“Lucilla, please, if you’re alive, answer me.”
He sounded his usual whiny self, and such a wave of sheer fury surged through her that her whole body trembled with an absolute need to kill him where he stood. And then the more cautious part of her mind whispered, Girl, don’t be a fool, as this may be your only chance. The rage vanished below consciousness as she searched her mind for directions on how to play this one.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“God, yes, you are alive. I knew you wouldn’t give up so easily as they said.”
Again the rage shattered her calm and fury turned the darkness behind her lids red. “I am, but just barely,” she answered. “Get me some food, some water. If it hadn’t rained two nights ago, I would be dead.”
He pressed something down through the grating. Wine in an earthenware jug, a napkin with a few loaves of bread, some cheese and—blessing of blessings—a hard sausage. She knelt, drinking the wine and tearing the hard loaves with her teeth.
“Lucilla, you have to help me.”
For a second Lucilla almost laughed. God, he was a child. Her—help him?
Better find out, her cooler self said. “Why?” she asked between mouthfuls of bread.
“Charles has passed the mountains and has besieged my father in Pavia. It is said that the big landowning families are taking Charles’s side and helping supply his army.”
Lucilla sighed. Too late for her, perhaps, but what she and Hadrian had hoped for was happening. She’d won. Small consolation. Now, maybe she could use it as a bargaining tool with Adalgisus.
“Get me out of here,” she said. “I’ll help you make your accommodation with the pope. You might still salvage something.”
He was silent.
“If you let them kill me,” she whispered savagely, “you’re doomed. If you help me, I’ll speak for you. Hadrian will listen to me, and Charles will listen to Hadrian. I promise you. But for the love of God, Adalgisus, please—” She was shocked at the desperation in her own voice. “—please get me out of here.”
For a moment she thought he might be gone, but then when he answered she was equally horrified by the relief she felt: it seemed to shake her whole body.
“I can’t,” he whined. “The man I bribed to tell me where you were wouldn’t give me the keys.”
O Jesus, God, have mercy, Lucilla thought, and it was not a curse but the only prayer she’d uttered since she’d been shut in this hole. He had the man with the keys to this place of hideous torment under his hand and he’d let him go.
The rage overwhelmed her.
“You pig, you pig with the prick and balls of a mouse! Run, you bastard, run. You—you—king? You aren’t fit to be the ruler of a dung heap. Run, go to Genoa, Venice, you cock-sucking heap of offal. Take ship and live in exile, rotting in exile till the day you die.”
Her voice rose to a shriek. “Till the day you die, you hear me? Till the day you die.”
The sound of her own voice shocked her into silence. And just as well, because she heard the sound of running feet, shouting, and she saw the glow of lights through the grating. She snatched up the food from the floor and scuttled to the back of the cell far from the lights, cowering against the wall next to the pile of dirt she’d dug from the hillside. She remained there until silence returned and all she could see through the grating was the light of distant stars and the only sound was the soft churr of insects in the grass and the wind rustling the leaves of a few trees somewhere far away.
And then she wept. For how long she never knew, but eventually she ceased, feeling nothing but a bottomless, endless, hopeless despair. She’d ceased weeping and was resting, limp against the pile of dirt, when she heard the wolf howl.
Syagrius, Gerberga, and Karl were sitting together. They were listening to Audoin, the public executioner. He was speaking of Adalgisus.
“He is gone. And no doubt halfway to Genoa by now, if not all the way. He will probably be in Constantinople by the end of the month.
“You should have heard her curse him—and most appropriate curses they were. So she still has some strength left.”
Syagrius looked horrified. “She is still alive? I can hardly credit it. It’s been eight days. Brother, I would be happier if you had cut her throat while you had her in your custody. Why this charade?”
Gerberga sniffed. “She hasn’t suffered enough. I can imagine her with him, watching me cross the square on my way to mass while they wallowed in their filthy lust. I—I, who offered him a throne. Thus does he use me. Well, Karl has paid him out for it.”
Karl chuckled. “I wonder how much longer she will last. It would be interesting to know.”
