Authors: Alice Borchardt
No one in the crowd spoke, but none would meet his eyes, either.
Basil turned back again. This time to confront Hadrian. “Now … now I see him. He stands before me … a healthy man in the prime of life. When not a month ago, he carried the marks of God’s curse … on you for trafficking with a harlot, a witch, and—” Basil pointed to Antonius. “—a sorcerer.
“This girl, who her own kin repudiate … this girl dressed in silk and cloth of gold … is no saint with a healing touch. What damned and damnable spawn of darkness did she summon to pull your minion back from the brink of nothingness? To wield such foul power, she must indeed stand close to the throne of hell. And you—” Basil’s voice was a roar. “You must be sworn liege man to the king of devils, else he would not have sent you such a servant.”
Everyone was silent as Basil stalked back to rejoin his men.
“Nonsense,” Antonius said loudly. “Nonsense,” he repeated more loudly. “None can look on this sweet virgin’s face—” He
gestured toward Regeane. “—and believe she is less than an innocent, virtuous maid.”
Basil shouted, “The eternal enemy of man can appear to those he would deceive … as an angel of light.”
Antonius shot back, “I can well believe you are an expert on the diabolic, Basil. The ancient lords of the pit are bosom friends, if not near kin to you.”
“Enough,” Hadrian intervened. “I can well believe something strange has happened here. These accusations are very disturbing. Some explanation must be offered …”
He didn’t get a chance to finish his speech because three men entered through the vestry. They were half leading, half carrying someone wrapped in a black robe with a hood. Even as far away as she was, Regeane could smell blood. Old blood, thick and rotten, the raw meat stench of fresh blood and, worst of all, burned flesh.
Lucilla
, Regeane thought.
Sister Angelica began wailing. She was not as loud. There was no way a mere woman could fill the gigantic church with noise, but there was a stirring among the great nobles. Men cursed and women wept.
The group carrying Lucilla stopped. The only thing keeping her upright was the grip of the men holding her. When they let go of her, she slid slowly to the floor. The robe covered her body, the hood her face. The soldiers drew away from her and joined the rest of Basil’s men.
She lay in the open space before the altar, looking like a small pool of black ink against the pale marble caught in the strange, blue light from above.
Hadrian stood on the sanctuary steps gazing down at the figure before him, his fists clenching and unclenching, a man not wanting to look at what, sooner or later, he must see.
As Regeane watched, it began to struggle. One bloody hand was thrust from the robe; raw patches oozed where the nails had been. It scrabbled for purchase on the slippery marble. The dark figure seemed to be trying to turn on its side.
The crowd drew back with a collective gasp of horror, drawing away from the broken Lucilla as they might have from
a dog with its back shattered by a wagon wheel, but still moving, eyes begging, needing to be killed.
Regeane felt a terrible loneliness. The wolf’s memories stirred in her mind. She saw a wolf hanged on a gallows like a man. Another tethered, a bonfire built over his body, and burned alive. And yet another roped by two horsemen and torn asunder as they rode in different directions.
The cruelties humans practice on each other are echoed in the ferocity of their behavior to those—God’s innocents—the beasts.
“No.” Maeniel gripped her arm. “When those doors open, we’re out of here. My men and I will ride for Ostia. We will kill anyone who tries to stop us. In a week, we’ll be in the mountains. Once you sit in my fortress, no one will harm you.”
She glanced at him, then at Gavin. He was goggling at her, his mouth open.
“Wolf,” he said, “bat, fog?”
Maeniel clipped him expertly on the ear. “Shut up, Gavin.”
Gavin shut up.
“Suppose there’s some truth in what they say?” she asked bitterly.
“Nothing you could do would be worse than this,” he replied.
Regeane shook off his grip and began hurrying toward Lucilla. Antonius followed.
Lucilla was moving. She had gotten on her side. Her left hand was more injured than her right. She used her good hand to lever herself into a sitting position.
Regeane reached her and dropped to her knees beside her. The hood fell back from Lucilla’s head. One eye was closed and matted with blood. The other was open. Her mouth was pulped and oozing blood. Her face was a mass of bruises. Regeane looked down into Lucilla’s robe and saw more blood soaking through her shift. Three fingernails on her left hand had been pulled out. On the right, the fingers were swollen.
