The First Wolves

10. A SCOUT’S SILENCE

The metal shield clattered as it fell to the floor, after the impact of the flying paperweight dislodged it from its stand. Scrolls were scattered across the ground, some had been thrown like a javelin, while others were unravelled and spewing their secrets to the downcast eyes of the scouts. Venting his fury, Tarquin ripped the red curtain that separated his sleeping area from his office. The sound of the fabric tearing eased his anger, slightly. He returned to his table, which was empty, since he had swiped the contents onto the floor. His wooden chair resembled a stool now. He recalled, in his hazed memory, that he had picked it up by the legs and repeatedly smashed it on to the floor. The last part of the report that he had heard was that the escaped slaves had escaped Sabini, rescuing many wolves who had been working in a pleasure house and some from other parts of the town.

“Continue!” Tarquin told the scouts.

“We have returned with the brothel owner, and he has brought the ownership scrolls with him. I believe he is hoping that they will be returned to him once captured.” The older of the scouts informed him, brushing aside the mindless destruction he had watched his general create.

The general nodded, indicating that he wanted to speak to the man outside. Tarquin had his own punishment in mind for the seedy, former business owner. After all, if he had spent some money on guards, the escaped wolves would have had a challenge. Instead, those representations of mankind were tied up, quite literally, with their tunics around their ankles. They had made all humans look stupid in the eyes of the wolves and unprepared, despite the fact that Tarquin had warned every one of the potential proximity of wolves in the area. Doubtlessly, the irritation was partly directed at himself. Tarquin had been waiting in the mountains for an invisible enemy the entire time. If Conri was human he would have been happy to have a worthy enemy for a change, but to be out manoeuvred by a wolf was a humiliation he was finding difficult to swallow.

Eventually, the shuffling of an engorged body could be heard making its way towards the tent. The man struck an instant likeness to the caricature graffiti that despoiled the walls of the big cities. Tarquin was convinced he was the incarnation of the demeaning slurs he would find in the alleyways. He was short, and his body was a circle of flesh supported by two comically thin legs. He was sweating profusely, struggling to walk and needing to rotate his hips to shuffle forward. The brothel owner took his time to observe the mess and destruction in the tent, but was wise enough not to comment. Eventually, he reached the desk and looked around for a chair. After noticing the fragments of wood on the floor, he decided it would be better to suffer the discomfort of standing, than dare to ask for a seat. Foolishly, he offered a broad toothy smile, which only made his face seem baggier, and looked at the general as if he were there to socialise rather than be an example of what becomes of an embarrassment.

“You have brought me the scrolls?” Tarquin asked, not reciprocating the friendliness.

“Yes general, this is the slavery scroll of the she-wolf that I think they came to rescue. Holda was her name,” The perspiration was soaking through the man’s best tunic as he presented his suspicions, triumphantly.

Tarquin fleetingly cast his eye over the scroll before leaving it open on his table, to look at later.

“You saw the wolves’ faces?” Tarquin asked with mock concern, glad to see the exaggerated nod from the man.

“Good! You will give a description to our artist, while my soldiers seize all your remaining wealth,” Tarquin told him, frankly.

“But…but…” The brothel owner protested.

“Your error in judgment, and failure to heed the warning of a general of the capital seriously compromised the reputation of this army. Worst still, it made the wolves question the power of the capital who entrusted me to end this uprising, and we will take what you owe us in reparations for the damage you have caused,” Tarquin decreed ruthlessly, pleased to see the acceptance in the man’s eyes.

Turning away from the deflated citizen, Tarquin made sure he felt ignored, unimportant and insignificant.

“Do you know how the wolves navigated through the city without being seen? Where were the animals hiding?” The general switched his focus back to the scouts.

“They were hiding in the sewers, general,” the older scout replied.

“How did you manage to confirm that was their hide-out?” Tarquin asked, interested in the elusive methods that cohort VIII were famed for.

The discomfort that followed his question piqued his interest further. The older scout shuffled uncomfortably, not wanting to answer the question. The atmosphere became prickly with embarrassment, and the skin on the older scout’s body began to feel heavy under the pressure of his leader’s stare.

“What about you, silent scout? Will you answer my question?”

The younger scout looked up from the ground, and met his commander’s eyes. He seemed impervious to the uncomfortable environment, thriving on the unsettled undercurrent in the tent.

“The tracks on the outside of the town wall were left uncovered up to the tree line, then they disappeared. Clearly, they wanted us to follow the path where they had been, and purposefully left directions.” The younger scout succinctly answered.

“I don’t see why that answer was so difficult to iterate.” Tarquin jibed.

“My more experienced brother is unwilling to repeat the message that was waiting for us. There had been a wolf’s head carved into the wall, much like the ones they had done in the forest, but with the added detail of a mountain range.” The scout continued.

