The Dog and the Wolf (36 page)

When he woke from a doze, at midday, he had no revelation. He merely opened his eyes and saw something that might work. He mulled it over while he made his preparations by what sunlight was left, and then got a good night’s rest. Stars were still brilliant overhead as he left Confluentes.

He would rather have ridden Favonius, but his way led him by paths that were often barely useable by a man on foot, into the forest. Darkness was grizzled when he reached the hut of Vindolenus.

The former Bacauda and his wife made the visitor welcome. They brought forth the best food and drink their meager stores held. A couple of years ago they’d begged the King of Ys to lay hands on their oldest son, and the boy had indeed recovered from his fever. Gratillonius doubted his blessing had anything to do with that. Nevertheless, now he called in the debt.

“You’ve heard the tale about my son-in-law being a sorcerer who steals children and offers them to his demons?” he asked.

The backwoods dweller reached uneasily for a small thunderstone, spearhead-shaped, such as folk sometimes found and believed to be lucky. He rubbed it. “I’ve heard a little, lord,” he mumbled.

“It’s false. Do you hear? I, the King of Ys, swear it’s false.”

“Well, if you do, lord, then surely it is.”

“He should be on his way home from his latest scouting. I must find him ere anybody else, bring him to safety, and show the folk he’s blameless. Can you guide me?”

“M-m-m.” The lean countenance drew into lines of thoughtfulness, the faded eyes looked afar. “If you’ve a
notion whereabouts he may be, north or west or east o’ here—m-m-m, the trails, the streams—” Cautiously flickered the eagerness of a hunter. “I can try, lord.”

“And afterward keep silence, you, your woman, your children. By the Gods of the land and the Gods of hell, you shall.”

Vindolenus seemed almost affronted. “Lord, I learned from the Romans how to hold my tongue, and I’ve taught my household. Think you we’d blab to a herd of scruffy tribesfolk?”

Gratillonius saw no reason to tell how much he himself needed secrecy. He was dealing with one of the men whom Rome commanded him to hunt down. His hope had been that thus far they didn’t expect he would. Must he in fact, later, break faith with them?

3

His hounds roused Drusus in the middle of the night. They bayed, deep ringing threat, and strained against the staves of their pen. He took his old military sword from the wall, a tallow candle in his left hand, and went forth into the drizzling dark. Men of his had already surrounded the newcomer. Their weapons were lowered. Drusus saw why. “Gratillonius!” he exclaimed. “What the devil are you doing here at this hour? Where’ve you been, anyway? I heard you were gone from town these past ten days.”

“That long?” said the unkempt, travel-stained man. “I wasn’t counting. No matter. I came out of the woods not far from here and thought my friend would give me a doss till tomorrow.”

“Of course, of course. Come on in. We’ll heat up some wine, how about that? And talk, if you’re not too tired. Plenty of night to sleep in afterward, this time of year, eh?”

—In the morning Drusus told his wife that he and their guest would take a few hours’ walk into the forest as far as the Stegir. While on his errands, Gratillonius had seen
spoor that looked promising of big game. They’d bring two hounds, otherwise go alone.

After they returned, Drusus said that he had been shown traces of wisent. The beasts had long since grown rare and, in spite of their size, shy. He didn’t want people hallooing around scaring these two or three off. “Stay out of the woods for now, everybody, you hear? I’ll go by myself during the next few days and see whether the dogs turn up anything. No grumbling. You heard me. If the buffalo really are still hereabouts, we’ll get up a hunt.”

Gratillonius returned to Confluentes next morning on a horse lent him. When he was gone, Drusus told his wife: “He didn’t want to talk about it much, but the reason he went off alone like that was this business of the child killings. He couldn’t stand any longer hearing—no, not hearing, but knowing about the whispers. His daughter’s husband!”

“It is horrible,” she said. “Do you think Cadoc is guilty?”

“I hate to suppose so, but—well, where there’s smoke, there’s fire, eh?” Drusus shook a fist. “Body of Christ! Whoever the murderer is, I’d feed him to my hounds!”

“But if he is a magician as they say, can’t he stop them?”

“Not when God binds him and his spells. We’ll do this like Christians.”

