Night of the Wolf (46 page)

But Lucius was serious and it was obvious that he was because Maeniel and Gordus were tying his hands behind his back. Gordus looped a rope around his neck and prodded him at spear point up to the house.

With shaking hands, Dryas picked up her mantle from the floor of the cage, brushed the dust off, and joined, then passed, the procession heading upstairs to breakfast.

The kitchen was as warm as the area under the arena had been cold. Dryas walked over to the charcoal grate and began to warm her hands in the heat waves rising from the fire.

Three covered dishes rested on the table. Yes, Marcia had promised porridge, bacon, and bread.

Gordus marched Lucius into the kitchen, closely followed by Maeniel, Marcia, Aquila, Martinus, and Philo.

The table was in a corner. There were benches against the wall and on two sides. They sat him down on one of the benches against the wall, Gordus on one side, Maeniel on the other.

Marcia served up her version of posca, a much nicer one than Dryas had tasted at Fulvia’s villa. In a few minutes they all had a cup, except Lucius, whose hands were tied.

For a few moments, everyone simply drank. Then Dryas, still at her position near the grate, turned to Lucius. “You say you want to marry me?”

“Yes,” he answered defiantly. “I do.”

“Dear lady—” Philo started to interject.

“Don’t call me ‘dear.’ I’m not a domina. That implies slaves to order around and I don’t own any and don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking.”

“Is she always like this?” Aquila asked Maeniel.

“Most of the time,” he answered philosophically.

Dryas gave them a dark look to shut them up and looked again at Lucius. “Very well. Do you realize what marriage implies among my people?”

Lucius had to admit no.

“The man I marry stands a chance of becoming a king of the Caledoni. In order to make a match with me, you would have to face the ordeals involved in standing for kingship, and even if you fail, you would still become one of the ruler’s companions.”

“Caesar said you had no kings,” Martinus said.

“Caesar is wrong,” Dryas answered. “The king is a leader in war and a judge in peace. In a way, we, like the Romans, are suspicious of rulers and we, like you, prefer to order our own lives. Women like me live to give kings to the people, either by birth or marriage. Our bodies are not our own to dispose of. This is why I am asking these questions. If you truly want to make a match with me, I am bound to accept.”

There was general consternation in the kitchen.

Philo threw his mantle over his head in a gesture of grief.

Marcia said, “What!” and hit the wooden table with the ladle she was dishing up porridge with. Aquila sat open-mouthed and Maeniel, who felt most of the members of his shared species were already mad, took the news with complacency.

Martinus, alone, asked the salient question. “Why?”

“Because he can bring them Roman language, military arts, habits, knowledge, methods of fighting, and, last but not least, technical skills. There are many things done in Rome that they would be wise to learn,” Dryas finished.

“Yes,” Martinus said. “Caesar said that when he’s conquered Parthia, he will send his men to the White Isle and they would bring back some of your people to fight in the arena.”

“I couldn’t pass up such an offer, were it made—” She frowned at Lucius. “—in all seriousness. But I believe you to be young, frivolous, and driven by the heat of desire, not by any sort of real ambition to be part of my life. When I went to meet you, I was determined to allow you to quench your desires, rather than take the chance you would harm my friends.

“You were then simply an inconvenience and if that is all you are, then go. Rome is full of whores, some expensive, some cheap, but all for sale. I am not. I assure you, I can only be your victim, not a willing partner in pleasure. I do have my duty and must fight this afternoon. So if you must, I will go into the latrine with you because such a place is where the kind of desire you express belongs.

“If not, and you are willing to accord me the respect you would give even a street girl—that is, not to trouble her when she has other than business matters to attend to—then go.” Dryas pointed to the door. “And you will earn my thanks and respect for however long I live. So untie his hands, Maeniel, and allow him to do as he wishes. Unfortunately, he has powers that, at present, don’t lie with us and, one way or another, I would have him be gone.” Then she turned back to the grate and began to warm her hands. She found them still cold.

Gordus cut the ropes on his wrists. Lucius pulled his hands out from behind his back and looked down at them as if he wasn’t sure to whom the appendages at the end of his wrists belonged. He studied Dryas, feeling somewhat as if he’d been hit hard between the eyes with a two-by-four.

