Read The Silver Wolf for Free Online Page B
Authors: Alice Borchardt
bench. But I saw something on the bench—” Again the stressed axle sound.
Regeane had enough. “Silence!” The building’s acoustics were excellent. Regeane’s voice reverberated loudly under the roof.
Silve made a snorting noise and shut up.
Regeane marched past the colonnade until she reached Silve. Took her by the ear, led her to the door.
“Hugo says—” Silve screeched.
Regeane cut her off. “You might give some thought to the fact that you and Hugo drink at the same wineshops.”
They passed through the door and up the small flight of steps into the square. Regeane looked up. She saw the sky had grown even darker than when they had entered the church. Light rain sprinkled her upturned face.
Silve sniveled. Regeane let go of her ear. “I’ll die,” she wailed. “The cold and damp will be the death of me. You don’t care if I do die. You don’t care about anything. You just sit in that little stone room of yours with your face all stiff. Judging us. I’ll get siiiick.” She wailed. “My lungs will fill up with stinky pus and when I cough, I’ll cough up bloooood! I won’t be able to walk or climb stairs. I’ll get the flux. IIII’llll dieeeee.”
If there was anything on earth more disgusting than Silve, Regeane thought, it would be Silve coughing up blood and stinking up their cramped lodging by getting diarrhea. Advertently or inadvertently, Silve had hit on the one thing that would open Regeane’s purse. Regeane fished quickly in the leather scrip tied on her belt and pulled out a copper coin. She handed it to Silve. “Oh God, oh Christ! In the name of His Holy Mother and all the saints, go ahead and get yourself some more wine.”
“Yukkee,” Silve burbled happily, then leaped to her feet and ran around the corner to the wine bar of her choice. Regeane remained near the church.
The sky grew darker, and Regeane felt someone watching her. This didn’t surprise her. The Romans, especially Roman men, watched everything. Women were important targets and young women were at the top of their list. The undressing stare was one of their favorites. Regeane thought wryly,
If so, in this
case the starer has his work cut out for him
. She wore long, linen drawers attached to long, linen stockings. Strophium around her breasts. Her mother always made her wear it, accompanied by dark warnings that she would sag later in life if she neglected the binder too often. One long, sleeveless linen shift, and another long, linen shift with sleeves at the wrist. Overdress with wide sleeves to the elbow. Dark, woolen mantle wrapped around her head and body. Covering a veil which in turn hid most of her face.
Her eyes searched the square for the watcher, and did not find anyone. The rain increased slightly. The only other person abroad was a beggar. He or she was a filthy pile of rags sleeping on the porch of an insula nearby.
She could still feel the stare.
I am imagining things
, the woman thought. The wolf demurred. She didn’t use words, but she knew how to say “no.” Her hackles rose. Regeane felt as if a trickle of cold rain ran down her spine.
The stare was malignant, icy, and somehow not … living.
She pulled the mantle down further over her face and hurried off in the same direction Silve had taken. She found Silve sitting in a mud puddle near a wineshop. She was cursing. In one hand, she held a large clay bottle, in the other her drawers and strophium. Her stockings were down around her ankles.
“Cool your ass in that, bitch,” the wineshop owner shouted.
“You faggot cocksucker,” Silve screamed. “What makes you think you ever warmed it?”
Regeane grabbed Silve by the arm. The tavern keeper seemed to be searching for a weapon. Regeane hustled the servant down the street. She found an empty alleyway and served as lookout while Silve put her underwear back on.
“What happened?” She peered down the empty street.
“I gave him the copper,” Silve answered, “and he told me
Regeane had enough. “Silence!” The building’s acoustics were excellent. Regeane’s voice reverberated loudly under the roof.
Silve made a snorting noise and shut up.
Regeane marched past the colonnade until she reached Silve. Took her by the ear, led her to the door.
“Hugo says—” Silve screeched.
Regeane cut her off. “You might give some thought to the fact that you and Hugo drink at the same wineshops.”
They passed through the door and up the small flight of steps into the square. Regeane looked up. She saw the sky had grown even darker than when they had entered the church. Light rain sprinkled her upturned face.
Silve sniveled. Regeane let go of her ear. “I’ll die,” she wailed. “The cold and damp will be the death of me. You don’t care if I do die. You don’t care about anything. You just sit in that little stone room of yours with your face all stiff. Judging us. I’ll get siiiick.” She wailed. “My lungs will fill up with stinky pus and when I cough, I’ll cough up bloooood! I won’t be able to walk or climb stairs. I’ll get the flux. IIII’llll dieeeee.”
If there was anything on earth more disgusting than Silve, Regeane thought, it would be Silve coughing up blood and stinking up their cramped lodging by getting diarrhea. Advertently or inadvertently, Silve had hit on the one thing that would open Regeane’s purse. Regeane fished quickly in the leather scrip tied on her belt and pulled out a copper coin. She handed it to Silve. “Oh God, oh Christ! In the name of His Holy Mother and all the saints, go ahead and get yourself some more wine.”
“Yukkee,” Silve burbled happily, then leaped to her feet and ran around the corner to the wine bar of her choice. Regeane remained near the church.
The sky grew darker, and Regeane felt someone watching her. This didn’t surprise her. The Romans, especially Roman men, watched everything. Women were important targets and young women were at the top of their list. The undressing stare was one of their favorites. Regeane thought wryly,
If so, in this
case the starer has his work cut out for him
. She wore long, linen drawers attached to long, linen stockings. Strophium around her breasts. Her mother always made her wear it, accompanied by dark warnings that she would sag later in life if she neglected the binder too often. One long, sleeveless linen shift, and another long, linen shift with sleeves at the wrist. Overdress with wide sleeves to the elbow. Dark, woolen mantle wrapped around her head and body. Covering a veil which in turn hid most of her face.
Her eyes searched the square for the watcher, and did not find anyone. The rain increased slightly. The only other person abroad was a beggar. He or she was a filthy pile of rags sleeping on the porch of an insula nearby.
She could still feel the stare.
I am imagining things
, the woman thought. The wolf demurred. She didn’t use words, but she knew how to say “no.” Her hackles rose. Regeane felt as if a trickle of cold rain ran down her spine.
The stare was malignant, icy, and somehow not … living.
She pulled the mantle down further over her face and hurried off in the same direction Silve had taken. She found Silve sitting in a mud puddle near a wineshop. She was cursing. In one hand, she held a large clay bottle, in the other her drawers and strophium. Her stockings were down around her ankles.
“Cool your ass in that, bitch,” the wineshop owner shouted.
“You faggot cocksucker,” Silve screamed. “What makes you think you ever warmed it?”
Regeane grabbed Silve by the arm. The tavern keeper seemed to be searching for a weapon. Regeane hustled the servant down the street. She found an empty alleyway and served as lookout while Silve put her underwear back on.
“What happened?” She peered down the empty street.
“I gave him the copper,” Silve answered, “and he told me