The Silver Wolf

by Alice Borchardt

  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 c
onfidence 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.”

  She sighed deeply and began laughing. “I almost believe you do not care what form I assume, so long as I am a proper wife to you.”

  “I believe you will be,” he said, stroking her hair. “Once I have you in my mountains, in the hall of my fortress, warmed, cossetted, and fed well on our cheeses—you will be filled with delight at their variety and their richness; on our rich dark bread—Matrona has a different loaf for every day of the year; and on our amber beer, you will forget these sick and sorrowful fancies bred by your uncle’s cruelty and neglect.”

  “Suppose I don’t?” she asked in a voice choked with tears.

  “Well, I have certain rules,” he said. “You may not kill or even frighten our sheep, goats, cattle, or horses. We are dependent on the milk, yes, even from the horses, for cheese-making and the greater part of our wealth. And I will not want a wife who crouches on the hearth rug and cracks marrow bones with her teeth. I do not allow my dogs in my bedroom. I will not tolerate a wife who sheds, either. My rugs are Persian. The sheets are of the finest Egyptian linen. My furniture is crafted by the most skillful mountain carvers. The bed curtains are heavy brocade, and the goose-down mattress and comforter are like sleeping among clouds. I will allow no fleas.”

  Regeane began laughing helplessly. He turned her face up to him and kissed her. Her tears were a salty taste on his lips. “Better?” he asked.

  “I’ve done all I could,” she said.

  “Yes.” He rose. “Now leave Basil’s champion to me.”

  The door opened. Barbara, Antonius, Elfgifa, and Postumous entered. Elfgifa tried to run at Regeane, but Barbara wouldn’t let her. Instead, she made the child walk over to Regeane and give her a decorous kiss, but then Elfgifa lost control and hugged her. Regeane lifted the child onto her lap.

  “What’s going to happen?” Elfgifa asked tearfully.

  “Nothing,” Regeane replied. She could feel in the child’s desperate clinging to her the little girl’s doubts about the adults’ comforting lies.

  Postumous approached her like a grown-up and kissed her outstretched hand. She read the smoldering fear in his eyes.

  She pulled Elfgifa away and handed her back to Barbara. The nun’s face was lined with worry. “Get the children out of here, Barbara. Get the children away. Whatever happens, they shouldn’t see this.”

  “Don’t worry,” Barbara said. “Emilia is leaving tomorrow for Wessex with both of them. She got a message to Elfgifa’s father. He says he will welcome the little boy and foster him. His mother didn’t want to let him go, but she knows he’ll have a better future there than he does here, especially if the Lombards win. Basil would kill her and the boy the way he’d flick a fly off the rim of his cup, and just as quickly.”

  Elfgifa bucked away from Barbara and ran to Regeane again. Regeane caught her by the hands.

  “My father says that we shouldn’t desert our friends in time of trouble,” she told Regeane.

  Regeane kept the two, small hands in hers to prevent the child from clinging to her. She kissed her on the forehead. “Friends also respect each other’s wishes, and I would be more unhappy than I am now if I knew you remained with me to be injured, or perhaps killed. Go now. Your duty in hospitality requires you to care for Postumous. He accompanies you to the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms of your father. Postu
mous doesn’t know the language and has no friends. Even as he helped you in his country, you must care for him in yours.”

  Elfgifa stepped back, a look of almost adult sadness in her face. She turned and, taking Postumous by the hand, she and the little boy preceded Barbara through the door.

  “Hail and farewell,” Regeane whispered. “May God accompany you and preserve you from every evil forever.”

  A roar rose from the crowd outside. Regeane started. They had seen Basil’s champion.

  Antonius said, “Now I imagine Maeniel has put in an appearance. Regeane, have you any idea of what kind of miserable cruelty you have brought down on yourself?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He extended a piece of cloth to her. It was undyed linen, the coarsest of homespun. She took it from his hands.

  “You must stand tied to the stake,” he said, “with the faggots piled around your feet, watching your champion fight the battle. If he loses, yields himself as conquered, or is killed, they light the fire. Now, take off that gold gown and put this on. I’d keep the silk shift. This damned thing is not fit for sacking and without something under it, you will be rubbed raw. I’ll leave while you change.” So saying, he hurried out of the room.

  Regeane quickly pulled off the golden dress and threw it on the bench. Then she dropped the penitential shift over her head. It was like a piece of sacking. It covered her from head to toe and trailed a bit on the ground. The sleeves hung to below her elbows.

  Wind thundered at the building again. The bronze doors to both the cathedral and the chapel rattled and boomed. Outside, the crowd noise was only a murmur.

  Regeane looked up. The three lanceolate windows showed only blue sky flocked with a few small clouds the west wind sent racing by.

  She was alone. Where to find courage? She and the wolf met in her soul. The wolf rested, couchant. She looked into Regeane’s eyes as if to say, “You know this isn’t the end.” But Regeane thought, How will I bear it when they light the fire? And they will. She was sure this mountain lord Maeniel thought her mad. Even with the best of intentions, how hard would he fight for a madwoman? No, she was sure she was doomed. She stood for a moment, then gave way to a violent and uncontrolled trembling all over her body. The momentary panic passed, leaving her both lucid and calm.