The rust-colored tunic and blue mantle were attractive. Marcia handed her a bowl of porridge and a spoon. She began to eat where she was standing. She looked so ordinary. Yes, there was that wonderful body under the soft linen tunic, the hair drawn up and braided around the strange, spiked brass crown. The warmth of the stove brought a bloom to her skin he hadn’t seen before and even the cut-lace sandals and woolen stockings couldn’t disguise the grace of her legs, ankles, and high-arched feet. He could no more imagine forcing her out of raging lust than he could imagine himself doing any other unthinkable thing like killing a child, laying information against a friend or even an enemy before a tribunal, stealing, or harming another person for no good reason.

Finally he said, “You are completely safe from me. I would no more touch you against your will than I would jump from the roof of this building and try to fly. I do find your conditions for marriage staggering. I’m not sure I can meet them and I am very afraid for you. So afraid it nigh drives me out of my senses. I am the last man on earth you need fear. Yes, I will go if you wish it, but I would rather stay and offer you what comfort and assistance I can.”

So saying, he rose, pushed past Maeniel, and went over to where Dryas stood. Again she saw the limp and it tore at her heart. She didn’t know why.

“I can’t think,” he said humbly, “that I would make a good candidate for kingship among your people. I am scarred and my health will probably always be affected by my injuries and long illness.”

He was just taller than she was and she tilted her head back slightly to look into his eyes. She didn’t feel Marcia take the bowl and spoon from her hands and she didn’t resist when he put his arms around her and rested her head against his chest. He stood, holding her, his lips resting on her hair, while she wept in sorrow that this moment had come to her, when she was sure she was going to die.

Lucius and Philo hurried through the streets of Rome. What had started as a fine and beautiful day was quickly turning sour. An overcast moved in slowly, blotting out the warm sunlight and the fair skies, and the north wind began to rise, funneled by the narrow streets of the already ancient city. It whipped at the loose garments the Romans habitually wore, nipping noses and fingers and driving the damp winter chill to the bone.

The gray skies matched Lucius’ mood. He was filled with grim anger and hate. He was walking so fast, Philo had to almost trot to keep up.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” Philo pleaded. “It’s not wise to burn all your bridges at one time. Even if you leave, someday you may want to return . . .”

Lucius paused and waited a second for Philo to catch up to him. He didn’t answer, only stared coldly into his friend’s face. “No,” he finally said. “I won’t ever want to return. Not here, and not to being Lucius Cornelius Basilian. I’m done. If you don’t want to come with me, I’ll give you money, any amount you ask for. You can go wherever you like. The whole world is open before you, Philo. I’ll make you a rich man, if that’s what you want.”

“Do you actually plan to marry this woman and run off to the ends of the earth with her?”

“Yes.”

Philo began laughing. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He wiped his eyes. “Do you know, my mother’s favored novels were those Hellenistic romances about adventure and love. One of them was about Alexander and I wondered what it would have been like to follow the troops across half a world, to see Persia and India, to fight with men riding elephants. They climbed mountains, crossed deserts, saw the Hanging Gardens of Babylon when it was the largest city anyone had ever built. Even in that horrible slave dealer’s shed at Cos, I felt a wild excitement in my heart. You never know where you will be sold or why. I was flabbergasted to end up in Gaul, of all places, looking at a very sick man . . .”

“Was I?” Lucius asked.

“Yes, you were yellow and your sister was threatening me.”

“What would you have done if I hadn’t recovered?”

“I don’t know. I never got a chance to lay any plans. You began improving as soon as I persuaded you to stop drinking yourself into a stupor every night and take some nourishment. Most gratifying, an easy win.”

“Yes?” Lucius asked ironically.

“No, actually it was touch and go there for a while.”

“I thought as much. Well, this may not be a great adventure. We might come to an unpleasant end in an out-of-the-way corner of a foreign land.”

“I’ll risk it,” Philo said.

“Well, then,” Lucius said, and began walking again. He’d carried Dryas upstairs with Marcia in close attendance. He put her down on a cot in one of the sleep rooms upstairs. Then he removed her shoes, leaving the socks on. Marcia took off her belt.

