Night of the Wolf (50 page)

“I don’t know if I can love you,” she said. “I don’t know if I can give my life into your keeping.” She paused. The pause seemed a long one, several breaths, a dozen heartbeats. “But I will try.”

“Let us sacrifice to the household spirits.” He rose and led her to the peristyle. He stood at one end of the pool. An amphora, a very old amphora, very much of the sort the poor placed on graves to receive offering for the dead, protruded from the soil and the flagged pavement.

He covered his head with the folds of his toga. Dryas followed his lead and covered hers. The servants, Octus, Philo, Alia, and even Cut Ear, stepped up beside him.

Lucius spoke. “I have come here to seek a blessing on my marriage and a farewell. To ask for blessings here is usual, to say farewell is not. But I am here to do so because we have forgotten where we came from.

“Generations ago my family came here. We took this land and, when we did, we promised to care for it, to love it, and to defend it. My ancestors were probably not always good people. Some were, no doubt, greedy, others cruel, and all bear the traces of autocracy as well as strength. But they were wise and tempered power with mercy and justice. Their faults were redeemed by courage and honor.

“Now, no more. Love for the land has become a desire to dispossess others of what is rightfully theirs, and defense is an excuse to lay waste and pillage all within reach of our arms, as indeed we have. So I must set out as they did once, if the tales be true, when they faced the ruin of their world.

“So, at their first altar, I commit my life to this woman and her people.”

Alia handed oil and wine to Dryas, who passed it to Lucius. He poured both into the neck of the amphora.

A second later, everyone was startled and frightened when the statue at the other end of the pool fell, crashing into the water, and shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Lucius walked down to the end of the pool and stood quietly looking down at the fragments in the dark water.

“Is it a bad omen?” Philo asked. “What do you think?”

“No,” Lucius said. “It means she’s leaving this place to come with me.”

Then the rest drifted away, leaving them alone in the dark garden.

“Ritual,” Dryas said. “Ritual awakens things.”

“Yes,” he said, and led her to the marriage bed.

The cubiculum was a larger one than he was used to. The walls here, as in the dining room, were painted in the more restrained style of an earlier age. The floor was white and green, bordered with a garland of spring flowers. The walls were painted a very light green, just the color of new leaves in spring, and each panel sported a bouquet of the same flowers decorating the floors: iris, hyacinths, daisies, and the pink, sweet spring rose.

A brazier in the corner cut the night chill and a lamp with ten flames burned next to the bed. It was an old iron one, but padded with four down mattresses, silk sheets, and heavy pillows.

Dryas took the fillets from her hair and let it spill down her back, then turned to him and pointed to the knotted belt at her waist. “Untie it.”

The wolf did as Dryas had asked. He picked up Aquila’s trail outside the ludus and followed it. Aquila had left Rome by the Via Appia. If he saw the wolf, who took an easier route moving along through belts of trees and over farms, keeping track of Aquila by scent and distant sight, Aquila gave no indication of it.

At length near Terracina, Aquila took a back road and turned toward the coast. The area was mixed farms and forest.

The wolf increased his speed and closed the gap between himself and Aquila. He trotted along in the shadows of trees bordering the road.
A nice constitutional by moonlight,
the wolf thought. Absolutely nothing happened.

The hour was late, the farmhouses shuttered and dark. Even the dogs must be in their kennels because not one had run at him, barking.

Aquila yawned and nodded on his horse. Insects chirped and thrummed in the grass and even the wolf was tempted to find a comfortable spot nearby and take a nap.

About a mile from the coast, Aquila turned off the two ruts in the mud, the farm road, and entered a still-narrower track. It led up into the rolling hills near the sea. It was so steep his horse had to scramble a bit to pass the rough spots.

The wolf smelled wild things for the first time—deer, rabbits, boar, and even, very faintly, cats. Not the domestic variety, but the small, rather fierce
felis silvestris,
not yet exterminated in Italy.

The wolf found this small corridor of wilderness comforting. But nothing whatsoever happened to Aquila. He reached his remote villa safely.

Disgusted, the wolf settled down under a bush and watched Aquila get ready for sleep. The house was set high up among its vineyards. Below, the coast road curved in and out near the water.

