Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (22 page)

How is it that you do not fear God? I know… I mean… I feel I

How is it that you do not fear God? I know… I mean… I feel I am not evil for favoring women. I cannot believe God would think it so verywrong, yet… I doubt my conviction. You do not. How is it that youdo not?”

A hundred such discussions I had participated in with a fool’s abandon paraded through my head. And I well knew I would die for Gaston. I would die for the truth of my love. But, truly, what were my thoughts on God: the Gods: the Fates? I looked to Gaston and Jamaica, and then little Apollo, and thought ofanother red-headed child.

“If the love I feel is wrong,” I said quietly, “If it is wrong in the eyes ofGod, then I amnot… in
that
God’s good graces.” I sighed. “And all my jests of willfully suffering eternal damnation aside… It scares me. It scares me that they might be right: that their God might be the only God, and that He might be as smallminded and hateful as my father. And if that is so… Then this is trulya pitifulcreationHe has wrought, and… damnHim. But… I cannot believe any being so perfect and all-powerfulas to create the entirety of existence could be so petty and mean. I think… Nay, I truly believe that they are wrong: that those that would cast God in their image are wrong. And that someday they will face Himand feelshame for their willfulness inHis name. At least I praytheywill.”

She was studying her son. “I did not want to give it up,” she said quietly. “It is not a sin I wished to be absolved of. And every time I sat in confession I wondered if God might be listening and know I was lying. And I felt guilt that I should lie to the priests: that I should pretend to be pious when I was not. I

felt more guilt about that thanI do about lovingwomen.”

 

felt more guilt about that thanI do about lovingwomen.”

I sighed with relief. “Though it might not truly be in your best interests, I ampleased to hear it.”
She nodded. “I feelI lack your faith, though.”
“My faith springs from love, and that is not a thing you have known yet. I mean… You have not had it reciprocated to the degree that it engenders one witha willofiron.”
She smiled. “I have my son, now; but nay, it is not as you speak. It is not the love of another who must make a choice.” She frowned and pulled him from her right breast and placed himover her shoulder to pat his rump gently.
I glanced at Gaston and found him regarding me with that love ofwhichI spoke.
“Gods willing, youwillfind it,”I said.
Her frown deepened and her gaze returned to me. “Do you truly believe in the Roman Gods instead of the Christian God? We have beenreadingthe myths and…”
I chuckled. “They are stories of the Gods written as if They were men—and women: written by men. I think the Gods would be somewhat more than that, and not so… human. I think of Them as parts of… or the faces of, all I hold sacred: Love, Justice, Truth, Beauty, and the like.”
“Ah…” she said thoughtfully. She nodded. “I can envisionthat. So yousee the myths as allegory?”
“Just so, I suppose,” I said with amusement. She had trulybeenlearningmuchfromRucker.
Our little god, Apollo, released a great burp and Agnes moved him to her left teat. After she settled him, she studied Gastonand me withher lip betweenher teeth.
Gastonand me withher lip betweenher teeth.
“I have fallen in love. Again,” she added with a rueful smile. “And this time she feels as I do, but we have been fearful of the consequences, and…” She sighed. “So, though we find much comfort and happiness in the other’s presence, we have not… consummated… Is that the correct word?”
“Aye,”I said quickly. “Who?”
“Madame Doucette,”she whispered.
I grinned, as I recalled a thing Liamhad said:
’E tore up a bunch o’the Lady’s paintin’s o’Madame Doucette.
Agnes would have been drawn to Yvette’s scars as a moth is drawn to the flame. And then I realized Yvette’s look of warmth had not been directed at her husband, but at Agnes who sat at the same

table. “That is wonderful!”I crowed.

