The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One) Page 14

“I thought I told you to rest!” Galeren scolded when Catherine woke up the next morning feeling battered again.

  “I was having nightmares,” she said defensively, “and I was alone. I heard you calling.”

  “But I was not calling you.” Galeren said and then realized that his remark sounded harsher than he had meant it to. “You will know my call when it is meant for you.”

  “Would it be so different?”

  “Absolutely, ’tis as unique as words when one’s ear is trained to it, like any language.”

  “How long will it take me to learn such a language?” Catherine said overwhelmed at the thought of the task. Galeren laughed throwing his head back.

  “You will know it as a wolf as soon as you change and you will come to recognize it as a human with experience.”

  She sighed with relief. “Language is not my strong point. My father had me tutored in French; it took me a long time to master it.”

  “French is an irksome language to learn.”

  “You speak it?”

  “Most Templars do, but my father was …is French.”

  Catherine’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re half French?”

  “You sound surprised.” Galeren said.

  “You seem so English.”

  “Aye,” he said folding his arms, “my mother was English and I lived on the Welsh border until I was ten. I didn’t meet my real father until then, when I was taken into the Temple’s care. It is a long story.” He said dismissively.

  “The Temple,” Catherine mused, “I still find it astonishing that Templar and werewolf are one and the same”

  Galeren smiled. “The core of the Temple, yes, but not all those in the Temple’s service are werewolves and not all werewolves are Templars, or do not choose to be anyway.”

  “Does the Church know?”

  “Christ no! Can you imagine? Would their God create such an unnatural horror?” he mocked.

  “Their God?”

  “Yes theirs, not mine.” Galeren said contemptuously.

  “But aren’t you meant to be God’s warriors?”

  “Meant to be.” He raised his eyebrows. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

  “So everything you stand for is . . .” she paused trying not to sound insulting, “a falsehood.”

  “A facade,” he gave a brief nod, “but not to cover any malevolence, rather to shield us from it. We are no evil scourge. It is what we are supposed to represent that is to be feared. It has been the dark cloak we have used to conceal ourselves. We have utilized the Church and its crusades to protect our identity and unify our kind. Imagine what would become of us if the rest of the world knew?” he said soberly.

  “Before the Temple united us we were alone and confused, hiding in shadows. But we have since grown together and advanced in knowledge. There are those among us whose human nature has drawn them to have faith in God but most believe that we are aligned with a natural world which runs a cyclical course through the vast heavens which were not the making of one God.

  It may seem like an unbelievable idea but you will come to know it when you become a wolf. Animals are not tricked by religion. They have a natural rhythm with the world; you will feel it pulse through your veins. It is simpler and cruder than the dreams of a grand father and paradise, but far more beautiful and without fear. I would be burned at the nearest stake if the Pope heard me speak thus.”

  Catherine stared at him in awe and smiled, “If only my mother could have met you. I knew you weren’t a Templar, well not the kind you have led all to believe exist.”

  “I sense from your errant attitude towards your former refuge that you are not bound by Christian beliefs either.”

  “No, and it has led to my being in trouble on many occasions. My mother was a healer, like my friend and as such was viewed with suspicion. I think it was only my father’s standing that prevented her from being ousted by some of the people in her village. Fortunately for her she died before he tired of her mystery.” Her eyes saddened and Galeren said, “What happened to you? Why were you put in that place when it was so clearly wrong for you?”

  Catherine sighed, “I brought shame upon him, or that was the way he viewed it. In truth I think it was his way of atoning for his sins.”

  “His sins?”

  “My mother and me. My mother was not his wife.” She shrugged. “My father is Thomas du Vaux, Lord of Sunbury and has a vast and wealthy estate in Gloucestershire. My mother lived in the village of Salperton and they met after he was hurt in a riding accident near the village. She tended to, and healed him. His wife had died some years previous. They fell in love, much to the disapproval of all and then they had me. My mother and I were not left wanting, my father was generous but he would not marry my mother who was, of course, beneath his social standing and labelled as nothing more than a witch. But I do think he loved her and she him. She died when I was five and my father did not hesitate to take me in. I had an older sister who, I think, always resented me.” Catherine shrugged.

