The Wolf King by Alice Borchardt Read Free Book Online Page B

collar meant, and the same for the question. “No,” he answered at about the moment that the collar slipped free.
    For a few heartbeats it looked as if the Saxon might cry. Antonius turned away quickly, not wanting to see such a massively powerful creature break down.
    “But the collar?” the Saxon asked.
    “What collar?” Antonius said.
    “Come,” Matrona said. She was clad in a long black silk gown with a gold and garnet necklace, an elaborate construction decorated with winged sphinxes. Like much of Matrona’s wealth, it looked impossibly old.
    The Saxon indicated it with one forefinger. “What… ?”
    “One hot night in Babylon,” she said, “I loved a king.”
    Then she reached toward his cheek, where the abbot had burned him. He flinched, but when she touched him the pain went out of his wounds—all of them. While she was tending him, he fell asleep, but he dreamed he was back in the slave pens on the great Lombard estate. He woke with a wild start and swung at Matrona, but she caught his wrist with a grip he knew could easily have broken it, had she chosen to do so.
    “Who is god?” the Saxon asked.
    “The mother,” Matrona answered.
    “The mother is all powerful,” he said.
    “I’m glad you know that. We will get along.”
    Regeane walked toward him. She had some clothing and the bearskin over her arm. “I have fresh clothes. Hold up his mantle, will you, Matrona, while he dresses?”
    “Perhaps I will,” Matrona said. “But then, perhaps I won’t. I’d like to see what else he has.”
    Regeane blushed, but the Saxon blushed even more violently. His clothes were in rags. He colored all over his skin.
    “Matrona, you’re terrible.” Regeane laughed.
    All around them the sun was shining brightly, so brightly it had begun warming the air and melting the snow. The road was clear, and many of Maeniel’s people were investigating the burned-out monastery.
    “What are they finding?” he asked.
    Regeane shuddered and clasped her body with her arms as if cold.
    “Nothing, or at least nothing new. Bones, scraps of rotted flesh. They must once have thought about booty, for there is some gold and silver there, but we will not take it. We will bury it with the human remains in the cemetery within the enclosure.”
    “The old monk, the women?” the Saxon asked.
    Regeane shivered again. “I think they were not real but shadows of the bear spirit. His servants. They all tried to keep me from helping you.”
    The Saxon nodded.
    “Now get dressed,” she directed. “We are going to Geneva to tell the Frankish king that his best road over the Alps is in ruins. You must look like a warrior of our party, a gentleman, so that your presence will not be questioned. We will protect you. And you may resume your journey when it is possible, if you wish.”
    He took the bearskin and the clothing from her. She turned and walked away.
    “Dress,” Matrona said, holding up the bearskin. “Your delicacy does you credit. Some chastity—not too much, mind you, but some—is attractive in a young man.”
    “Now I understand.” He was pulling off his shirt and pants. “Now I understand,” he repeated.
    “Understand what?” Matrona asked from behind the bearskin.
    “Everything,” the Saxon said. “Everything. I wondered why the gods put such a heavy burden on my shoulders. The loss of all I was and had. Now I know. Someone had to be there to pluck her from the snowbank. To be sure she would live. I was chosen and must never count the cost.”
    On the other side of the bearskin, Matrona frowned.
    A few days later they looked down on Geneva. The town wasn’t much, but the lake was pretty. It mirrored the mountains and the dying light. When he found Regeane and the Saxon, Maeniel had sent for his people. Some had been out on a hunt with Gordo, but they joined the rest at his summons. So he had thirty warriors in his train. Most were part of his pack. A few like Antonius and Barbara weren’t.
    Matrona