In the following several days Drusus said more in the same vein to the household, the neighbors, and on a visit to town. His vehemence surprised those who had known him as easygoing in matters of faith. Well, naturally, black witchcraft was a different thing; and Drusus had children of his own, two of them quite young. … Otherwise he continued his searches for the wisents, trying a different brace of hounds each time, until at length he sighed that they had evidently left the area.

Any word concerning Cadoc spread far and fast, as tensely as everyone awaited his homecoming. Pagans found themselves as ready as Christians to accept a trial by ordeal, an idea that somehow came into circulation. Their Gods no more drank human blood than did Christ. If properly asked, They would surely not let such an evildoer work defensive sorcery. Many muttered that Gradlon was bound to protect his son-in-law and whisk him beyond
the reach of justice. Best would be if right-minded men found Cadoc first, alone in the wilderness. Yet magic, unchecked by religious rites, might wilt a sword before it could strike. Terror closed in like the winter nights.

Thus astonishment was twofold at the next word that went forth. The suspected one had appeared in Confluentes. Not a single hunter had glimpsed him on his way. Had he flown through the air? But he met no welcome. The tribune immediately ordered his arrest on charges of murder and diabolism. The penalty was death.

Aquilo seethed at the news. Cadoc had pleaded his innocence. There were no witnesses. Sent to a Roman court, he would most likely get off. But Apuleius and Bishop Corentinus had too much care for their people. They would let their God—or the Gods—judge this case, that doubts might once for all be laid to rest.

Julia and her infant had moved in with her father. The three stayed in seclusion.

They emerged for the trial. It took place outside the wall of Confluentes. The day was bleakly bright. Ground had frozen hard and trees bore a thin, glittery leafage of icicles. Breath smoked startlingly white under the blueness above. Townsfolk, farmfolk, woodsfolk ringed the field in. They had been required to leave their weapons, and guardsmen stood about to keep order. Low in the south, the sun cast a sheen over helmets, mail, and uplifted pikes.

A shout arose. Solemnly, Bishop Corentinus led his priests out into the middle of the space. Mass had already been offered at the church; now they called on God beneath His heaven. On this day, it had been announced, pagans might also invoke their deities here, if they did so inconspicuously.

The clergymen withdrew. Apuleius conducted Cadoc forth under guard. The young man wore a peasant’s smock frock, whose brown made his hair seem to glow silver-gold. He stood straight and agreed fearlessly that he would submit to the test. Senator and soldiers left him standing alone.

A breath went like a wind through the crowd. From a tent pitched by the wall, Drusus paced. He wore his legionary armor, the first time that most who were there
had seen it, a vision out of the mighty past. His right hand gripped tight a leash which held his lead hound. The rest of the pack came after, brindled gaunt beasts larger than wolves. The setting had put them on edge; they growled, snarled, snapped air as if it were prey.

Julia gripped Gratillonius’s hand. The nails dug deep. He stayed mute.

Drusus slipped the leash. His call ripped aloud: “Halloo! Kill!” He pointed at the solitary figure of Cadoc.

The hounds clamored and bounded forward. Cadoc waited.

The hounds reached him. They slowed, stopped, walked around. Several whined in puzzlement. The chief of the pack licked his hand. He bowed and ruffled the terrible head before he prostrated himself in prayer.

Like a breaking wave, a shout rose from the watchers. They sought to storm into the place of the miracle. Pikeshafts held them back. That was as well, for the hounds had lost no ferocity. A man who slipped by the cordon was badly slashed before Drusus, with whip and ungodly words, got them under control. Cadoc remained lying.

The crowd surged off toward Corentinus, Apuleius, Gratillonius. Men wept side by side with their women, or laughed or cheered or sang. A few begged for baptism.

Julia fell into her father’s arms. Headmen and tribesmen pushed through the Confluentians who milled about him and cried for his touch, for his wonderworking heed, he, their lord, the King of Ys.

4

A light snow fell. Against the blanket it laid, trees looked black. Sight soon lost them in the sifting gray-white. Murmur and gurgle of the Stegir made an undertone to silence. The air had turned almost warm. It was as if the year had finally begun to await spring.

Nemeta had swung window shutters aside and left her door open, so the stenches of the night could leave her cabin. That let in the dove-hued day. Its softness washed
shadows from corners and made the instruments of witchcraft into simple, rudely fashioned things of wood, stone, skin, bone.