“Bastards,” Lucilla whispered. “Tell me, Regeane, did they put out my right eye? I can’t tell. I can’t see through it.”
Antonius took the corner of his mantle and began wiping the blood and crust away. The eye opened. The white was scarlet, but an almost beautiful expression transfigured Lucilla’s face.
“The other things they did to me don’t matter. I can see. Curse them to an eternal hell,” she moaned. “But then it doesn’t matter. When I catch up with them, I’ll send them all to God and He can do what He wants with them.”
Then, to Regeane’s horror, she caught Antonius’ shoulder with her right hand and levered herself to her feet. “You know what to do,” she whispered in Antonius’ ear.
“Mother, I don’t know if we have time. But when you disappeared, word went out throughout the city.”
Lucilla turned to Regeane. “Buy me time,” she whispered. The two good nails of her left hand bit into Regeane’s arm.
“Yes,” Regeane answered.
Lucilla collapsed, going limp in her son’s arms. Antonius scooped her up and carried her out of the church through the vestry into the Lateran palace.
Regeane heard a child crying. She turned and saw the sound was coming from Elfgifa. Emilia held her as she sobbed against her aunt’s neck.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The church echoed with it, coming from the electors’ stalls. Hadrian raised his hand and the booming died away.
Avery old bishop continued standing as the others took their seats. “These are serious charges,” he said to Hadrian, “and you must refute them or be removed. You cannot settle this by force of arms.”
Hadrian studied Regeane for a long moment. His eyes were clear and gray. They reminded her of a storm surf on a winter sea. “Are there any other witnesses?” he asked.
Gundabald pushed Silve forward. “My son’s good wife.”
Silve looked absolutely paralyzed with terror.
“Well, girl, is Regeane what her uncle says?” Hadrian asked.
Regeane’s chin lifted. She fixed Silve with a stare of red rage.
Silve looked up at Hadrian, down at the floor, up at the ceiling, around the crowd, anywhere and everywhere but at Regeane. Gundabald lifted his fist.
“Yes!” Silve squeaked hurriedly. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Regeane stepped toward her, fists clenched. “You little whore. I helped you. I saved you and you’re calling me a witch. How dare you?”
Silve made a gargling noise and whined, “No, no, no …” She scuttled away from Regeane and found herself headed toward Gundabald. She whimpered as she saw his face twist with rage.
“Come here, girl,” Hadrian said. Silve walked toward him. “Now,” he pointed to Regeane. “Girl, on your soul’s life, tell the truth. Is she what her uncle says she is?”
Silve turned and faced Regeane. She sniveled. Her eyes were red-rimmed and sad, but this time they met Regeane’s. “I don’t want to condemn you,” Silve said with a sort of pitiful dignity. “And yes, she’s right. I am a whore of the lowest sort. I don’t know if she’s a daughter of the evil one, but, yes, she can see and speak to the dead. And I, with my own eyes, saw her turn from human to animal and back again.”
A huge collective sigh broke from everyone in the church and a babble of talk rose from the spectators.
Silve turned and walked away, head bowed, feet dragging. Hugo tried to catch hold of her arm. She jerked away and hissed at him like a serpent.
Regeane realized Maeniel and his men and equally formidable women were gathered in a semicircle at her back. Again, Hadrian stared at her, looking down into her face. She understood Maeniel’s people were ready to fight.
No
, she thought.
No
. As at the stream when she’d been dying of the cold, it wasn’t the wolf, but the woman who fought, who rebelled.
The wolf was present. She trotted along the beach. Water would rise around every paw mark as her feet sank into the finegrained sand. The shiny combers tumbled over into thick foam with a roar. The fog all around her sealed her in white silence. High above, the gulls swooped and called. Their shrill, almost angry cries a counterpoint to the thunder of the breaking seas.
“Well?” Hadrian asked, bringing her back to the church.
Boom! The ear-splitting sounds started again as the staffs and croziers of the bishops struck the floors of the choir stalls. It continued for a moment, then died away. There was silence.
The old bishop spoke into it. “Whatever the woman, Lucilla, has done, she has been punished. The girl, Regeane, must answer the charges. If you free her, Hadrian, we will believe
you her accomplice.” Boom! His crozier struck the boards and the other prelates signaled their agreement in the same way. The church seemed to quiver with the din.