“They mock me?” Tarquin asked, incredulously.

“The mountain range was made from their excrement, so it would seem so, yes.” The scout added the final sting last, like a patient scorpion.

Tarquin took a deep breath. Rage that he thought had been evicted with the first disappointing news of the night was threatening to overspill once again.

“Let them laugh at our mistakes, and leave their taunting messages, when they make their mistakes it will be their corpses we are making a display from,” The chill, laced in his prophetic sounding words, was compelling enough to make everyone in earshot believe it would happen.

“Get out!” Tarquin ordered, before taking the scroll to the edge of his bed.

Easily establishing that Holda was the woman of Otto, and that they had a son in Vestini, it quickly became apparent why the wolves hadn’t run to the nearest port or raided the nearest towns as would be expected for beasts. They were searching for their families. He requested the rest of the scrolls be brought to him, and began to map out the towns the wolves would target. Irritation swelled in his heart, and he unconsciously placed his hand on the chest by his bed. The audacity that those animals would seek the pieces of their scattered hearts, and fix them together until they felt whole, made Tarquin feel hysterical. Palming his breast, where a pain sharply ran through the centre, he knew he would never be able to mend what they had broken, he was doomed to remain forever incomplete. He imagined this unknown wolf named Otto, and the joy he would be feeling holding the woman he loves in his arms. It was a feeling permanently denied to Tarquin, but the only thing worse for Otto would be to save her and then lose her once again. Was anyone strong enough to believe in hope twice? Justice was determined by the avenger, and to make the scales balance, the general formed a plan to quash all attempts at reunions. It wasn’t right that a wolf could feel more love than a human.

Lovingly lifting Antonia’s death mask from the box, he gently crossed his arms over the back and held it against his heart. The pain started to decrease, it had always been Antonia’s power to sooth him, she was so caring. How could they do that to her? She was so beautiful. When she was in his company she shined brighter than any other in the room, captivating in her conversation and ambition. Knowing the enemy were focussing on finding their loves, he redirected his plans. He realised he had been hunting the wrong wolves the entire time, for it wasn’t the ones who had escaped that he needed to kill, it was the ones they wanted to rescue that he needed to find first.

“I will take from them as they took from us, sweetheart. I promise, I’ll never let you down again.” He lifted the bee-wax impression of her face up to his own and kissed her forehead, before returning the mask back to its chest.

Collecting himself, and wiping away the tears that had fallen as he recalled what had been stolen from him, he cleared his throat and called for his tribune.

“Tell those scouts to go to Vestini, and find the family of this ‘Otto’ mutt. It should be a son called Adal. Capture him and keep him until I can think of a suitable punishment.” He ordered, and his tribune left to pass on his commands.

Sleep called Tarquin, knowing that Antonia would be waiting for his arrival. There he could touch her body, and hold her hand, but he vowed to avenge her first. Keeping his commitment at the forefront of his mind, he lined up each scroll from the brothel, and studied the family trees of all the wolves he knew had come from Heaton House. By the time he had matched each of his enemies with the city their family was in, he could no-longer ignore his exhaustion. He fell asleep. Antonia had been waiting for him, and she embraced him in her arms.

Parting ways at the soldiers’ tents, the two scouts patted each other’s backs. The older one, Marius, was thankful that his dealings with the General were over for the day. Laughing at the relief on his partner’s face, the younger scout made his way back to his tent. One of the privileges of dedicating his life to cohort VIII was that he didn’t have to share his living space. Pulling out a map on to his table, weighting it down with his gladius and water jug, he traced his fingers across the city names. The scroll had said that the she-wolf named Holda had a son in Vestini who worked for the butchers. This was the first time that the scout’s mission had become more complex. Previously, he had been able to alert the tracker wolves to his presence by lingering nearby and leading them to the army’s camp. On the path to the mountains it was obvious to him that the markings had been staged, but he pretended they were true signs of the pack’s movement. This time he wouldn’t be able to get ahead of them and warn them of the danger, making his task more complex. His only option would be to slow the army down, and to do that he would have to deceive Marius, his brother in arms. It was a duplicity he was willing to engage in, if it would save his son.

“Caius, the general, has ordered us to ride ahead to Vestini, he thinks that is where the wolves will be,” his brother-in-arms called, disappointed to be called upon earlier than expected.

“I’m packing up now. There’s a huge forest on the route, there’s no way the army will get through that, especially in this season. It will be sodden,” Caius called back, setting the groundwork for his deceptions and delays.

“Well, I’ll let you tell him that good news. Maybe then he’ll realise why you stay silent. The only time you speak is to make our job harder, or give the general something else to get mad about”. His friend bantered back.

Caius picked up his bag, which only contained the items he considered to be the most precious to him. Climbing his horse, he made his way to Vestini watching the moonrise, hoping his lies about the forest had given the pack the time they needed to escape.