She was able to open a vein in the back of her hand with one of her improvised knives and drink her blood. Not much use, she thought, but it did relieve some of the pain in her mouth and throat.

She went on digging for a while out of sheer stubbornness and to keep herself from thinking about the inevitable end of her struggles. But, again, by afternoon she was too weak to continue. There was one last way to get out a little of the opium caked in the bottom of the jar, and despising herself for needing the drug to erase her sufferings, she went ahead and used her own urine.

The horrible mixture burned her mouth, but she was able to get to sleep. When she woke it was dark.

She felt around in the dark for the knife but couldn't find it. She no longer had the strength to search. It was absolutely black in her hole and she wondered if she'd gone blind, but then she was able to see a few stars.

She closed her eyes again and thought about death. She didn't pray. She would not beg and plead with the bishop for her life, and she would do no such thing with God either. She'd come here for a fell purpose. She'd known that when she started out. And if God had judged her unworthy of assistance, he could tell her about it soon enough. If there were no God... She remembered what Socrates said aboutdeath before he took the hemlock. Perhaps it was only an eternal sleep? If so, he judged it no bad thing, since he had never heard anyone, not even the great king of Persia, criticize the experience of a long, restful sleep. So why should he fear an eternal afternoon nap?

No reason. The man had been right. She had thought so when she first read the Dialogues and still agreed. In the morning, come daylight, she would find her knife. She knew where the pulse runs closest to the skin at the elbow and near the thumb. A resolute cut would open a blood vessel there, and she was nothing if not resolute. And it would all be ended. Then she stretched out and relaxed and drifted off to sleep again.

That night it rained.

Even the skies seemed to weep for the Lombard king. Charles pursued Desiderius across a rainy country as the spring downpours broke over the lands below the Alps. Charles kept his army in good order. He rode ahead with a tight guard of his finest mounted men. The bulk of the famous scarae followed, protecting the foot columns, and another contingent labored along with the supply wagons at the rear.

Maeniel and a select few of his warriors had a place of honor with Charles's uncle Bernard in the vanguard. The fact that two of the warriors were women was disturbing to a few of Charles's courtiers, but no one really wanted to challenge Silvia or Matrona.

Gavin had spent his time in camp wallowing among the comfort wagons, and his exploits-sexual, gustatory, and alcoholic-were already legendary among certain sections of the court. But he had to do a lot of washing, fumigating, switching from wolf to human and back again to get rid of assorted fleas, lice-seven different varieties-and uncomfortable social diseases he'd contracted during his peregrinations among the ladies and gentlemen of the demimonde.

Matrona currently wasn't speaking to him. Neither was Silvia.

Travel wasn't comfortable and it had been raining off and on all morning. The wind was in their faces.

Almost everyone was wearing mail. It had to be padded, and the padding was getting really soggy.

Maeniel twitched his skin in a decidedly nonhuman way to shake off the water on his arms.

Gavin took a long pull on a jug and offered it to Maeniel. "You really should try this, my lord. It's wonderful. I've been sipping it since last night, and I can't feel a thing."

Maeniel sniffed and decided Gavin might be dead. Drinking that might soon kill anyone.

"We bought it from some old man on a farm in the mountains. First he makes turnip wine. Then he freezes it, pours off what doesn't freeze, adds a few herbs and-"

"Pisses in it," Maeniel said.

"Oh, that's just to get the mushrooms in," Gavin told him. "If you steep them, it gets too strong."

Maeniel could believe this, as simply sniffing Gavin's breath made his eyes water. The alcohol content was simply unbelievable and the odor of valerian, mistletoe, henbane, and a dash or two of opium was rank.

"I have to remember that man's name, so I can go back and get some more," Gavin commented. "It'snice for a rainy day."

Just then Arbeo came riding up hell-for-leather. He reined in next to Audovald and shouted, "The baggage train is being attacked."

Charles didn't seem terribly disturbed. "They will want to slow us down. Can you deal with this, my lord Maeniel?"

Maeniel jerked his head. "Yes."

