Night of the Wolf (41 page)

When every scrap of the salad disappeared and the platter was carried out, fat dormice stuffed with pork, pepper, pine nuts, and sorrel appeared, a generous platter of them.

“Have you seen Caesar’s new toy?” Antony asked Brutus, then added, “Sorry, I forgot you weren’t invited.”

Maeniel had to repress himself. He almost laughed. The wolf would have given the sharp bark wolves emit during play. It wasn’t a laugh, but it was close.

Brutus lifted both eyebrows. “I heard about her, but the man is aware of my philosophical leanings and knows I don’t approve of such . . . such lascivious entertainments. It is a profanation of the virtue shown by true gladiators. A woman, of all things. How can she possibly be primarius bellator, an outstanding fighter, and excel in hand-to-hand combat, as even prisoners and slaves do? They, at least, are men.”

Dryas,
the wolf thought.
They are speaking of Dryas.
“Where was this?” he asked.

Antony ignored the question entirely, and Brutus replied with disdainful hauteur, “A private matter. A disreputable exhibition of the charm that novelty has for weaker minds.”

“Caesar seemed to be enjoying himself,” Antony said, putting away his third dormouse.

“That’s a measure of the degeneration of . . . the times,” Brutus finished lamely.

Maeniel was enjoying himself. He understood Brutus had almost stumbled badly. Antony’s eyes were glittering. He’d almost gotten Brutus to accuse the dictator of degeneracy.

“A woman, a woman gladiator,” Manilius gushed. “How . . .”

Brutus and Antony both skewered him with their eyes.

“How . . . how different,” he finished.

“Hardly a gladiator. Beastiarius is a better term,” Brutus stated pedantically. “After all, she faced an animal, a boar. She is, I understand, said to be a Gaul. How apropos. A sacred animal to those barbarians, I believe.”

“I don’t know if it’s sacred or not, but I know this one was big and vicious. She had at least one close call with it, maybe two. Killing an animal that size with a light spear is quite a feat. Ful—her owner, I mean, tells me she has a lion on tap for tomorrow,” Antony said.

Maeniel considered wringing one or both men’s necks. They knew where Dryas was and wouldn’t tell him, but Manilius and Felex exchanged a speaking glance.

“Oh, the naughty boy,” Felex said. “And to think he was over here just last week for Aunt Myrtus’ turbot in olive oil with capers, and didn’t breathe a word about Fulvia’s new acquisition.”

“I see no one can keep secrets from the two of you.” Antony laughed.

Maeniel saw satisfaction on the two handsome faces. Antony had just confirmed what both had already guessed.

“I can’t see why anyone would try. The whole of Rome is talking,” Manilius said. “She’s said to be very beautiful, but, of course, you’re both Caesar’s intimates and only a few have been favored with a look at the woman. Why, she was brought to the house in a curtained litter and returned to . . . but then you know, don’t you?” Manilius purred. “You must know where she’s hidden.”

Brutus smiled, Antony avoided his eyes, and Manilius and Felex looked disappointed.

Maeniel ate a dormouse. He’d eaten dormice before. These were spicy. He was trying to decide if the warm furry fresh ones were better than the oven-roasted variety and came to the conclusion that he enjoyed both. These were fatter than the wild variety and had been flavored with figs.

None of them knew where she was, that was obvious, but every one of them was hell-bent on finding out.

The dormice were gone. A beautiful blond girl arrived and carried off the empty tray. At least the person who carried off the tray was blond, beautiful, and looked like a girl, but the wolf informed him “she” was not female. Both Antony and Brutus appeared to think she was. Or, as a second alternative, it was possible they simply didn’t care.
After all,
Maeniel thought darkly,
this is Rome.

More wine made the rounds, the very famous Falernian. Maeniel found the legendary wine almost as good as its reputation promised.

“I am finding all this simply unbearable,” Felex sighed. “Now, Antony, you are the only one here who has seen her. Is she as attractive as gossip paints her?”

“You’re a friend of Lucius, I take it,” Antony said.

Felex looked puzzled. “Yes, he shares our dinner every few weeks. A charming young man, though we haven’t been able to interest him in . . .”

“Taking wives among your friends,” Antony finished the sentence for him.

“Tut, tut,” Manilius said. “Now, the ladies are respectably married, all of them, and only in search of a bit of adventure. Not every husband in Rome is able to keep his darling in a manner truly befitting her rank, and if they make a bit extra on the side . . .”