Philo had mixed something. “Valerian,” he told Marcia. “She needs her rest, but not any medication that would leave her groggy or with a hangover.”

Aquila lifted her head and persuaded her to drink it.

Then they had adjourned downstairs to take counsel with one another.

“I can do nothing,” Lucius told the rest. “If I asked for anything from my sister, she would take pleasure in doing the opposite just to spite me. She has Caesar on her side.”

“Yes, I went to see him this morning,” Gordus said.

“I take it you had no success,” Philo said.

“On the contrary, I may have accomplished something practical.” Gordus nodded. “I got him to overrule your sister’s plans to dress her as a dancing girl and dump her in the ring with a killer cat. I’ll put together some scale mail and I’ll be able to give her a shield and her own sword. He still wants, as he put it, for her to exhibit her body, but . . .” He turned to Maeniel. “How good is she with a javelin?”

“Good,” Maeniel said. “She’s good with any weapon.”

“Fine,” Gordus said. “I may be able—”

He was interrupted when the door banged open and a man, unknown to him, stood in the doorway, pointed to Maeniel, and screamed, “That’s him! Him! Get him before . . .”

But it was too late. A big wolf, one of the biggest Lucius had ever seen, was rolling clear of the worn tunic Maeniel had been wearing.

There was no other escape. The wolf charged the man in the doorway, shooting between his legs. He went down. The wolf dashed straight into Antony and five or six members of the Praetorian Cohort.

Maeniel had the advantage of surprise. They had the advantage of being armed to the teeth. One aimed a spear at him. It skidded along his ribs and struck a paving stone, showering sparks.

War at last!
the wolf thought, and he hamstrung the spearman.

Antony tried to take his head off with a gladius and missed by only an inch or two, but he wasn’t armored as the soldiers were. The wolf made a turn that would have done credit to a striking snake and sank his fangs into one big, well-fed Roman buttock.

Blood spurted; Antony screamed—or vice versa. At that point, nobody was keeping track, but Antony fell, driving his sword into the upper thigh of one of the other soldiers, grabbed another by the cuirass and brought him down also.

The wolf saw daylight and bolted.

Lucius, who had been watching the whole thing with complete astonishment, turned to Aquila.

“She says he’s a friend of hers,” Aquila said, and shrugged.

“My,” Philo said, “your intended has some very peculiar relatives.”

Lucius left Antony bleeding, blustering, and roaring in a fine patrician fury at Gordus, Marcia, Aquila, and even poor Martinus. He caught enough to know that Antony had been sent by Caesar to look after the tiger and he was not happy about it. He was accompanied by a man named Decius who evidently was an agent of Fulvia’s and babbled endlessly about a man who turned into a wolf and back.

“I don’t know about turning into a wolf, but turning back, that’s impossible,” Philo had said as he and Lucius made their way to the egress. Lucius did notice with some satisfaction that Philo made no move nor did he offer to help Antony.

Now he was on his way home, ready to raid the strongbox. In this respect, he was a true Basilian. Love mattered, but the next thing he thought of was money. If he was leaving with her for the ends of the earth, fine, but he wanted to travel in comfort and there are few situations in which money is not useful.

“Don’t look now,” Philo said, “but we’re being followed by a large . . . dog?”

“Oh . . .” He paused for a second, foot in the air, put it down slowly, then abruptly turned down a street leading toward the river.

As in most modern cities, the central forum was surrounded by more-or-less seedy areas, and this street was one. Cramped, narrow shops, a few bars and small restaurants, even a mill being turned by a discouraged-looking mule with a baker next door. A wine importer’s warehouse. A half dozen insulas, which were apartment houses with rooms overlooking the street. The windows were so close together, Lucius could hear women chattering back and forth over his head and there were only a few feet of clearance to admit light and air to the stepped passage below. Then Lucius saw what he’d been looking for: a bath. The entrance was in an alley. They turned and went in.

Once inside he was reassured. It looked respectable, a place patronized by poor laborers and the like. No luxuries, but you wouldn’t get your throat cut for the contents of your purse. No marble, but the walls were whitewashed and the floor was the ubiquitous ruddy terra-cotta brick.