The Silver Wolf Read Free Page A

taking the air and complacently surveying his broad domains. Today, among other things, Maeniel worried about the hay. It didn’t seem to be ripening as fast as it should. And they needed that hay to carry them through the long, cold winter. Still, he sighed; the man had been too powerful to worry about hay. He’dprobably had other concerns, possibly even more troubling than Maeniel’s. Say, for instance, politics in Rome.
    “Politics in Rome,” he muttered.
    Gavin, the captain of his guard, sat dozing on a bench, his back against a mural of Perseus slaying Medusa. The gorgon’s head in the hero’s hand glared at him. This didn’t worry Gavin. Nothing worried Gavin. He opened one eye and repeated, “What about politics in Rome?”
    “I was just thinking that even though the Roman governor didn’t worry about the hay as I do, he probably worried about politics in Rome.”
    Gavin opened both eyes. “Let me get this straight. You left off worrying about the hay to worry about what a long-dead Roman worried about?”
    “Yes,” Maeniel said.
    “Thank you for clarifying that.” Gavin closed his eyes. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to sleep.”
    “It doesn’t seem to be ripening as quickly as usual,” Maeniel persisted.
    “The hay, or politics in Rome?” Gavin asked.
    “The hay.” Maeniel bit his lip.
    Gavin sighed deeply, opened both eyes, and looked out over the surrounding countryside.
    The land lay drowsing in the warm gold of the afternoon sun, a picture of tranquil, bucolic beauty. Three prosperous villages lay scattered along the mountainside surrounded by tilled fields, their deep green just beginning to bear the first tinge of autumn’s rich red, brown, and gold.
    Higher up against the face of the mountains were scattered flocks of sheep, goats, and cattle, fattening in the high summer pasture. Beyond them, snowcapped peaks floated in delicate ethereal beauty against the sky.
    “The hay,” Gavin said, “seems to me to be ripening much as it always has ever since we came here.”
    “Do you really think so?” Maeniel asked hopefully.
    “Yes,” Gavin replied, closing his eyes again.
    Maeniel shook his head. “Still, I hear from Clotilde that it’s going to be a bad winter. She says the fleeces of the sheep have grown twice as thick as is usual and—”
    “No,” Gavin said firmly. “I won’t listen anymore. Every year at this time it’s the hay. Then, when that’s in, the question will be, is it enough to carry us through the winter? Or should you send to the lowlands to buy more, to ensure the survival of our stock? Then, you will fret yourself about wood. Have we enough? Suppose a really bad storm comes and the snow is too deep for us to venture out to cut more? So we must cut more now, stacking it ever higher and higher until we must sleep in the snow because the wood fills all of the houses.
    “In between, you will be venturing out in blizzards to visit every cow, sow, ewe, and nanny goat with a pain. To hold her hoof until she delivers. If one sneezes, you hear it in your sleep and come wake me up to commiserate with you. Hold the lantern up, Gavin. Ply your axe with a will, Gavin. Pull, Gavin. Push, Gavin. Take your men and fall on those brigands, Gavin. I know they are not on my land, but I like it not that they raided so close, Gavin.
    “Now it is the worries of deceased Romans, and politics that concern us not at all in our mountains. At first I wondered when Rieulf, old and ill, placed his demesne in your hands. But after the first winter I understood the wisdom of the old man’s choice. He definitely knew how to pick the right man for the job.”
    Maeniel listened meekly to Gavin’s tirade. They were old friends. He heard it several times a year when Gavin grew frustrated with him.
    “I wish,” Gavin wound down, “that you would find something else to worry about besides hay or the sheep, goats, wood, and snowstorms. At least it would be a change for me to