“Yes, but you know him better than anyone here. He must talk about his family to the two of you.”

“Oh,” Manilius said, taking a deep breath. “I see. I see where you’re going.” He tapped Felex on the wrist. “Dearest, think back. Our esteemed friend described a little exhibition bout that had a rather unpleasant, um, outcome, shall we say. But who was the exauctoratus, the man who was in charge of the ludus where the ladies trained?”

Felex frowned. “Give me a minute, just a minute. It’s on the tip of my tongue.” He snapped his fingers. “Of course, he’s famous: Gordus, the great Gordus himself. That’s where she’s hidden. On the Campus Martius, in Gordus’ place.”

“Amazing,” Brutus said. “Now, why would you want to know where she is?” The question was directed to Antony.

Antony grinned at Brutus, but didn’t answer.

Both Manilius and Felex looked uneasy.

Just then the main course arrived. Pork, done over an open fire, with a hazelnut crust, stuffed with bread crumbs, honey, and the large mushrooms of the countryside.

Before he ate, Maeniel, with excuses to his hosts, had to go seek some relief in the latrine. He’d been drinking wine with the rest since the beginning of supper, and he wasn’t used to large amounts of any intoxicant, not to mention the sheer volume of liquid.

When he was sure he was alone, he became a wolf and found he could hear the diners in the triclinium speaking to one another.

“You are to be warned,” Brutus was saying to Antony. “Interfering with Caesar or anything the man wants is—”

“Don’t be a fool,” Antony interrupted. “Do you think I’d let an itch in my loins get between me and my loyalty to my own best interests, you—”

“Then why did you want to know where she’s being kept?” Brutus interrupted in turn.

“Because no one would tell me.” Antony sounded angry—really angry, not posturing.

“If you were not a man whose appetites lead him like a bullock with a ring through his nose,” Brutus snarled, “then I think the dictator would find you more trustworthy.”

“Trust! You Greek-loving sycophant. Who are you to talk about trust? If he’d been of Sulla’s mind or even had any good common sense, he’d have ordered the lot of you Optimates to open your veins after the battle of Pharsalus and all that would be left of the lot of you would be ashes, wax, death masks, and unpleasant memories. The best thing Cato ever did was stick a sword into his stomach. But the rest of you . . . One by one, you came crawling to him, begging for mercy. And you got it . . . worse luck.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Manilius tried vainly to quiet the pair.

“I won’t stay here to be insulted by a greedy, lecherous sot like you. A man whose only god is his belly, only brain is in his prick, and one who keeps faith only with a wine jar. Caesar’s is the disgrace in that he trusts you, a fungus on the tree of the Republic, and that he’s willing to turn to such a filthy object as yourself . . .”

Antony’s bass rumble could be heard above Brutus’ higher pitched orator’s delivery.

“I told him, I told him when he pardoned the lot of you and welcomed your participation in setting up a new government, I told him he was cutting his own throat by doing it. Do you think he’s a fool? Do you really believe I am? Do you think I’m deaf, dumb, and blind? When I get proof of what you and your senatorial friends are about, what you’re planning, I’ll have the lot of you smeared with pitch and hung on crosses to light the way the legions take when we ride to Parthia. You, your wives, and your children . . .”

There was another crash from the triclinium and an alarmed cry from Felex as Brutus stormed out of the house, calling for his litter to carry him home.

The wolf sat on the floor of the latrine. He could hear Antony laughing and Felex and Manilius fluttering around, making excuses for Brutus to Antony. Then he stood up a man and slipped his tunic back on. Without help, he could do nothing with the toga. It was unfamiliar to him and far too complex a garment for him to manage alone. Then he flushed the latrine with a bucket of water.

When he came out, the slaves were all standing in the kitchen, most with their ears against the triclinium wall. Several of them helped him with the toga and two produced a basin and a pitcher of warm water and helped him wash his hands.

“By the way.” Antony sounded completely relaxed and calm. “Why did you invite me here tonight? Certainly not to quarrel with that constipated fool.”

“No,” Manilius replied. “Oh, what an evening. I’m completely undone. Everything is flown out of my head. My mind is a complete blank. Felex, my beloved, please . . .”

“Our guest, our guest!” Felex cried. “His banker is our banker and he did us the courtesy of informing us on how much this Maeniel, I believe his name is, has on deposit with him. We were amazed at the amount. Our friends told us he was a rich man, but we had no idea how rich.”

“Well? Well,” Antony said impatiently, “don’t dance around so delicately. How much?”