“No,” Syagrius said. “Enough. Audoin, take two men and go to the cell. Settle matters now. She should have been garroted when she was brought before you.”
“Don’t take on so,” his brother Karl said. “Everything has worked out perfectly. Gerberga wanted revenge for Adalgisus’s perfidy; you wanted him frightened away so we could have a clear field to make our own bargain with the Frankish king. You both have what you want.”
Gerberga’s mouth twisted. “Do we have to treat with Charles?”
“No, not yet,” Karl said. “We must wait, see how this siege goes. I can’t think of any lord or king powerful enough to keep an army in the field for more than a few months. Even the Great Charles, the Hammer, wasn’t able to keep men under arms for more than half a year. And while his attentions are focused on Pavia, we will be able to strengthen our hand.”
Syagrius felt uncomfortable. The woman should be dead, should have been dead. The same for Adalgisus. But Karl was a little too fond of inflicting pain, and someday his dear brother might outsmart himself. Still, he couldn’t find any flaw in Karl’s reasoning. He bowed to his brother. Karl left with Gerberga on his arm. Well, she was not wasting any time choosing another champion.
He turned to Audoin. “Go and finish her.”
“In the morning—”
“Now! I’ll sleep better when she’s dead.”
“But I blocked the locks.”
“What locks?”
“The padlocks on the chains holding the grating closed. The bishop told me to. He said she might be able to pick locks. The chain will have to be sawn in half.”
Syagrius sighed. “Very well.” He was too tired to argue. “But first thing in the morning. No slipups.”
“No, my lord,” Audoin said. “No slipups.”
The wolf howled three times before Lucilla realized what she was hearing. She crawled toward the grating, stood up, arms extended, hands gripping the bars, and shouted.
“Regeane, Regeane, Regeane.” God, please, please, let it be her.
There was an answer, a low moaning cry, and a few seconds later something wet touched her hand and a wolf’s head blotted out the stars.
A second later Regeane was crouched over the grating. “I knew you had to be near here. I knew it,” Regeane said.
“Lavinia got to Rome,” Lucilla said. “I didn’t let myself dare hope. I thought she had so little chance to get through. Oh, my God, my God, it’s so good to know I’m not alone. You will never know.”
“Oh, won’t I? Lucilla, these locks have been tampered with. How do I get you out? Tell me quickly. I’m freezing.”
“Here.” Lucilla had been wearing the linen shift. She shoved the woolen gown through the grating up to Regeane.
Regeane wiggled into the gown. “That’s better.”
“I’ll bet it stinks.”
“It does, but it’s warm. Now, how do I get you out?”
“Is this cage on a hill?” Lucilla asked.
“Yes,” Regeane said.
“Good, the cell runs underground a few paces to my right. I began digging there. I think I have almost broken through.”
“Show me. Make noise. I can hear things others can’t.”
Lucilla crawled to the back of the cell and began stabbing at the dirt with her improvised pic
k.
A second later it gave way without Regeane’s intervention and Lucilla looked up into her friend’s face.
At first the opening was not wide enough for her to pass through, but it was the work of only a few minutes on the part of both women to create an opening large enough to crawl through.
Lucilla took Regeane’s hand and together they stumbled down the hillside to a stream in the valley.
The water was icy, but it seemed to Lucilla that she couldn’t get done scrubbing herself. She crouched in the water naked, using handfuls of stony sand from the stream to scrub her face, arms, armpits, breasts, under the breasts, stomach, buttocks, and groin, and in between, what Regeane saw as trying to sandpaper herself raw. She drank mouthful after mouthful of the sweet, invigorating, cold, clear water.
Last of all, she threw the ragged linen shift into the stream and pounded it with a rock, then kneaded it with her feet until it was more or less clean. She threw the tough garment back on, to dry on her body. Then she threw herself down on the stream bank and drank some more.
“Lucilla.” Regeane shook her. “Ansgar is not far from here. We must get to his camp. I’m sure you can find clean things there.”
