The Silver Wolf Read Free

breath from the Campagna carried the clean barnyard smells of pig and cattle, and faintly, the enticing musk of deer.
    The night below was alive with movement. The cats that made their homes among the ruins sang their ancient songs of anger and passion among forgotten monuments. Here and there the slinking shape of a stray dog met her eye; occasionally, even furtive human movement. Thieves and footpads haunted the district, ready to prey on the unwary.
    Her ears pricked forward and netted what her eyes could not see—the suade thump of a barn owl’s wings in flight, the high, thin cries of bats swooping, darting, foraging for insects in the chill night air.
    The rush and whisper of the hunters and the hunted, silent until the end. The agonized death cry of a bird, taken in sleep on the nest by a marauding cat, rent the air. The chopped-off shriek of a rabbit dying in the talons of an owl followed.
    Those and many others were woven together by her wolf senses into a rich fabric that was unending variety and everlasting delight.
    The silver wolf dropped her forepaws to the floor with a soft, nearly inaudible cry of longing. Then her lips drew back from her teeth in a snarl at the sound of voices in the other room.
    Hugo and Gundabald were eating. The wolf’s belly rumbled with hunger at the smell of roast meat. She was hungry and thirsty, longing for clean water and food.
    The woman warned her night side to rein in her desires. She would get nothing.
    The wolf replied. They were both gone—the woman from her prison, the wolf from her cage. The wolf stood beside a clear mountain lake. The full moon glowed silver in the water. All around the lake, black trees were silhouetted against mountains glittering white with unending snow.
    The memory faded. The wolf and woman found themselves staring at the locked door.
    The wolf and woman both understood imprisonment. Regeane had spent most of her life behind locked doors. She’d long ago learned the punishing futility of assaults on oak and iron. She ignored what she couldn’t change and bided her time.
    They were speaking of her.
    “Did you hear that?” Hugo asked fearfully. Hugo’s ears were better than Gundabald’s. He must have heard her soft cry of protest.
    “No,” Gundabald mumbled through a mouthful of food. “I didn’t and you didn’t either. You only imagined you did. She seldom makes any noise. That’s one thing we can be grateful for. At least she doesn’t spend her nights howling as a real wolf would.”
    “We shouldn’t have brought her here,” Hugo moaned.
    “Must you start that again?” Gundabald sighed wearily.
    “It’s true,” Hugo replied with drunken insistence. “The founders of this city were suckled at the tits of a mother wolf.Once they called themselves sons of the wolf. Ever since I found out about her I’ve often thought of that story. A real wolf couldn’t raise human children, but a creature like her …”
    Gundabald laughed raucously. “A fairy tale made up by some strumpet to explain a clutch of bastard brats. She wouldn’t be the first or won’t be the last to spin a wild story to cover her own … debauchery.”
    “You won’t listen to anything,” Hugo said petulantly. “She’s gotten worse since we came here. Even while her own mother was dying she …”
    The silver wolf’s lips drew back. Her teeth gleamed in the moonlight like ivory knives. Even in the wolf’s heart, Hugo’s words rankled.
    Pointless the smoldering anger. Pointless the brief, sad rebellion. The door stood between her and her tormentors. The barred window between the magnificent creature and freedom.
    She began to pace as any caged beast will, obeying the wordless command: Stay strong. Stay healthy. Stay alert. Fear not, your time will come.

II
    MAENIEL WAS A WORRIER. TODAY HE HAD A LOT OF worries as he stood on the half-ruined gallery once intended for the delight of a Roman governor.
    He envied the man, who had probably stood here once,