  “My father lavished attention on me when I was a child but when I reached about twelve he gradually became more distant, favouring my sister. I was jealous, of course, but did not begrudge her anything for she was his true daughter and I a mongrel he had dragged in. I couldn’t blame her for hating me. It was a lonely few years and then . . .” she paused, her eyes became glazed and then she looked up at Galeren and continued, “My father acquired a new squire, Robard Beaumanoir, the son of a French nobleman who had known my father for many years. Robard was handsome and he used to wink at me. His attention was well met and over the years our friendship grew. I became smitten. He told me he loved me and, foolishly, I gave myself to him.”

  Catherine’s cheeks flushed and she looked down as if she feared Galeren’s judgement. But there was none and he merely waited patiently for her to continue.

  “We planned to marry and when I was seventeen we went to tell my father and expected to receive his blessing. He had never spoken of a suitor for me or my sister so we thought he would be pleased. We were wrong, he was incensed. He separated us. I was locked in my bedchamber for days with no contact from anyone. I don’t know what passed between Robard and my father but when I was finally let out my father cursed me for bringing shame upon him, said I was my mother’s daughter and told me that Robard was to marry my sister.”

  “Your sister?” Galeren said surprised.

  “I had never heard of such until that moment and I am certain neither had Robard nor my sister, as she would have delighted in telling me that she was betrothed. I think it was a surprise to all of us. My father told me that I was to spend the rest of my days in a convent to pay for my sin and then he dragged me to the main hall where the whole household was assembled. Robard was there and stood beside my sister. He would not look at me even though I refused to take my eyes from him. My father said he would not be shamed in such a way, he struck me to the ground and then whipped me with a birch until I lost consciousness.”

  Galeren felt his blood heat but tried to quash the anger building within him; he shook his head and clenched his fists. “How could he have done such a thing?” he said appalled but Catherine could hear the anger in his voice. She looked up at him. Galeren shook his head again. “And Robard? Did he do nothing to intervene?”

  “That was the most painful, not the beating or the humiliation of having it witnessed by so many, but that Robard did nothing. It was like he didn’t know me.”

  “The pathetic swine!” Galeren said angrily. “I would have torn your father’s arm off before the first stroke hit you and taken you out of there before anyone could draw breath. Christ Catherine! I had no idea. And the Abbess?” he asked, remembering her scathing judgement, “God if I had known then what I do now.”

  “A week later, when my wounds had healed some, I was sent to where you found me. I have never heard from, or seen any of them since that day. You heard first hand what the Abbess thought of me. Th
e day I arrived I was tired, sore and still devastated by what had happened, yet the first thing she did was have my head shorn. My hair had been down to my waist and she burned all of it in front of me.”

  Galeren bit his lip and took both of Catherine’s hands in his, he turned them over and looked at the scars on her wrists. “And these?” he said gently. “I noticed them while tending to you during the transition.”

  “Those arrived two days later at the first chance I had to get my hands on something adequate for the task. I know it is a sin but I had already drowned in enough of it.”

  Galeren stroked the scars tenderly with his thumbs, “Catherine, I am an honourable man but I am vengeful to injustice, I pray that I do not cross paths with any of these people for fear of what I may do.”

  Catherine shook her head, having witnessed how vengeful he was.

  “’Tis in the past and besides, I have a new life now.” She smiled and her eyes were bright and full of anticipation.

  “Indeed you do.” He said feeling his inner anger subside a little. Despite the fact that her ordeal had incensed him, he felt tempered by the strength she now showed.