She and Gratillonius sat on stools opposite each other. Between them glowed a brazier to which they held their hands.

“I know what you did,” she said in Ysan.

“You would,” he replied as quietly.

She shook her head. “Nay. Not by magic. Mere reason. What must have happened.”

“Tell me.”

“You got a man of Rufinus’s to help you find Cadoc. You left the two of them in a brushwood shelter not far from Drusus’s farm and went to seek his help. He’s your old soldier comrade, you got him his home, he’d never refuse you. Together you planted the seed of the thought that Cadoc be tried by ordeal—by having the hounds set on him, as the Osismii do to the worst of their criminals—and those hounds would be Drusus’s. Meanwhile he brought them piecemeal to Cadoc and taught them this was a person they must not attack. When that was done, Cadoc took down the shelter and Drusus smuggled him into Confluentes. Corentinus and Apuleius already knew what parts were theirs to play That is how it went.”

“You are a clever girl.”

“Not truly. What I cannot understand is why anybody would swallow the claim of a miracle. Why did they not reason too?”

“They wanted to believe. Folk are not logical about matters that touch them deeply. You should be more among them, child. ’Tis ill to live alone.”

A thrust of bitterness: “I thought Corentinus and Apuleius were honest.”

“The bishop says merely that God’s will was done. The three of us, with Drusus and Vindolenus, did what we deemed necessary.”

“To save yon ranting pest—Forgive me, father. But to me and the tribesfolk, he is.”

“He’s learned his lesson. He’ll stop trying to push others about in their lives “ Sternly: “Therefore put down your malice against him.”

“If he does leave me in peace. … But ’twas a risky thing you did. It could have gone awry, and he’d have died. Why didn’t you just send him afar?”

“That would have been cruel for him and his. But mainly, I think, I hope, mainly we had the people in mind, Corentinus and Apuleius and I.”

“How?”

“By letting the frenzy about Cadoc grow unchecked, we choked off wonderment about who else might have slain the babe. That could have riven kindred asunder. Then by … showing him innocent in a remarkable way, we emptied the fury out of them. It will not return. They accept, now, that their own children were lost in ordinary sad wise.”

She stared long across the coals at him. “You
are
the King,” she finally whispered.

He sighed. “I must not be.” Starkness came back upon him. “But I do command you, master your spite. Keep silence about what we have spoken of this day. Let memory of that dead infant fade away with his little ghost. Else it could prove the worse for you, Nemeta.”

She caught a sharp breath. “Do you believe I—”

He lifted a hand. “I don’t want to hear more. But beware those Gods you serve.”

Forlorn defiance: “You have none.”

“I know.”

“Oh, father,” she cried, “you are the one of us that’s all alone!”

She jumped to her feet and came around the smoldering fire. He rose to meet her. She laid her face against his breast and held him tightly while she shivered. He embraced her, stroked her hair, and made noises, the meaningless noises of love he had crooned above her cradle.

5

Willows had leaved, oak and chestnut were beginning to, plum trees bedecked themselves in blossom. Other petals colored the sudden vividness of grass, among them
borage like small pieces of sky. Migratory birds were coming home.

Rufinus was back. It had been a hard journey for him, by currach from Mumu to Abonae, by ship from Dubris to Gesoriacum, and haste overland across both Britannia and Gallia. But he had not chosen to wait till later in the season when skippers would venture a passage straight over Ocean. He would bring the news to his master as early as might be.

They walked east on the river road, a place to talk unheard; and still they used Latin. On their left the Odita gleamed on its way toward Confluentes, Aquilo, and the sea. Forest rose greening beyond. On their right stretched fields also coming to life, men and oxen at work in the distance, a sight sometimes veiled by flowering dogwood. A lark piped above.

“I’ve adventures aplenty to relate from this winter, especially when I slipped into Niall’s country. Some of them could be true,” laughed Rufinus. “But they can wait. What matters is that he will most certainly be back among us this year.”

Later Gratillonius would ask precisely what his man had heard and seen. However, it was clear that no barbarian king could ready a campaign in secret. Niall must have made his will known months ago and bidden warriors be ready. A chill tingle went along Gratillonius’s spine. “When?” he asked.