Agnes smiled widely and proudly and then looked to Gastonwithtrepidation.
He was smiling with glee and jostling little Jaime until she giggled. “That is truly wonderful. Now we can all be happy here for a time.”
“But…”Agnes began.
Gaston shook his head. He told her of another redheaded babe and our plans.
Agnes grew very thoughtful as he spoke, and I saw manydifferent emotions vyinguponher countenance.
“So, if we do this,” I said as he finished, “we can have Athena inadditionto Apollo. It willbest serve the Gods.”
“Athena?”Gastonqueried.
I explained about the Goddess springing from her
I explained about the Goddess springing from her father’s head and my interpretation of it regarding his daughter’s conception.
He smiled and rolled toward me enoughto kiss mynose. Thenhe pushed Jamaica to me and urged, “Kiss your daddy. He is a genius.”
Jamaica gave me a sloppy peck on the cheek. Her breathsmelled ofyams.
“Oh,” I said with mirth. “Already she knows how to flatter men.”
My matelot settled the child on his chest, and I looked past them to Agnes who had still not spoken after hearing his tale.
“I am sorry, Agnes,” I said. “I know you wished to be the Comtess de Montren.”
She shook her head. “Nay, not anymore… In Port Royal, aye: it seemed a dream come true; but here, nay.” She met my gaze. “I want my art, and my son to be happy and healthy, and I want Yvette. I was just thinking of that: of what I trulywant.”
Gaston sat Jamaica in front of me and went to kneel on the floor before Agnes. He rubbed his son’s thigh and regarded Agnes with great love. “We will do all we can to see that you have what youwant.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“Will you marry Will—if we can find a clergyman to performthe ceremony?”he asked.
She shrugged. “Does it matter whichofyouI ammarried to? Does it matter ifwe are married under the law at all?” We shook our heads.
“Then…” She shrugged again. Her eyes narrowed a moment later, though. “What of…” She sighed. “It is a quandary. I would have another child, but I do not wish to bed either of you—or any man. I suppose I cannot have one without the other, but I feel it is not fair to Yvette. She cannot have children, and…” She pursed her lips and sighed. “And she says the thought ofme submittingto a mandisgusts her. Thoughit was a thingshe would accept, as it was mydutyand…”
“Truly?” I asked with surprise. “Does she dislike men? I suppose I can understand why: I have seen the wounds. I can only imagine how horrible that must have been.” I could clearly recall her scarred breasts. Some madman had slashed her with a blade over fortytimes accordingto Doucette.
Agnes frowned at me.
“When first we were introduced,” I said quickly, “Doucette had her remove her bodice to show off his handiwork. He was…
is
a monster.”I recalled Liam’s tales.
“Aye, she said he did that often,”Agnes said with anger. “Often she is actually pleased he is as he is now. He is less trouble to her. He is a horrible creature.”She sighed. “Thoughhe did very much for her that she is very grateful for—as am I, as she would not be here without allhe did. I stillhate him, though.”
“Liam told me about the money, and the dogs, and the dissectionofcats, and the destructionofyour paintings,”I said.
“What?”Gastonasked withsuddenire and concern.
I told himall Liamhad told me, accompanied byAgnes’ corroboration.
“I feelhe must die,”I said whenwe finished. “Aye,”Agnes snapped.
“But there are spies that might make it difficult.”So I told mymanofthat.
Gaston had crawled back onto the bed to lie staring up at the ceiling. He sighed. “The world will be better without him, now. I already told him I would kill him if he ever threatened

you.” “Well, we now know something of the lie of the land

here; next we must plan our battle,” I said. “One thing at a time, though: your father must be written, the rest of our friends must be told, and we must talk to this damn priest. After that, we can determine how to kill Doucette, and do away with the priests’ spies, and protect ourselves from a French inquisition. Then we can have Athena brought here, kill my father, and find a way to impregnate Agnes without lyingwithher.”

Gaston and Agnes were laughing. Even Jamaica thought I was amusing. Apollo gave a large belch over his mother’s

 

shoulder.“To begin with,” I added, “I suggest we always speak

English when we are alone or discussing matters of import that we do not wish to have overheard. I also suggest we post our ownwatcher onthe monster.”

“Aye,”Gastonsaid.

 

There was a commotioninthe courtyard before he could say more. We stilled and heard words of greeting to Father

 

Pierre.“First we must dealwiththe priests,”I said ruefully.

“So should I even pretend to be shamed and embarrassed?” Agnes asked with quite a bit of said emotions playingabout her features.

