The Wolves

by Hugh Todd

Most esteemed mentor,

When last I wrote, my account was meant, as now I see, to be a testament and a confession, so that you may, perhaps, one day hear and understand the cause of my perdition. Whether I would find a way to send it by my own hand, or whether it would reach you after my departure from this world I did not clearly discern as I wrote. But such a thrall was upon me that I must needs in that hour record its hold upon me.

In time to come it may, perhaps, serve as a lesson and a warning to others of our profession. In truth, however, I have thought many times in recent days of how I might have escaped my fate, and cannot. No righteous path led away from temptation. My feet were guided as if by a divine hand into a snare set to be the means of my undoing.

Yet great as my peril was then, I had not yet fallen, and as I write now my task is graver, for now the stain of mortal sin has entered my soul and I know that I am forever lost.

I had, as you will recall, come to have sole charge of the most bewitching invalid my eyes had in thirty-seven years beheld. Desires long brought into subjection by the discipline of our order had overwhelmed me. With the months of winter before us in that small peasants' dwelling, and her husband prevented by the snow from returning, I knew that I should be powerless to resist her.

The darkness of my predicament was upon me then, but greater was the darkness still to come, and this tale too I must record so that you may pray for my lost soul, though I cannot but believe that one who has withheld mercy shall in his turn receive none.

When first my charge began to recover, she was very weak. Within a day or so after the peak of her fever (when I had held her so tightly to comfort her and felt her writhe against me) I felt for the first time the presence of a mind behind the eyes that looked in my direction. There seemed in them a faint perplexity, as if her eyes asked a question which her soul had not the strength to answer. Then she fell again into sleep.

How many hours did I drink my fill of gazing upon her, in a reverie, she and I both unconscious of the world beyond, wrapped in our several dreams as the darkness hovered beyond the door?

I ached again to lie beside her, but feared that this may prove too great a disturbance for her. You may question whether the temptation entered me to take her by force, but no. I desired her love, a mirror of my own, a passion to equal that which stirred me. Winter would be long, and I would care for her, and learn her tongue, and work hard, and tell her tales of the world beyond, and she would come to love me and give herself to me.

These I know now to have been my thoughts, though at the time I was less honest, and cared for her, so I said to myself, as unto our Lord.

My left arm, which I now knew I had broken in my fall into the forest grave, made every task arduous. I had splinted it as best I could.

As for my patient, however, the stronger she grew the more I caught glimpses of the puzzlement in her eyes. More than puzzlement, perhaps. Anxiety, at seeing no one but me in the hut. I pretended not to see it. When she was awake I would set about reassuring her by presenting her with nourishing broth from the cauldron over the fire, or bustling about with the broom, or firewood, or by reading the breviary by the fire. At all times I was calm, and smiled, and sought to put any fears she may have to rest, speaking with gentleness and warmth though I knew she would not understand my words. To master my desire to gaze upon her when awake was not easy. I should have wished to seek in her eyes a reciprocation of my desire, but instead I kept my eyes averted, playing the part of a dedicated and retiring nurse until she should be strong enough to inquire as to the circumstances of my being there.

She glanced often towards the door. A shelf of snow might fall from a branch outside, with the sound of footfalls, and she would turn, startled, to see what it was.

What was in her gaze? I looked for signs of her feelings towards the peasant. They must not long be married, for there were no children. What were the practices in this part of the world? Did women and men choose each other, or was the choice made for them? He was older than she, I was certain, but not so worldly wise that he did not trust a priest to look after his wife in his absence. Did she wince? Was she afraid of him, or afraid that he would not return?

As days went by she grew stronger, and sat up in bed to feed herself. I moved then to the table to eat, fearing to crowd her. But fearing, too, that I might lose her regard I told her tales of our order, and Brother Erasmus’ squirrel, and the time he fell into the fish pond. She seemed at first disinclined to listen, and would look towards the door. In time, though, my gesticulations and laughter and mock solemnity began to engage her attention, and a day came when I caught her smiling as if she understood my foreign tongue.

There was a change in the weather. More snow fell from the boughs. Outside, patches of green appeared and grew. At night the stream roared with snowmelt. I built a chair, and took the beauty outside to sit in the morning sun.

These days continued for so long that I began to suspect that winter would not come this year. The beauty grew strong enough to walk from her bed to the outside chair, though she looked faint with the effort. I took a stool to sit with her, and asked her the names of common things... grass, sky, clouds, trees. When she pointed to her eyes and lips she dropped her gaze and smiled at my pronunciation.

But she also grew more agitated, and more and more she turned to look back down the path by which I had come to the place. She shared, I believe, my suspicion that the peasant may take advantage of the warm spell to attempt a return.

Then the north wind came.

There was a soughing in the pines, and a sudden chill. The door to the hut banged. There was a flurry of leaves. I turned to my charge, who was standing, holding an arm of the chair for support. With her other hand she was attempting to pull her shawl about her. I reached to help her, but as I did so heard from behind me an unearthly screech of such piteous horror that I felt all power go from my hands. The beauty's face looked, if it were possible, even paler than before, and she clutched at me as I turned to face the path, nearly toppling as she did so.

The sound of hoofbeats reached us, growing swiftly louder, and again we heard that screech of fright. A further sound then reached us, one that filled me with instant icy dread. I wrapped my right arm tightly around the woman, half lifting, half dragging her back to the door of the hut. She herself seemed to have new strength, but not to walk. She was attempting to look towards the path, wild fear in her eyes, her whole body twisting almost out of my grip.