“Six, no less than six golden talents.”

“He’s rich, all right. I’ll talk to Caesar, see if we can’t find a home for some of it. Trust me, he can’t do any better than invest in our little foray into the east. The Gauls were only barbarians, but when Caesar began squeezing their balls, wagonload after wagonload of gold came back to Rome, and slaves by the thousands and tens of thousands. These Parthians are said to be even richer—” He broke off because Maeniel reentered the room.

Manilius and Felex explained that Brutus had been called away. Maeniel settled himself on the couch and accepted a portion of the roast, just now being carved.

Antony turned to Maeniel and smiled.

XXII

Dryas was returned to the ludus in the litter that afternoon. She was brought back to the cell she’d been kept in the night before. Marcia must have been in, because the cell was swept and the bed, such as it was, made. She had contributed clean sheets and a blanket. Dryas still had the mantle, so she covered herself and went to sleep.

In the dark, she could feel the pain. He lingered with the dead here. She knew why he felt it. In the arena, he’d killed among his kin. He’d wanted to live. Three of the men he killed had been part of his life since he was a child and one was his brother. In the fragment of a dream, he knelt before her and asked her forgiveness. She couldn’t give him that forgiveness.

She sat with him on a stone. It was dusk and the entertainment for the Roman crowd was over and it had been a magnificent event. A veritable river of blood had been shed. He was alive and everyone he had loved was dead. He took his sword to himself.

Dryas woke shivering.

Aquila was standing at the door of the cell. He held a lamp. “You screamed,” he said. “You screamed and it was one of the worst screams I ever heard. What happened?”

“I don’t remember screaming,” Dryas said. “Nothing happened, but it’s cold. Cold, and I must have been dreaming.”

He unlocked the door, came in, and set the lamp down. The mantle had fallen from the bed and lay like a pool of ink on the floor. He picked it up and wrapped it around Dryas. He was clucking.

He’s motherly,
Dryas thought.
I was a mother; but never motherly. He could not possibly be a mother; but is.

“Come,” he said. “Marcia is roasting some chickens and we have dried dates and rosemary to stuff them with, and carrots on the side with bread and fresh cheese. I believe there are a few boiled eggs left over from lunch.”

Dryas came quietly. It was late afternoon. Daylight glowed around them as they walked along the porch. As they passed the cell next to hers, she heard a loud thud and the door shook.

“Funny,” Aquila said. “Gordus told me this tier was empty.”

“No,” Dryas replied quietly. “These cells aren’t empty.” As they passed the third, the door rattled even more loudly. They both saw it quiver and shake.

“That makes my skin crawl,” Aquila said. “If it wasn’t you who screamed, what did?”

Dryas didn’t answer. They reached the stair leading down into the practice yard. There were no further disturbances.

They entered Marcia’s kitchen and found Gordus seated at the head of the table. No reclining here. Marcia’s chair was beside his and places were set for Dryas and Aquila. They sat.

Marcia was fixing a plate for someone who didn’t come down to eat. Sliced chicken breast, gravy, a delicious-looking onion bread, date and rosemary stuffing, four or five slices of bread hot from the oven, a pot of fresh cheese with pepper, and a side of carrots with honey, oil, and cumin. She disappeared upstairs.

Gordus glared at Dryas and scowled, then cast the same look in Aquila’s direction. Marcia returned and began serving her guests and ignoring her husband. His displeasure deepened, but only when Dryas and Aquila each had a plate with bread, chicken, stuffing, and carrots did she turn her attention to Gordus.

He muttered something under his breath.

She turned from a pot of beef barley soup she was dishing up for him and fixed him with a stare a Gorgon might envy. “Yes? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“How is he?” Gordus asked, sounding rather lame.

“Fine. Philo came today and pronounced the wound healing well. No thanks to you.”

“He’d best thank his lucky stars I did no worse. The next time he has the temerity to face me, I’ll cripple him permanently.”

“Oh, you men,” Marcia cried. “The boy loves you—”

“If he loved me, he wouldn’t want to undertake a career in the arena. Tell me, woman, would you want him risking his life among those barbarian warriors, criminal reprobates, outcasts, murderers, and slaves? Men dead to all decency and faith, men who don’t shrink from the worst possible—”

She smacked the bowl of soup down in front of him and whacked him over the head with the wooden ladle. “I married you, didn’t I? And what were you when we first . . . met?” she finished a bit lamely.

