I listen to him talk of his sorrows
sometimes I even understand –
and other times there’s no language
but the rhythm of it, like a river – yes,
the castle has seen it, the court knows it.
sometimes he says my name
he gives me back the fragments of myself
but now
HUNT HUNT HUNT
few instincts are stronger than violence,
few bloodier than vengeance
they are pulling me back
why would they take this from me–
a wolf’s revenge can look like savagery to a man
–why won’t they let me
HUNT
if I cannot be human
let me at least be wolf
40
You
It’s no surprise that your servants are nervous around the wolf after that; what’s more remarkable is that your knights aren’t. They come as close to him as they ever did, offering him a comradely pat, with no apparent fear of his teeth.
‘The way I see it,’ says your red-haired knight, proud and honest, ‘we have had a year of the wolf’s company and we know him to be peaceful. If he can on occasion be provoked to violence – well, I’ve seen enough of my comrades at their worst to know that no being should be judged on that.’
This is followed by laughter, and a few ribald suggestions as to what various knights’ ‘worst’ has looked like.
‘I can’t deny there are men I’d fight as soon as look at them,’ adds your knight in green. ‘I’ve always heard it said that wolves are canny creatures, and this one has more wit than most wild beasts. If he has the mind of a man, perhaps he has the enmities of one, too.’
You agree with that, but why Bisclavret’s soft-spoken steward of a cousin? ‘You’ve heard nothing of the baron to explain such enmity, I suppose?’ you ask him.
His brow creases in confusion. ‘No. I have no particular knowledge of the man.’
‘Your wife,’ you say uncertainly, wondering if you’vemisremembered. ‘I thought once she had a friendship with Bisclavret’s wife, and that they might yet talk.’
His bewilderment passes, but he seems no less troubled. ‘I’m afraid their friendship did not long survive Bisclavret’s loss, my lord.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
His shrug is uncomfortable, uncertain. ‘No doubt it is my fault. It was our companionship that brought them together, and there was little to keep matters so once that was gone. But there was . . .’ He hesitates. ‘I’ll confess it, though I mislike to do so when she was your ward once. My wife was not comfortable with how quickly his lady sought refuge in his cousin’s arms. She thought there was more to it than practicality and inheritance – that perhaps there had always been something more to it. They quarrelled about the matter, and time has not yet mended the rift.’