The wolf looked for cover. He certainly was not going to make the long trip back to Rome tonight, not without a rest. In high dudgeon, he stalked toward the house. It had a large porch in back sheltered from the sea breeze.

Inside, Aquila blew out his lamp. The porch held extra pruning hooks, amphoras, stakes, hoes, and a pile of warm sacking. Ah, just the thing.

The wolf stretched, turned ’round and ’round . . . then paused. Something had changed. What?

Inside, Aquila began to snore.

Down below on the shore road, noise. What noise?

Yes, very faint, the tramp of feet. Soldiers! Here, of all places.

The wolf ran around the house. Soldiers, yes, and marching toward the town whose lights the wolf could just see about a mile away. Oh well, no reason to get excited.

The wolf sat. He wondered what Dryas and Lucius were doing, then decided not to overexert his imagination. He had no difficulty guessing. He thought, with some envy and not a little spite,
I wonder if she thinks he’s as good as I am.
He hoped not.
When the soldiers go by, I can get some sleep.

But they didn’t go by. Instead, they turned and marched up the road toward Aquila’s house.

The wolf circled the house at top speed. It had a square, tiled roof and few small windows, all barred, and probably a courtyard in the center.

There was no time to be lost. The wolf ran as far into the vines as he could, then charged the house at top speed. His leap carried him over the ridgepole and down on the tiles covering the porch roof surrounding the courtyard.

A wolf really has no ability to scream and, for once, Maeniel regretted this greatly because, if he could have, he would have and at the top of his lungs.

He had been sure the inner roof would be as wide and flat as the outer, but it wasn’t. It was both narrow and steep. His claws clicked helplessly on the pantiles as he struggled to get purchase on something, anything, but he failed.

Aquila, very much liking the night’s coolness, slept in the courtyard.

Lucius laughed until he wept. “I wish I’d seen his face. I just wish I’d seen his face when a hundred-and-seventy-pound wolf . . .” Then he broke down again.

Dryas had to turn away. She, also, was somewhat overcome. Maeniel was scarlet with mortification and anger. “You’re both in danger, terrible danger,” he said furiously.

“I know,” Dryas replied, and collapsed into Lucius’ arms with a scream of laughter.

“What happened . . .” Lucius began.

“I asked him for a sword and something to wear,” Maeniel said.

This set Lucius off. “A sword and something to wear,” he repeated weakly.

“It was cold.” Maeniel’s anger hadn’t cooled.

Lucius, holding his sides, said, “Stop! Stop! I’m going to die . . .”

Octus, who stood nearby with torch in hand, covered his mouth.

“Go on,” Dryas said, wiping her eyes.

“He was recovering,” Maniel continued. “I’d knocked the wind—”

“I believe that,” Philo interjected.

“He asked me why,” Maeniel plowed on. “He looked surprised.”

Lucius staggered away. Dryas felt the need to sit down. She did, on a bench near the porch. “I can’t imagine why,” she said in a faint voice.

“I told him we were about to have company,” Maeniel finished. “And it isn’t funny. The soldiers were with the Egyptian queen and what she wanted to ask Aquila was if Dryas can really read the future.”

Lucius abruptly stopped laughing. He walked over to Dryas and put his arms around her. “It’s freezing out here. Octus, get her mantle.” Philo took the torch from the servant’s hand. “Sounds harmless enough,” Lucius said. “If she presses you, fob her off with the usual—good spirits attend on you, Caesar will get you pregnant as many times as there are days to summer and, each and every time, the child will be a boy. I remember a rather dried-out-looking Syrian telling my mother that. Silvia smiled and gave her some copper coins.”

Dryas’ eyes seemed to darken, but she didn’t speak.

“Yes,” Octus said. “I remember the woman, also. Silvia died only six months later.” Then abruptly he colored. “Please, excuse me.”

“No,” Lucius said, patting him on the back. He took the white mantle from his servant’s hand and wrapped it around Dryas. “No need to excuse yourself. It’s true. I think she was right about one thing. Good spirits did attend on her. Silvia was a loving woman.”

“I never remember an unkind word,” Octus said quietly, and withdrew into the shadows.

“Yes, well,
she
isn’t a Syrian on a street corner,” Maeniel said, pointing. “She is Dryas, lady of Caledoni.”