Hadrian raised his hand. Silence fell. A silence so deep that Regeane could hear the murmur of the crowd outside in the square and the sound of the west wind buffeting the church.
Regeane was ready. “I am royal. The blood of Frankish kings runs in my veins.” She paused, surprised at the loudness, the confidence ringing in her voice. Then, drawing breath, she continued, “My father was a Saxon lord, and he and his kind held the northern forests even against Roman legions. I would shame to see such a lineage brought low by foolish talk of the evil one. Foolish talk, moreover, by a drunken wastrel and a wine-sodden whore. Nor will I submit to judgment by any mere man.” She raised her voice to the highest pitch she could. “I am the daughter of kings. God is my only judge, and to Him only will I submit. I invoke my right to trial by combat … the judgment of God.”
“Very well,” Hadrian answered. “There remains only for both sides to choose their champions.”
Boom! The church resounded with the thudding of staffs and croziers, and, at the same time, a tremendous shout went up from the assembled notables in the church.
This
, Regeane thought bitterly,
was something they could really understand
.
When the noise ended, Maeniel stepped forward. “As the lady’s wedded lord, and a right ready man of my hands, I am her only proper champion.”
The cheering continued. Regeane was hustled away by the pope’s guard to an unfinished chapel near the entrance of the church. As she was pushed into the small marble room, she heard the giant bolt on the cathedral door being pulled back and the roar of the mob.
One of the guardsmen paused as they left the chapel. He removed his helmet and eyed her gravely. She recognized him as one of the servers at the pope’s banquet, the one who had given Elfgifa her cup. “My lady,” he said quietly, “I suggest you commend your soul to God, for I have seen Basil’s champion, and he doesn’t lose.”
“Thank you,” Regeane said. Her lips felt stiff.
Maeniel entered behind him. Up to now she had not realized how big he was, but he bulked large against the boy blocking the door. He put his hands on the young man’s shoulders and turned him around easily. “The lady is already frightened enough,” he said. “Let’s not scare her anymore. I, too, have seen Basil’s champion, and I believe I may just be able to handle him. Now, go out. I would have a moment’s private speech with my lady.” So saying, he eased the young man out into the church.
Regeane circled the room quickly. The floor was mosaic tile done in the form of a bay wreath. The green leaves were picked out, overlapping, circling the center. Golden ties at the back were formed by gilded tessarae. The walls were marble, filled with smoky, gray markings. Three high lanceolate windows showed only clear blue sky. A gray marble bench ran along both side walls.
Regeane tottered over to the bench and sat down. She wouldn’t look at Maeniel, but stared down at her hands in her lap. “You should run away,” she said.
“Why?” he snorted. “Because Basil’s champion is an overweight monstrosity? I tell you, girl, such men are often less able to defend themselves—”
“No!” she interrupted. “Because I’m guilty.”
“Indeed. Fog?” Maeniel asked softly.
Regeane laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh. “No! How would one become fog? That’s silly,” she said, raising her eyes to him at last.
“Sounds logical. Bats?” he inquired.
Regeane looked away irritated. “Nonsense. A bat is a very small creature. How would I go into a bat?”
“Not easily, I think. Wolf? The wolf is …” His voice trailed off. “I can understand the wolf more easily.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. He sat down beside her on the bench. Her fists were tightly clenched in her lap. He brushed her cheek lightly with the back of his hand.
“Regeane,” he said softly, “my adored one, I don’t mind you speaking these fancies to me or among my people. Goodness knows they have enough strange ideas of their own. But I
would caution you not to speak so before strangers. They might misunderstand.”
She turned and stared into his face, eyes wide in stark disbelief. “You think me mad,” she gasped.
“No, no, no. Hush,” he whispered. He had her in his arms and pulled her head over so it rested against his chest. “No, I do not think you mad, but I’m not willing to believe that wastrel uncle of yours. What did he want you to do?”
She was past hiding anything from him. “He wanted me to help him kill you.”
“Yes,” he answered, “and you were too honest. So now, when you refuse to fill his coffers with my gold, he tries to ruin you and take your life. When I am done with this Basil’s champion, I will take care of him. I’ll leave his carcass to rot. I would not feed his bones to my hounds or strips of his skin to my hawks. And as for the other two, your cousin and his little rental cunt, I would not care to depend on them to tell me if it were day or night. A bit too much of that wine they like to drink, and they might not know.”