  “If I didn’t know what I do, I would have said you were born to the life of a werewolf. Most who have been marked involuntarily find the change hard to accept, but you . . . you embrace it and it embraces you. I just wish you hadn’t been marked in such a way and by such a man.”

  Catherine could feel the beat of her heart within her chest and thought she could feel Galeren’s pulsing through his hands in unison with hers.

  “Would you have marked me, if things had been different?” Catherine asked and immediately wished she had not as soon as the words left her lips. She watched as Galeren’s face twitched nervously. He shook his head as if confused and breaking contact with her stood up abruptly. Catherine scolded herself as an awkward silence descended.

  “Get some rest.” He said curtly, breaking it and turning swiftly he left the room.

  Galeren flew down the small staircase and headed toward the cottage’s door. Parsifal was stirring a pot of stew over the fire and looked up as his master passed.

  “What is it, sir?” he asked noting Galeren’s dark visage.

  “Always questions.” Galeren said irritably, “Do you not have the wits to know when to keep your mouth shut?” Parsifal began to stutter an answer but Galeren interjected.

  “When you see me look as such or behave as such, do you not think it better to leave me in peace?”

  “Is Catherine alright?” Parsifal asked instead of giving Galeren a submissive answer.

  “And he chooses to ignore me!” Galeren said exasperated. “I have been too lenient on you. Richard is right, his sergeant’s may all despise him but at least they respect him.”

  “I do respect you!” Parsifal protested.

  “Then show me some! I think it is time you returned to Faxfleet and alone.”

  “Return to Faxfleet? No sir, please.”

  “You are irksome!”

  “It is only because you won’t talk to me.”

  “What do mean you imbecile? You are my subordinate. I don’t have to talk to you. And you should not talk to me unless I request it!” Galeren cried furiously.

  “’Tis Catherine isn’t it.”

  “What?”

  “I am not stupid. I notice a change in you. You love her but she has been marked by your enemy.” Parsifal barely had a chance to draw breath when he felt the back of Galeren’s hand across his face; the force of the blow sent him to the floor.

  “Gather your things together. You are leaving. Don’t be here when I get back.” Galeren said and then turned and left the cottage, trying to ignore the self-reproach in the pit of his stomach.

  Parsifal was still at the cottage when Galeren returned. The storm that had been Galeren’s mood had somewhat subsided after a vigorous run and patrol of the area, but he was still gloomy. However, he had half expected Parsifal to ignore his command and so he merely raised his eyebrows in false surprise when he saw the lad sat on the step of the cottage whittling a piece of wood.

  “So you are disobedient as well as irksome?” Galeren asked, folding his arms as he approached his young sergeant.

  Parsifal scrambled to his feet and bowed. “I mean to be neither, master,” he said remaining with his head lowered, “but I thought I would serve you better if I remained here.”

  “Know what’s best for me too, eh?” Galeren said sardonically. Parsifal didn’t reply choosing to remain quiet and passive.

  “How come you are quiet when I require you to answer me and full of chat when I require peace?” Galeren asked, walking up to Parsifal.

  There was much about the young Parsifal that reminded Galeren of himself at times. He remembered how he had incensed Le Roux, more often than not, with his wilful disobedience when he was a sergeant. He had always suffered the punishment of extra duties which, although gruelling, had done nothing to temper his nature. Even now his wilful temperament irked his peers and superiors, no less his father. Still, he could not let Parsifal get away with what he had not. Bertrand le Roux had never struck him though, and although many Templar masters were known to employ punishment that could include a beating, it was not to Galeren’s taste and he felt guilt at having struck his errant sergeant.

  Galeren sighed. “Stay if you will, but keep your curiosity in check and your assumptions to yourself.”

  “I will, sir.” Parsifal replied head bowed.

  “Good,” Galeren said nodding, “because I have an errand for you and pray you will not let me down.”

  Parsifal looked up, his eyes full of renewed enthusiasm. “I shall not, sir, of that you can be assured.”