Silvia and Matrona followed him to the baggage train. They arrived to find it in disarray. One man had been wounded, and two bullocks pulling an oxcart of supplies had been killed.

Silvia jumped off her horse and joined in, helping the servants cut the dead oxen from their traces and dragging the cart aside to keep it from blocking the narrow road. One muscular fellow looked as if he might resent taking orders from Silvia, but when she picked up the heels of one of the dead oxen and dragged the massive carcass over to a tree-her intent being to skin and gut the beast so that the meat might be salvaged, but she was going to hang it up first and going to accomplish this single-handed-everyone decided discretion was better than valor in dealing with Silvia. Maeniel didn't think they would give her any trouble. So he and Matrona rode off in pursuit of the attackers.

Even though they were out of the mountains, the country-side was still very rugged, with lots of rocky outcrops, high hills, deep ravines, and small river valleys. They crossed a narrow valley with a brook running through it and paused on the slope of a still-higher hill.

"Robert," Maeniel said. "And I think Desiderius's captain: Antonius gave me his name... Nivardd. They know what I can do."

"Ummmm," Matrona said. "Ride to the top of the hill."

Maeniel did so.

The brook they'd just crossed fed into a tributary of the mighty Po. It ran through a thickly wooded valley below the hill. Deep in the forest near the water, Robert and Nivardd watched him.

"My lord," Robert said.

"You know what he can do?" Nivardd asked.

"Oh, yes, he and his wife. But he is too far for a bow shot and, in any case, I wouldn't-"

"No, no, no," Nivardd said. "I wasn't thinking about that. I just don't want him on our back trail."

"Oh, lord, no!" Robert said. "We will take to the river. Even scent hounds can't... He's leaving."

At a signal from Matrona, inaudible to humans, Maeniel turned his horse and rode back the way he came. He might as well help Silvia with those bullocks.

Nivardd and Robert rode on and never saw the black wolf watching them from the shadows.

Maeniel sat up late over his wine, talking about matters of state with Antonius. The rest of the pack had adopted his bedroom as a sleep ground. They were draped with abandon over the Persian carpets, the silk sheets, and the folding couch. When he was tired, those in the bed would make room for him. Allexcept Gavin, who was asleep on the floor under the table.

Antonius saw something flicker at the corner of his eye, glanced over, and saw Gavin was wolf again.

"He is becoming careless."

"I know," Maeniel said. "The other day when I was dining with the king, someone remarked I had a lot of dogs about the camp."

"Yes," Antonius replied. "The other day Joseph told me it was too much trouble to change just to go out in the dark to take a leak. Besides, it was cold. Fur was much better." He rolled his eyes. "What did you tell the person who made the remark?"

"Not to trouble my dogs. They were dangerous," Maeniel said. "War dogs. Trained to kill. Like our horses, battle trained."

Antonius chuckled.

Matrona entered the tent. Antonius gave a start, though he and Maeniel had been awaiting her arrival. She was wearing a long gown of heavy raw silk. It was red and embroidered with violets and acanthus picked out in gold and thistles in silver.

"You are," Antonius said, "simply, awesomely, staggeringly beautiful."

"Thank you, and I'm delighted you think so. I've been looking for a diversion. That fool-" She flicked a glance at Gavin. "-isn't worth bothering with at present. The king is busy, and the Saxon is still wandering in the high forest. What do you say to some company tonight?"

"My lady, I would be honored and deeply gratified by your presence in my bed."

Matrona extended her hand.

Antonius kissed it.

"Let's hope so," she said.

"I think I can guarantee it," he answered. "I've been celibate for some time."

Matrona gave a purring noise like a large cat.

"Oh, yes," Antonius said.

Then she turned to Maeniel. "It is as you thought. Nivardd and Robert. When I left they were sleeping the sleep of the just. They think they are being clever and, as humans go, they are.

"The pair of them have at least some backbone and are trying to raise the countryside against Charles.

"They move around, collect some men, stage a raid. Then the gang breaks up, and Nivardd and Robert go off on their own, so they will not easily be captured. Between one thing and another, they could cause Charles a lot of trouble."

Maeniel looked at Antonius.

