nodded.
“After meeting them, you will see Rufus.”
“Rufus?” Regeane repeated, her brow furrowing. “Who is …?” then she remembered. “Cecelia’s Rufus?” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” Antonius answered. “You recall Cecelia.”
“Yes,” Regeane whispered. “How could I forget her? But how did you know about Cecelia? I met her at the convent. They say she never leaves.”
“You are a child, Regeane.” Antonius shook his head. “True, she never leaves the convent, but she has an almost constant stream of visitors. Often very aristocratic visitors, I might add. Both you and Dulcina have received her approval and her accolades. She says she found you sweet, compassionate, passionate, ingenuous, and charming. Not to mention attractive.”
“Only attractive?” Regeane said. She was a little disappointed.
Antonius lifted one hand in a graceful gesture and mimicked Cecelia. “A beauty, my dear, which does not stun, but compels. One that will not fade with time, but increase into a magnificent presence.”
Regeane dimpled and curtseyed.
“Be that as it may,” Antonius continued. “Her accolade came to the ears of Rufus. He begs that you intercede with her for him.”
Regeane looked away from Antonius at a moss-grown statue of the girl pouring water into the pond. A light breeze ruffled the surface, breaking the sun’s reflection into splinters of light. A carp came to the surface and took an insect skating among the golden reflections, and then vanished with a snap of its muscular body into the depths.
“It won’t help,” Regeane said.
“I know, Regeane, but you need not promise Cecelia will listen, only that you will go.”
“Very well,” she answered dully. “I will go.”
“Good,” Antonius said. “Rufus’ lands are very close to Rome. So far he’s persevered in his loyalty to the Lombard duke. But if Mother and I can persuade him to throw in with us, Basil will find himself unable to besiege Rome any longer. In fact, he’ll be cut off and operating in hostile territory. Rufus has his own men and they are experienced fighters and deeply loyal to him. Don’t forget, Regeane, this beautiful garden may be peaceful, but outside, the city is in chaos. Only Basil’s fear of attacking the Franks openly protects us right now. So do your best to please Rufus and win him over.”
Regeane nodded sadly.
“Last of all, of course, is Gundabald.”
Regeane’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Your mother made it plain what I was to say to him.”
“Well …” Antonius looked down at his knees with a wry smile on his face. He refused to meet the burning gaze Regeane fixed on him. “Well then,” he repeated. “I believe the less said the better.”
“THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH HER,” GAVIN said as they rode off down the street away from Lucilla’s house. He sounded chastened.
“There is plenty wrong with her,” Maeniel answered. “But I’m not sure what.”
“Maeniel,” Gavin began in a warning tone. “You’re getting on my nerves again.”
“Didn’t you watch her when she touched the jewels?”
Gavin gave himself a little shake, then remembered he wasn’t furred at present. The gesture was one of puzzlement among wolves.
“I’ll put it another way,” Maeniel said. “By all accounts, she’s poor, that girl. Did she act like a normal woman receiving a magnificent present?”
“No-o-o-o-o, she certainly didn’t,” Gavin said. “She seemed suspicious and a bit reserved.”
“She had her reasons,” Maeniel said. “The first necklace I handed her was badly haunted. I’ve never been able to bear the touch of the thing for more than a few moments. She must have seen, as I did, the evil fate of the woman who first wore it. The second belonged to Guinevere.”
“What?” Gavin shouted.
“Guinevere,” Maeniel repeated.
“The
Guinevere?” Gavin said.
“None other,” Maeniel answered.
“She was a great whore,” Gavin said.
He hit the ground a second after with a crash. It took him about one dazed minute to realize Maeniel had knocked him off his horse. By this time he was on his feet, reaching for his sword hilt.
Maeniel pulled his horse to a stop in front of him, sidewise, blocking his way. Maeniel laughed. “Want to try your teeth on me, cublet?”
Gavin shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I’ve never seen you like this before,” he said, bewildered. “What has this city done to you? We were happy in our mountains. What did I say? And don’t tell me you’re going to start yammering about how you knew Guinevere.”
“I did,” Maeniel said.
Gavin marched toward his loose horse with an air of injured dignity. “No,” he shouted. “I won’t fight you, you’re much too good. I’m not suicidal. Besides,” he said, stopping and staring up at Maeniel. “It would hurt me almost as much as if I won as it
would if I lost. I’ve followed you faithfully since we met in that Irish wood.”
