Wolfbreed (49 page)
Authors: S. A. Swann
hen, eight years later, Lilly sat in the rear of a wagon, the kind used by farmers and merchants, enclosed on three sides by unpainted wooden sides high enough to hide the contents in the flat bed. The inside was dim. A canvas sheet above her softened the dawn light and cast the interior into shadow.
She rested in one corner, wearing the plain surcoat, chemise, and skirts of a Prûsan peasant woman. Her hair was unbound, falling across her shoulders. She sat on the thick straw bedding with her legs drawn up so she could rest her cheek against her knees. Under her skirt was a silver manacle on her ankle, its chain leading to a hole in the wagon floor that was hidden under the straw.
She watched as her master unlatched the rear gate and lowered it. He stared a moment at her meal. Resting in the center of the floor, just within her arm’s reach, was the leg of a hind the Christians had taken and gutted two days ago. The flesh was half eaten, the red-stained bone visible up to the first joint.
He looked at the leg of venison and asked her, “You haven’t eaten very much. Do you feel ill?”
“No, I saved it for the journey.” When he frowned, she asked, “Have I displeased you?”
“No, Lilly. If you wish to worry your meal, you may do so.”
She turned her face away and looked up at the canvas above her. “Have we reached the pagans yet?” It was what little she had to look forward to.
“No, there’s been a delay. I’ve been called away to Marienwerder. I can’t bring you that deep into Christian lands, so I am going to place you in a nearby village, Johannisburg.”
“They are not pagans?”
“No. It was one of the first towns you helped bring to God. Its pagan name was Mejdân.”
She lowered her face until her chin touched her knees. Her hair obscured her face from Erhard. “Mejdân?” The word sent a chill through her body, a fear that she shouldn’t be feeling.
“Do you remember it?”
After a long time, she lied. “No, I do not recall it.”
ComplineAnno Domini 1239
Iudicabit in nationibus, implebit ruinas;
conquassabit capita in terra multorum
.
He shall judge among the heathen, he shall fill the places
with the dead bodies;
He shall wound the heads over many countries.
—Psalms 110:6
n the pyre, Lilly raised her head, releasing the broken torc she had been holding in place with her chin. The silver wrapping her neck separated and fell open in front of her, breaking into two half-circles when it struck the platform. Between the call to prayer and the obscuring flames, no one took notice.
She exhaled and let her muscles go limp as she flattened herself against the stake. The ropes binding her went slack, and she could feel the leather straps slide down her legs under the burlap. Behind her back, she slid her arm out of the leather bonds she had stretched out inside her cell.
The bishop’s Latin continued.
No one outside the flames noticed her shift in position. The ropes still bound her, but loosely. She slid down slightly, placing her hips below her bonds, and moved her arms around in front so she could grab the top two lengths of rope.
She listened to the bishop’s prayer and whispered, “Pray for your own sorry souls.”
ldolf strained to watch as Lilly raised her head. Her silhouette against the flames had lost all trace of submission or fear. Her profile had turned to iron. Even before the torc tumbled off her neck to break in half at her feet, Uldolf realized that until now she had been acting.
She might have been ready to submit to Uldolf’s judgment, but she wasn’t about to accept the Order’s. Something in him was glad for that. Should anyone be judged here, it was the armed men facing them, not her.
Was I wrong?
She moved slightly and seemed to collapse against the stake. He saw her feet move closer together, and the ropes wrapping her torso seemed to sag slightly. By her feet, Uldolf saw a few remnants of the leather straps he had used to bind her.
If she had freed herself from those bonds, why did she let them tie her to the stake? She could have escaped. What is she doing?
Uldolf looked toward the crowd, but sheets of flame, smoke, and heat obscured his view. Staring through the fire made his eyes water, and he couldn’t tell if anyone had taken note of Lilly’s movement. The crackling flames were so loud now that he could barely hear the Christian prayer spoken beyond them.
The four of them were isolated in their own tiny Hell—a shrinking bubble wrapped in fire.
“Pray for your own sorry souls,” he heard Lilly whisper.
He turned to look in her direction.
Her head was bent forward again, but this time it was in the midst of effort, not resignation. The ropes were taut again, angled forward and down. Uldolf could see her legs bent under the burlap sheet, and he could see the cloth vibrate as the muscles underneath trembled.
She was leaning forward, against the stake.
What is she trying to do?
The whole wooden structure of the pyre groaned, the creaking
wood louder than the crackling flames. Uldolf stared at her face in the firelight. Her eyes narrowed to slits, her jaw clenched, and a trickle of blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. Her nostrils flared, and the cords stood out on her neck, the veins so prominent that it seemed they might burst. Above her, the top of the stake leaned slightly. The creaking increased in volume.
He heard his mother’s voice from what seemed an eternity ago,
“She’s stronger than she looks.”
illy had her forearms against the rope wrapping her as she strained forward. She pushed as hard as she could, every muscle in her body taut and trembling. She heard the rope groan, the wood creak, and felt her own muscles vibrate as if they might tear free from the bone. She tasted blood in her mouth.
She had forced her human body to the edge. Her breathing was so labored it felt as if she was already sucking flames down her throat. But the rope was way too heavy for her to break. She pushed against it with all she had—more than she had—and all she managed was to shift the wooden stake slightly forward.
But she had expected that.
When the groaning in the wood behind her reached its apex, she thought,
Now
.