"He hasn't sent out any foraging parties, and he hangs deserters and flogs those that stray. I believe hemay be thinking along the same lines we are."

Maeniel nodded.

"Let's go fetch them."

Antonius rose, his mantle fell away, and under it he was seen to be armed.

"Need me?" Matrona asked.

"Not necessarily," Maeniel said. He gave a low growl and Gavin awoke. He gave a huge yawn and then lifted his muzzle toward the sky.

"Don't," Maeniel said.

Gavin paused, then shook himself so hard his ears flapped.

"I need you as a man," Maeniel said.

There was again that strange flicker and, naked, Gavin began crawling out from under the table.

"He's handsome," Antonius said.

"He stinks of women, drink, drugs, the perspiration that goes along with drink, sex, and some really disgusting things only a human would eat. Plus the last four or five women he tumbled, not to mention two or three convenience stations he visited. What about Gavin is handsome?" asked Matrona. "Do you like men?"

"Let's say I believe I may be like Mother in that respect. I have been known not to turn it down,"

Antonius said.

Gavin was handsome, Maeniel thought. He had red hair and the pale, fair skin most redheads had. He was sinewy rather than massive but gracefully built, with a slender, very muscular body, a clean-cut face, and magnificent eyes.

Gavin was sitting on a bench, tying his loincloth and pulling on his britches. He paused and looked up at Antonius. "What's it like?" he asked. "I've never tried it."

Antonius smiled slowly. He knew most human taboos had no meaning whatsoever among these people.

"It can be enjoyable. Come to me sometime and I'll show you. But right now you must accept my regrets. I have a somewhat better offer."

Gavin glared at Matrona. "No doubt," he said, and began lacing up his riding pants.

Matrona laughed. "I'll go as wolf."

A few hours later, Maeniel shepherded Nivardd and Robert into his tent and sat them down at the table.

This was awkward because both men were bound, hands behind their backs, ropes looped around their necks. Antonius sat down at one end of the table, and Matrona entered wearing the same scarlet gown.

Their guests didn't come quietly.

Nivardd had fought, doing his best to make Maeniel kill him, but Antonius had caught him with a pacifier, lead wrapped in flexible leather. He had a bloody bandage around his head, over a big bruise and a cuton one side of his forehead.

Robert had run then, but Matrona caught him. She landed all one hundred and sixty pounds of her in the middle of his back. He took a tumble down a steep hillside, slammed into a tree trunk, and broke two ribs. He still tried to fight, but Maeniel was there by then and subdued him.

"I brought you here because I wanted to talk to you," Maeniel told the pair.

Robert gave a snort of pure derision, then found he had a mouthful of blood. His nose was broken also.

He turned to spit and saw the canvas floor of the tent was covered by a carpet, a silk carpet. He was too well brought up to spit on a silk carpet.

Matrona rose and offered him a clean linen cloth. He spat and then she tilted his head back and applied a cool, wet cloth to his nose. Her fingers stroked his cheek.

"Be still," she said. "No one means you any harm. We are not men and therefore not cruel. Had my lord Maeniel wanted you dead, we would have run you down this afternoon."

Matrona's fingers and voice worked the same magic they had with Otho. Robert quieted. His nose felt better and had stopped bleeding. She stepped away and returned to her seat. Robert was able to breathe and his head returned to a normal angle.

"Why, then?" he asked.

"Because you are giving the deepest loyalty of your very courageous hearts to a man who doesn't deserve it: Desiderius," Maeniel said.

"He is my king," Nivardd said.

"He is my liege lord," Robert said.

"Do you know the bishop?" Maeniel asked.

"Ebroin, that was his name when he served in the army," Nivardd said. "Yes, certainly I know him. We were boys together."

"Robert?" Maeniel asked.

"I did. He taught me my letters. He had a school for all the boys in the town. My mother sent me. It is most needful in business to know how to read and write. He was a good friend of our family. He was of higher rank than we were, but visited with my mother often in happier times."

"Desiderius hanged him," Maeniel said.

"No," Nivardd shouted. "He wouldn't, couldn't do such a thing."