“Nay, no more thanyoutrulyare at beinginvolved inthis madness,”I said kindly.
She smiled with relief and placed Apollo in his basket. “ThenI willface themwithsincerity.”
She turned back to regard us expectedly, only to frown at Jamaica. I glanced at the child and found her frowning with consternation; and then Agnes had her up and off the bed: holding her at arms’ length. Before I could voice my question, I saw a turd drop frombeneaththe child’s shift. After the first one, Agnes managed to get the babe over the chamber pot before she finished defecatingand beganurinating.
I quickly checked the coverlet where the child had sat and was relieved to find no smellymass there.
“You can see when they’re about it,”Agnes said as she handed the child to Gaston. “They’re like puppies.”
“Puppies know not to shit where they sleep,” I protested.
Agnes snorted derisively. “She doesn’t sleep in that bed.”
Gastonlaughed at me and entertained Jaime whileAgnes wiped the babe’s little arse and cleaned the pile fromthe floor. I found Taro and Bella regardingAgnes’efforts withthe dismayof denial. I supposed they would happily have cleaned the child’s bumfor her. I stifled my disgust—and dismay. I felt the whole of it was yet another portent ofmyfuture.
When Jaime was clean, Agnes regarded us expectantly again. “Do you wish to come down straight away, or do you wish to clean yourselves first? Your clothes are in the lower chest, there.” She pointed at the stack in the corner. “And the water inthe ewer should be fresh.
“I would washa bit, aye,”I assured her.
Gaston nodded. Agnes placed Jaime on her hip and took up Apollo’s basket. The dogs were torn somewhat over following her or remaining with us. I shooed themout and closed the door intheir wake withrelief.
“Do you feel a need to sleep with the children?” I asked mymatelot.
He shook his head with a reassuring degree of alarm at mysuggestion.
“Thank the Gods,”I sighed.
He chuckled and pulled me to fall beside himon the bed again. His kiss was sweet. He quickly sobered at its parting, though. “Are youreadyfor this?”he asked.
“Which
this
?”I teased.
He smiled and pressed his forehead to mine. “As you said, one step at a time—sparringwithpriests.”
“I will manage.” And I did not feel my assertion to be bravado. I truly felt the Gods condoned our new path, and that They were more than capable of battling any other God who would frownuponit.

Ninety-One Wherein We Hold Our Ground

We shed our ragged attire and moved the chests untilwe could explore the one containing the worldly possessions we left behind while roving. We were dismayed to find little there by way of clothing except our finery. We had been wearing all that was left ofour dyed-canvas tunics and breeches.

“We must acquire new clothes suitable for buccaneers on the morrow,” I sighed as I considered a fine linen shirt. The sight of the garment filled me with loathing and I wondered at

that. “There is another thing I would purchase for you to

 

wear,” Gaston said as he tossed a pair of suede breeches on the

 

bed. “What?”I asked.

He touched mynaked earlobes. I gasped withsurprise. I had forgotten I did not wear earrings. Then I recalled the humiliation of their removaland my being dressed in a shirt much like I held. Fear clawed at me for but a moment before a great wave of anger tossed me far from reason. I pulled away from Gastonand flungthe garment awaywitha growl.

My matelot regarded me with startled eyes and a wary Horse. “Will?”

Horse. “Will?”
I struggled to control my rage. “They took them,” I
snarled. “Theyheld me downand pulled themfrommyears.” He nodded with understanding and sympathy; and I did
not fight his arms when they closed about me. I held him and
struggled to calmmyHorse.
“I am sorry,” I whispered at last. “I do not possess the
controlI think I do. I was doingso well,”I added lightly. He snorted into my shoulder and brushed a kiss on my
cheek. “Strings, Will,” he said with surprising calm. “And
triggers. You have new ones. Things we did not even know to
pullor prod onthe Haitito inure you. We must tread carefully.” I snorted. “How canwe whenI amto battle priests? We
have not chosen a path that we can tread carefully. We are
chargingheadlong…”
I stopped. He did not need to hear my fears and
complaints. We had chosen.
He shook his head with sad eyes and began to speak
what I was sure would be an apology. I placed fingers upon his
lips and held it in.
“I willnot fall,”I said. “I might stumble a bit, though.” He smiled beneath my fingers and then kissed them. I
dropped themaway and replaced themwith my lips for a sweet
kiss.
“This willbe our greatest challenge,” he said softly as we
parted.
“Aye,” I sighed, “and I am ready, truly. But I will not
wear a wolf’s clothes. That is hypocrisy.”
He nodded. “We will greet them as we arrived.” He He nodded. “We will greet them as we arrived.” He
fingered my stubbled cheek and frowned. “I would shave,

though.”I considered the ewer and bowl upon the bureau as he

made the hated clothing disappear inside the chest. I thought we should call for hot water, but then I remembered the ones who would bring it would be the boy spies. I sighed and resigned myself to washing what I could with a cold rag and shaving with

hog’s fat.The clothes chest closed with the satisfying thump of

things best sealed away, and still I felt restless. I discovered a small silver mirror and regarded my naked ears with dismay. Such a small thing in light of all that had been done to me: so small I had forgotten; yet, it hurt so very much now that I remembered. I could barely see the holes the rings had occupied for several years. I was thankful the bastards had not torn them from my lobes and left me scarred, but then, perhaps I was not so very thankful. Without that they were another anonymous injury upon my person: invisible, like all the scars I bore. Or was that still true? My wrists and ankles still bore proof of my ill use. I saw the white ridges whenever I happened to gaze upon my