“You knew what I was, but I . . . I—” he pointed to his chest. “—I raised myself from servitude, poverty, debt, and disgrace. Now I’m the owner of my own establishment. Eight, nine, ten times a year I fought, long after I had enough money to secure my discharge, so that you and the boy could be secure. Even now . . .” He favored Aquila and Dryas with another scowl. “If it weren’t for the money, I’d tell my distinguished patroness to go straight to . . . for trying to turn my ludus into a brothel.”

“Gordus!” Marcia shouted.

Dryas leaped to her feet.

Aquila did the same, hand on his sword hilt. “Sir, neither I nor the lady are here of our own will. She was, as many who have come here, captured in an honorable battle, and though as unfortunate as I believe you yourself once were, she has borne herself with discretion and courage since—”

“What are you?” Gordus snapped. “A soldier or an orator?”

“He’s a Greek,” Marcia said, as if it explained everything.

Dryas spoke. “I’m a guest here in your kitchen even if I am a prisoner in your cells. Politeness is incumbent on a guest even when the host is offensive. Please return me to my former accommodations if you think so little of me. I would not—”

“Please!” Gordus said, raising his hands to heaven in supplication. “I am sufficiently called to order.” He rose and bowed to Dryas. “I apologize.”

Dryas returned the bow and sat down.

He did the same in the direction of Aquila, who sat down, saying, “Actually I’d hate to miss your wife’s roast chicken. And besides, those cells on the top floor are haunted.”

Dryas seconded him. “Yes, they are.”

Marcia, who was filling a plate for herself, turned her head toward her husband. “I told you so.”

“I think it’s Priscus,” Gordus said.

“Yes.” Dryas was consuming stuffing with a spoon. “He died in the cell I’m currently staying in.”

“Gordus!” Marcia sounded outraged.

“How did you know?” Gordus sounded guilty.

“I am one who deals with the dead,” Dryas said.

“What else do you do?” Marcia asked.

“I train young men for battle and I try to see the future when it is necessary.”

Gordus looked somber when she said this.

“And yes,” Dryas continued. “I know I am to fight tomorrow. I heard the women gossiping about it. What is it? A panther, a lion? I didn’t understand the words they were using.”

“It’s not either one,” Gordus said. “It—this thing—came from far away on the Silk Road. It’s a cat or looks like one, though I never saw a cat like this before. It’s big. Usually they use it to execute criminals, so it’s a man-eater. And I don’t think . . . I wish you were not at my table, young lady. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to look at your face.”

Dryas smiled, broke off a piece of bread, and dipped it in the chicken gravy.

“See,” Aquila said. “Look at her. She’s been like this since the beginning. That’s why I’m here.”

“Yes,” Gordus said. “I see.”

“Let me lay Priscus to rest,” Dryas said. “He calls me to do my duty. He did wrong. He knows and cannot sleep. His kin went to the arena with him.”

“Yes,” Marcia said, “but what will they say when they see him?”

Dryas smiled again. “I am not a judge.”

“Very well,” Gordus said. “Then you will read my son’s future.”

“I will try,” Dryas said. “I am not always successful, but I will try.”

With Antony, Maeniel was in unfamiliar territory. The leader of one wolf pack doesn’t put his arm over the shoulder of another pack leader, breathe wine in his face, and suggest they visit a whorehouse.

“We’ll find you something nice, eh?” Antony said. “This is the best place in Rome and that’s saying something. Rome is the queen of cities, although Alexandria isn’t bad. Reptens has everything, and he knows better than to try to fob off second-rate goods on my friends.”

Maeniel bet he did. Antony had the charm of your average crocodile combined with the menace possessed by a cranky bear. It was more than obvious. Both Manilius’ and Felex’s knees rattled in his presence and they were probably not the only ones. Maeniel noticed that Antony’s slaves were wary of him, extremely wary. But he did know where Dryas was, so when Antony sent home his litter bearers, they set out together into the night.

By then, it was growing late. The city was dark. The gateway to the two friends’ house looked down on the Tiber. Mist was rising from the water. The air was cold and damp at the same time.

Maeniel took a deep breath. These crippled humans lived in a limited universe. From somewhere in the distance drifted the strangest variety of odors the wolf had ever encountered. But then the man knew—because Blaze had told him—they brought animals and humans from far away to entertain themselves by basically, yes, basically murdering them. This was probably what they planned for Dryas, Blaze had told him.

The gardens around and among the dwellings nearby had their own odor: pine, cypress, box, grass, and water, sleeping flowers, and birds. Yes, both sleep. A rose at midnight has a different odor than a rose in the sun. As do humans. They in turn have a set of different smells when they sleep than either plants or animals do.