Lucilla rose to her feet. “Hell, Regeane—do you know what hell is? It’s a hole in the ground with no food, no water. I’ve been in hell these last eight days. They expected me to die. They wanted me to die. I still can’t believe I’m alive. Every day of the rest of my life I will get up and thank God that I am alive. No matter what else is wrong in the world, I will do that.”
Then, abruptly, sense seemed to return to her mind. “What is the hour? Good God, what are we doing hanging about here? We might be found and captured. Where is Ansgar’s camp? Show me. Stella died, didn’t she? Does he blame me? I did what I could. Are you sure it’s safe to go there?”
“I don’t know what hour it is, but the wolf knows it’s very late. Nothing is stirring. I don’t think we will be found. Yes.” She was helping Lucilla, now suddenly weak, to rise. “Yes, Stella died. No, I don’t think Ansgar blames you. Or rather I should say he blames others more. And yes, it’s safe to go to his camp. Maeniel is there and in the morning the Frankish king will arrive.”
A half hour later they both stumbled into Ansgar’s camp. They created quite a stir because they weren’t expected. Ansgar had been told Regeane had left Rome, but he had no idea of what she could do, or her probable destination. When Maeniel had joined him, the gray wolf knew she was in the immediate vicinity, but since she did not reveal herself to him, he could only guess at her activities.
After she got into camp and got something to wear from Matrona, she found the Saxon. Did Maeniel . . .
“Obviously not,” the Saxon said. “I am here and in one piece.
“No, my lady, he was not bluffing. I cannot think he ever bluffs. He simply decided not to act on his threats. He knows he cannot make me answerable for your actions. He accepts this now. He made me a magnificent present. Or perhaps I should say he introduced me to a wonderful friend.”
Regeane met the horse, but she didn’t have long to get acquainted with him. Matrona came and told Regeane that Lucilla was calling for her and had become agitated when she did not return quickly enough.
Regeane hurried away to care for her friend.
Matrona stared at Regeane’s back through narrowed eyes.
“What’s wrong?” the Saxon asked.
“I don’t know,” Matrona answered. “But Lucilla is a very self-possessed and, let’s say, hard individual.”
“Hard?” The Saxon’s eyebrows came up.
“Yes, she could outface most men. Such behavior is uncharacteristic of her. Keep an eye on both of them, please.”
The Saxon nodded and followed Regeane.
Lucilla had taken another bath and while Regeane’s clothes wouldn’t have fit her, Matrona’s did, and so Lucilla was respectable-looking when Charles arrived in the camp.
The Frankish king wasn’t a man who was long on ceremony. Ansgar offered him a cup of wine, and he sat down, and they talked for a few moments in the doorway of Ansgar’s tent before the fire about the unseasonably warm spring weather. Ansgar noticed the group of well-armed young men who accompanied Charles were very watchful, but nothing happened except that Ludolf arrived—he had been reconnoitering near the city—and was introduced to Charles. He went gracefully to one knee and bowed. They seemed to relax.
Maeniel and Regeane arrived then, along with more food and wine provided by Matrona. Lucilla and the Saxon followed them. Matrona had lent Lucilla a pale blue gown of silk linen weave, very simple but with long, flowing lines and full sleeves. She wore it over a divided leather riding skirt, and Matrona had insisted she wear a light mail shirt between the gown and her shift.
Lucilla had wrapped her head in a heavy linen veil, but when Charles looked into her eyes, something dreadful seemed to leap out of them at him. Whatever it was, for a moment it took his breath away. They glittered like icicles in the firelight, gray-green, blue, all at the same time. Then she bowed and also bent the knee to him.
He invited her to be seated. She sat.
“Ansgar has told me that you have been to the city and can tell us what to expect there.”
Lucilla nodded and then, in a clear, calm, well-modulated voice, she told him about the layout of the city, its defenses, how many men Syagrius had, where they were quartered, where the horses were stabled and extra weapons stored. Then she went on to draw a picture on a scrap of paper giving the probable location of Syagrius’s and Karl’s houses, the cathedral, Gerberga’s residence, and the layout of the rooms where she and her women slept, as well as the other wing where the two princes were.