“I not only fought a tiger, but once a dragon,” Dryas said. “And yes, I do read the future when requested and I am never wrong.”

“Dragons don’t exist,” Lucius said.

“So you say,” Dryas told him. “So most say, but what didn’t exist bit me.” She turned and showed scars on her right calf, three ugly white depressions from deep puncture wounds.

Lucius pushed Dryas to arm’s length. “There are no dragons.”

“Yes,” Maeniel said, “we know. Let us argue dragons at some more convenient time. The problem is not what the exalted lady asked Aquila, but what she said on the way back to Rome to one of her intimates, Iris.”

“Yes, there are two of them, Iris and Charmain,” Dryas said.

“How could you overhear that?” Lucius asked.

“Please,” Maeniel said.

“I’ll take it on faith,” Philo said.

Lucius nodded.

Maeniel continued. “She was heard to say, ‘I must keep Caesar from proscribing them for at least the next few days.’ ”

“Yes,” Lucius said. “I thought it might be something like that.” He took the torch from Philo’s hand and, accompanied only by Maeniel and Dryas, walked toward the other end of the garden.

When they were out of earshot of the rest, he asked Maeniel, “Have you any proof? They won’t move, none of them will, without proof.”

“No,” Maeniel said, “but I think I could get some. Don’t ask how.”

“Let’s go,” Dryas said. “Ostia is only an hour’s ride away. Ships from there set sail for every corner of the world.”

“No,” Lucius said. “He has agents in every corner of the world. How far do you think we’d get? No, now it’s either him or us. Once I’m not sure if I would have cared, but now I have too much to lose.”

“Besides,” Maeniel said to Dryas, “you were the one set on coming here.”

“Yes,” Dryas said, “but now . . . He’s old and I’m not sure . . .”

“Age doesn’t blunt a snake’s fangs. If anything, they just get more lethal,” Maeniel said. “And he’s a viper if I ever saw one. Trust me. If he decided to kill the two of you, you’d be just as dead no matter what age he is.”

“If I could only get that fool, Brutus, to act.” Lucius drove his right fist into the palm of his left hand with a loud crack. “Do you really think there is some way to get proof positive that he’s going to begin proscribing his enemies?”

“I think I can get it. I told you, don’t ask me how.”

“I’m not dumb enough to ask either of you how you do anything, but I want to come along. She talks about reading the future. I’ve seen what you can do. Then she has dragon bites. Sometime, I want to meet this dragon.”

“All right, but don’t be surprised at anything that happens,” Maeniel said.

“I haven’t been surprised by anything that’s happened since I met the two of you. Let’s go.”

Dryas watched them out of sight in the street in front of the door. Cut Ear and Octus were with her. When she turned to enter the house, Fulvia stood there. She made as if to close the door, but Cut Ear placed his big hand on it and Dryas passed her without comment.

“How dare you!” Fulvia said. “How dare you . . . and dressed like a respectable woman.”

“I am a respectable woman,” Dryas said.

Then Fulvia pushed past her, followed by Firminius, her tiring woman, two maids, and Lucius’ ex-servants, Macer and Afer, plus a half dozen chair bearers and two or three more ex-gladiator guards.

Aristo waited in the dimly lit atrium. He introduced himself to Dryas and began discussing finances with her.

Her
dress allowance!
Her
jewelry allowance!
Her
maids!

“What maids? What clothes? What jewels?” was Dryas’ contribution to the conversation.

Yes, she might need a few more dresses, possibly as many as two or three. Ordinary undyed linen or woolen cloth was fine. She would cut and sew them herself and, if possible, she’d like to see some horses today. She would probably need a good strong gelding or mare, saddle broken and gentle if possible. Otherwise, she was just fine. She would care for her own things. She always had and didn’t want anyone fussing around her weapons or clothing, thank you. She was used to caring for them herself. Then she returned to the old part of the house where Lucius had lodged himself and his servants.

Dryas returned to the cubiculum where she and Lucius had spent the night. Only a wax light burned on a table beside the bed. Two light wells in the ceiling were beginning to let in the first pale gray morning light. Alia was up and stirring, so the bed was made.

Dryas took off the expensive wedding garments and dressed herself in the simple tunic and mantle given her by Marcia. She thought of the three—Gordus, Marcia, and Martinus—with affection.