Yes, in his valley he would probably have killed by now and be at rest. He could gauge Antony’s degree of drunkenness by his odor. The man shouldn’t even have been walking around, much less stringing coherent sentences together, but Antony set off, singing a little ditty that interested the wolf because it contained a lot of the new words Amborux’s guards had taught him to say. Antony was teaching him some new uses for perfectly respectable Latin words from everyday speech, comparing anatomical events to weapons, wells, caves, etc.

With the cool air and the night breeze, Antony’s head began to clear and other impulses besides drunkenness moved him. He began to recount amorous adventures to Maeniel.

The wolf listened, wondering if the women would describe Antony in the same glowing terms as he did himself.

They reached a bridge over the Tiber. The guards recognized Antony. He greeted one.

“My lord,” the man said, “it’s very late, about the eighth hour. Out of the circle of light cast by the guardpost, all manner of unpleasant things happen in the Transtiber.”

Antony laughed. “We’re armed, aren’t we?” He showed the guard the Spanish sword in his belt. “Now, my friend, my rich friend, what have you got?”

Maeniel pushed the toga aside. He wore the sword belt Mir had given him. The old man had given the sword to him before they left for the oppidum on the Rhine. Dryas pronounced it a magnificent gift.

I was going to put it into the well to rust to nothingness with the rest, but, properly speaking, it belongs to him,
Maeniel remembered Mir’s words.

The weapon and scabbard were very plain, but when drawn, the steel shimmered like a rainbow and seemed almost to glow with a light from within.

The legionnaire stepped forward, spear in hand. He was an impressive man, young, dark, with long hair streaming from under his helmet. He wore a muscle cuirass and a kilt of golden plates, bronze arm guards, and greaves.

“Draw that just a few inches,” he ordered Maeniel.

Maeniel did.

“Gallic, and old!” he said. “Where did you get it?”

“It was a present from a friend.”

“I wish I had friends like that,” the legionnaire said. “You Gaul?”

“No,” Maeniel said.

“Try not to stick it in anyone tonight.”

“Not unless they deserve it,” Maeniel replied.

“Yes. If they do, throw the remains into the river. Caesar doesn’t like foreigners killing citizens, or wearing togas either. The garment is reserved for citizens and gentlemen of rank like Lord Antony here.”

Maeniel smiled or rather bared his teeth. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said quietly, and followed the still-singing Antony across the bridge.

Immediately, they entered a much poorer quarter. The houses were closer together and overlooked the streets menacingly. The smells were sharper and worse. Sewage, spilled wine, dirty bodies, fear, rotting food. Sex was a ripe reek in the air, almost a constant, as was blood, decay, and death. Away from the river, the street began to rise. Music flowed from behind closed and barred doors of taverns. Pipes wailed and moaned, drums pounded at various rhythms, and a waterfall of strings being plucked by expert fingers danced in the air.

Antony paused in the narrow street. Now he stank of more than wine. “Want to spill some blood?” he asked.

“I thought we were going to visit this Reptens? Remember? Girls?”

Antony gave a nasty chuckle. “My house is full of women. I crook my finger, tell one to share my couch, she drops her dress right then. No, I don’t come here for women.”

He turned and walked over to a door and pounded. “Let me in. I want wine. I’m thirsty. Let me in.”

“Lord,” the heavily accented voice behind the door whispered, “we don’t cater to Romans.”

Antony kicked the door open and felled the rather slight man behind it with one blow of his fist.

Another rushed out of the shadows holding a curved single-edged sword. Antony had his Spanish blade in his hand. He parried the first blow, then drove the heel of his hand into the base of his opponent’s nose. There was a popping sound. The man’s nose seemed to vanish into his face and a gush of blood poured from his mouth and nose, splashing on his tunic and then Antony’s and then the floor.

Even in the dark, Maeniel saw something in the shape of a spider falling on him. He guessed where the neck was likely to be. Just as well because a knife sliced through the breast of his tunic, searching for his heart, even as he wrung whatever was in his hand. It was the neck or the spine somewhere. He felt the bones snap and one jumped through the skin and cut his fingers.

Antony laughed. “I hadn’t hoped for entertainment this good.”

Maeniel was amazed at his recklessness. He could only just see, and he was sure Antony must be blind. They were in a corridor. It jogged and ended in a courtyard hidden by the offset in the corridor.