As we reached the hut, with a shower of leaves and branches, nostrils flaring, eyes rolling white and lips flecked with spittle, the peasant's laden donkey burst into the clearing. I thrust my invalid towards the door, praying that she would have the strength to grasp it for support, and bent to pick up a fallen branch.

Then came the beast. Slavering and intent, eyes afire, as large, it seemed, as the donkey it pursued, dark and terrible and swift.

“ Get inside,” I commanded the woman, who made no move. I charged across the clearing, roaring, cudgel held high. The wolf, startled, leapt into the air, landing on all fours some feet to the side. It turned to face me, fangs bared, growling deeply. I continued my charge, now sweeping the branch before me. The wolf cowered back a moment on its haunches, then sprang.

My cudgel knocked the brute from the air. It cried out in pain, falling nearly on its face, but regained its balance sufficiently to evade my next swing. Head lowered, it fixed on me a look of infinite hatred, turned and slunk back along the track from whence it had come.

Now, far off, I could hear, in the gathering gloom, the voices of other wolves. They called to each other, and from nearby I heard my attacker answer.

The wind was rising. I retreated towards the hut, keeping my back to it, eyes sweeping the forest. Behind me I heard a curious call, and from the trees the donkey emerged, trembling and hesitant. The woman called again, weak though her voice was, and the donkey approached, nuzzling her, settling to her touch and her voice.

Reaching the two of them I opened the latch. The three of us entered and I slammed the door, bolting it with trembling fingers.

I turned to find the beauty looking steadily at me, her arm around the donkey's neck. I felt for a moment elated, proud of my protective deeds, judging her gaze to be one of gratitude and — might I dare believe? — adoration.

I smiled at her. She smiled not in return, but held me with her eyes, then looked towards the door. All pride left me, and the ice entered again into my veins.

Out there was her husband. The wolf that had chased the donkey was alone, an outrider. No doubt the pack had chosen the man for its prey. He was, perhaps, still alive, and in need of succour.

I crossed to where my sword hung on the wall, and strapped it to myself. I took up a torch, too, of beaten wood dipped in fat, along with a tinder box. I considered taking the donkey, but it was clear that the beast would be too frightened to venture forth again.

As I put my hand to the door bolt, the woman put her hand on my arm. She looked again into my eyes, then, looking down, slowly shook her head.

At this, my heart began to beat furiously.

“ But I must go,” I said, pointing towards the door, and to the crucifix about my neck. “It is my calling. My life poured out for others, as my saviour has done for me.”

She took the crucifix in both hands, and lifted its leather cord gently over my head. Again she indicated that I should not go.

I found myself trembling again, though this time not with fear. My throat constricted. Horrible and wonderful thoughts danced through my mind.

The woman spoke to me in her tongue. She pointed outside, miming with a gruesome gesture the death of her husband, then pointing to me and to the door, miming the same end for me. She spread out her arms, then clasped them around herself, looking around the hut fearfully. Her meaning was clear. My heart ached for her.

Yet still I reached for the bolt at the door, to draw it back.

And then she stepped close, dropping her dress to the floor, taking my hand and pressing it to her breasts, then down, down between her thighs.

O sweet siren call from heaven, or from hell! She had made her choice, and did not wish to lose me. And lose me she would, out there in the dark, with the wolves and the wind, just as surely as her husband was now dead, somewhere on the track, beyond help of any but God himself.

I must stay for her. She reached for me under my clothes and pulled me to her bed. I surrendered to her embrace, while outside the storm grew in fury, howling and baying as if it was itself a giant beast.

I woke later, the fire burning low. A sound had disturbed me, beyond the wailing of the wind. A knock, a thud against the door. I started up in fright, guilt assailing me in full force. Anger kindled in me against the woman, that she had deceived me, and damned my soul for eternity. I sprang from the bed, and made for the door. The woman stood there already, barring the lock. Outside there was again a weak knocking, and the dreadful sound of the wolves, very close. I felt that I might vomit with the thoughts reeling in my mind.

I made to pull the woman away. Beholding her frailness and the fear in her eyes, and her perfect body glowing in the embers of the dying fire, my resolve weakened. How long had she stood there? Did she fear the man more than the wolves? Or was it to protect me, lying in the man's own bed, that she had kept him from entering?

The wolf pack was at the door. While I stood, irresolute, there was a last fierce flurry of scrabblings at the door, then a wail of grief and fear such as only the damned might utter, then nothing but the wind and the sounds of slavering wolves.

The spell broke. I snatched up the torch and lit it upon the embers. This time, as I advanced towards the door, the woman stepped aside, head bowed. I threw open the door, thrusting the torch out into the darkness, yelling like a banshee, waving around the burning stick and driving back those flaming eyes and glittering teeth. I gathered up the peasant with my right arm, and drew him in, and lay him on the floor. The woman slammed the door, bolting it fast against the wolves which now hurled themselves against it, howling frightfully in their rage and hunger.

He was dead. We stood there, side by side, complicit in our deeds, darkness seeping in around the doors and windows and into our very beings.

We buried him in the grave he had dug, before he left, for the wife he had expected to die. And as we lay him there, and covered him up, I felt that it was my soul itself that I buried, twice damned that I am and lost forever.