Impressed, he assimilated the information. “The Romans fortified the city well. How do we get in?”
Lucilla laughed. Regeane saw her eyes glitter. She turned to Ansgar. “Have they the slightest idea we’re here?”
Ansgar smiled, his smile as cold as the gleam of ice in Lucilla’s eyes. “No.”
“I thought not. In the morning, every morning, they open the gates to let the farmers bring fresh meat, eggs, vegetables into the city. The watch opens them when the carts appear between first light and sunrise. The road is not far away from here. We are hidden by a vineyard and a large grove of olive trees.
“When you hear the creaking of the carts and the shouts of the drivers, the gates will open. Simply, quickly, before the watch can gather their wits, ride past the farm carts and the city is yours.”
“I had been watching them,” Ludolf said. “Her plan is workable, but we must move quickly. By day they will see our encampment and raise an alarm.”
Lucilla took Regeane’s hand and the two women left the tent and the quiet bustle of the encampment behind. They moved silently together through the vineyard. Regeane saw the light was blue now. The vines were just leafing out; the air was as it usually is at first light—very still.
“Are you better now?” she asked.
“Yes, but I need you, Regeane. Promise, don’t leave me. No matter what, don’t leave me.”
“Yes.” Regeane was somewhat mystified by Lucilla’s fear. What was there to be afraid of now? The wolf’s eyes were better than the woman’s, but even to a human the blue of first light was growing pale. It was possible to see the ground mist turning to dew on the thick, ropy vines and settling in droplets on the soft young green leaves, and Regeane’s eyes could pick out the Saxon and Maeniel mounted and standing among the trees in the olive grove when she heard the first of the carts, the wheels rattling along the big cobbles of the ancient Roman road.
Audoin had been uneasy and had slept badly. Syagrius had been unhappy about that Roman woman being alive, so he pulled two of his assistants out of bed early and they were nearing the city gates at first light.
He heard but didn’t see the gates open. He began to hurry. At the gate, he stepped aside to let a cart laden with firewood pass and found himself looking down the road into the
misty predawn light when she appeared. The woman from the cell. She rode out of the foggy morning light with some others, another woman and four men, and he had the sense that others were behind them.
Audoin felt every muscle in his body stiffen and the hair on his neck lift in terror. Of all creatures between hell, earth, and heaven, she was the last, the very last, being who should be here. And he found himself praying she would not see him.
She didn’t and rode on, eyes fixed straight ahead. As her horse cantered past him, he realized these people were at the head of a column of armed men that rode two by two into the city. They flashed past him in a thunder of hooves, harness and armor jingling, seeming to fly along. The men of the watch stood and stared, mouths agape, at the procession passing by, until one of them realized he was watching a military disaster happening. But then all he and his fellow guardians did was run, vanishing into the narrow maze of streets near the gate as Charles and Ansgar’s men poured into the city. When he saw the watch disappear, Audoin decided he’d best follow their strategy, and he and his two assistants took to their heels also.
Ansgar, Regeane, and Lucilla drew rein in the square before Syagrius’s residence. A half dozen of the scarae were already forcing the doors. They flew open and Ansgar strode up the steps and followed them into the house, Regeane and Lucilla behind him, accompanied by the Saxon.
Lucilla wouldn’t let go of Regeane’s hand. “I need you,” she whispered. “All hell is about to break loose here. Stay close, you will be safer that way.”
The servants and bodyguards of the family didn’t get a chance to make even a token resistance. Most fled, a few threw down their weapons and surrendered. A few moments later Syagrius and Karl were herded from their beds by the king’s men-at-arms and shoved into the center of the hall to face Lucilla and Ansgar.
Regeane could hear terrible screams outside and smell blood, burning wood, and roasting meat. The wolf grabbed at Regeane in panic. She wanted out. Regeane, though frightened, slapped her down. Burned meat was burned meat. Then Regeane guessed what the charring flesh was and she felt hot nausea as her gorge seemed to rise and start to gag her. The stench was drifting in through the tall windows on either side of the palace hall.
The Wolf King Page 43