Now Maeniel noted there were tears in Gavin’s eyes. He sighed deeply. Gavin was chasing the horse around in a circle, trying to mount him. The beast rolled his eyes and kept stepping out of the way, just as Gavin reached for him.
“Stand still, goddamnit,” Gavin yelled.
A small crowd had gathered and some of them were laughing at Gavin’s efforts to catch the horse. Maeniel took pity on him and caught the brute’s bridle and held him still. Gavin pulled himself into the saddle.
“Very well,” he said stiffly, once he was seated and again in charge of the horse. “I take it you believe I insulted the lady.”
“Yes,” Maeniel answered. “I do. She was, as I said, a mighty queen never defeated in battle. But how can I explain to you a world that has long gone? A world that was only a dim memory in your grandsire’s grandsire’s time? I’m sorry, Gavin, sometimes I hate being human. This is one of them. But I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
They were riding away from the populated streets and entering the empty ruins. The sky was a clear bright winter blue and the wind played softly across the green and brown wasteland.
“I never thought,” Maeniel said, “to be so haunted by memory. You’re right, Gavin. The mountains are clean. There, we wander at will and can give free rein to our natures. Here amidst this ancient corruption, I find the face of mankind too appallingly real.”
“I was,” Gavin said, “a man first, but you, the way you tell it, if you’re telling the truth … You were a wolf first.” He seemed shocked, no, worse than shocked, almost shattered by the realization. “I didn’t know
that
ever happened.”
“It did in my case,” Maeniel answered. “I’ve never asked any of the others. Have you?”
“No,” Gavin answered, his voice was shaking. “I’m not sure I want to know.”
“Nor I,” Maeniel said. “And I’m not entirely certain I should have told you. Except that you’re the first friend I’ve made in several hundred years. And I have been … lonely.”
Gavin was silent for a long moment. “All wolf and no man,” Gavin said. “Wolf by chance and man by choice.”
“No, no,” Maeniel answered. “Not by choice. Blaze chose for me. God, sometimes I despise you, Gavin.”
“Maeniel,” Gavin said.
“No, not you personally.” Maeniel made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “All your kind. You speak of the wolf as a ravening killer and yet what wolf could ever equal you in cruelty and debauchery? As cowards you are without rival, as killers without peer. Even you run on four legs to find a multitude of loves. Places to lodge your prick and whimper with ecstasy. The shape change to you is the road to abandonment.”
Gavin jumped off his horse and sliced a piece of broken marble at Maeniel. “Down now,” he shouted, “and have at it.”
Maeniel pulled his horse easily out of range of Gavin’s missiles. Gavin gave up, panting, staring at a laughing Maeniel.
“You believe that, you poor damned innocent. Don’t you?” Gavin said. “Now I understand so many things about you. Things I saw before, but couldn’t work into a shape I could understand.
“God, I remember the way you treated Riculf. Christ, he was sent by that Frankish king Martel to hold the pass. He didn’t understand what he was ruling.” Gavin’s voice rose to a shout, “But you and the others treated him like a god. Now I understand why. You have a …”
“Are you going to say something about dogs?” Maeniel interrupted, his voice heavy with menace.
“I was thinking about it,” Gavin said.
“Revise the sentence,” Maeniel said. “Say, ‘You have the ethics of a wolf.’ ”
Gavin’s mouth was suddenly dry. He swallowed quickly.
Maeniel threw back his head and laughed. “Animals. We animals don’t need ethics. We are not corrupt. You humans do. You are.”
Gavin grabbed his horse’s trailing reins. “I can’t see how you’ve lived so long,” he complained as he remounted.
Maeniel dropped the horse’s reins across the withers. He sat, hands flat against his thighs, staring out across the tumbled, green-mantled ruins around him. “I can’t understand that very
well myself,” he replied. “I remember when this city was very young. Rome eternal. The center of the world, teeming with people. I hated her, but thought her invincible. Now, I find where Caesars ruled, where her patrician nobles betrayed each other and fought for power, nothing. Nothing, but wind and silence. It’s a shock, that’s all.”
Gavin shrugged. “Wolves have no history.”
“No,” Maeniel said. “I think no words can compass the way we get along together and fit into the world. We worked out our arrangements between ourselves long ago. We have words, wolves do—words for love, chase, kill, fight. For snow, mountain, grass, fire, and star. Those and many others. But we have no words for sin, corruption, and evil. Those are human inventions. When I first changed, my mate said to me—frightened. I didn’t change again for a long time. I didn’t change until I saw some girls bathing in a stream.”