The Tale Of Agapito The Werewolf
A
retelling of ‘Bisclavret’, a lay of Marie de France.
————
Content warnings: animal attack, blood, violence.
———
Once upon a time, there was a knight whose
adventures transformed his body as well as his mind.
His name was
Agapito; he was fit, intelligent, quiet but cheerful, and liked by almost all
who knew him. He had brown eyes, curly dark-brown hair, and was skilled in all
the ways that a knight should be.
He ran a manor
house that lay not far from the castle of his lord, the king of that land, and
often he would hunt in the company of the king, who treasured his friendship
and bade him ride alongside him with Sir Tancredi, another friend of the king.
The three of them had known each other for many years, and worked together
often; and the king never smiled so much or so freely as when he was with these
two friends.
It happened
that Sir Agapito grew to love a lady of the court, named Genoveffa, and she
loved him in return; and, after a year of courting, Agapito told the king that
he wished to marry Genoveffa.
His friend King
Damiano released Genoveffa from his service, and gave them his blessing. “I
wish you long lives and happiness together,” King Damiano told him; “though I
will miss you, Agapito, and I am glad that your manor is not far from my castle.”
And only Sir Tancredi
noticed the sadness in the king’s eyes at Agapito’s wedding, but he said
nothing, only laid his hand on the king’s shoulder, and filled his bowl with
desserts.
~*~*~
Lady Genoveffa and Sir Agapito were happy
together. Only one thing began to bother the lady. After every five days, Agapito
would leave for some business he claimed required his attention on the other
side of the forest that lay to the North of his manor. He would leave early on
the fifth day, be absent for two nights, and return late in the evening of the seventh
day. Whenever Genoveffa asked him where he went, or what he did, he would reply
with vague excuses. Nor did any of his servants or tenants know where he went
or why.
More than once,
the lady asked, “You are always so tired when you return; why is that?”
And Agapito
would reply, “Because I am rushing home to be with you, my love.”
More than once,
the lady asked, “Whom do you talk with?”
And Agapito would
reply, “No one as interesting as you, my dear,” and kiss her.
One evening
when the knight returned, seeming in a contented mood despite his tiredness,
the lady Genoveffa decided to press him.
“Husband,” she
began, “sweet friend, I long to ask you for something, but I fear you will be
angry with me. I would rather not ask it than displease you, but I am sorely
tried by it.”
Sir Agapito took
his wife in his arms and kissed her. “My dear,” he answered her, “ask what you
will. What would you have, for it is yours already?”
“I am right
relieved to hear you say that,” sighed Genoveffa. “Husband, the days when you
are not here are dreary and fearful to me. I know not where you are or what may
happen to you. Tell me, husband: where do you go? And why?”
Agapito’s heart
sank, and he regretted his previous words. “Wife,” he whispered, “ask me anything
but that. I pray you, do not ask me that.”
“But why,
Agapito?! You abandon me for half of every week but you expect me not to ask why?”
The knight hung
his head. “Ask me anything but that,” he repeated lowly.
His lady began
to weep. “Do you have a lover, Agapito? Have you tired of me so soon?”
And so she
begged and fretted in anguish, until her loving husband could no longer resist,
and he agreed to tell her what she wished to know, but only in deep seclusion.
That night, in
their bedroom, with all doors and shutters closed, he whispered to her his
secret.
“I desired never
to tell you this, but since it causes you so much grief, I will tell you; and
as you are my wife you have a right to know, though even now I am terrified
that you will hate me when you hear it.
“Genoveffa, I
am a werewolf.
“I am forced to
spend three days out of every seven in the form of a wolf. I cannot control it.
When I feel the transformation approaching, I go into the forest, and live
there as a wolf until the transformation leaves me.”
As his wife
listened in amazement, Agapito explained how his condition had occurred. Soon
after he and Genoveffa were married, Agapito had needed to visit a town several
days’ ride away, on business for the king. The way was not dangerous, so he had
travelled alone, but the path ran through a forest to the East of his manor;
and while he sat among the trees, to rest his horse and eat his cheese and bread,
a great grey wolf had sprung boldly from the bushes and seized the food from
his hand, disappearing into the forest with its plunder. Agapito had been too
busy trying to keep hold of his affrighted horse to pay much attention to the
wolf or where it went, but when he had managed to calm his steed somewhat, he found
that the wolf’s fangs had torn a small gash in his hand. Cleaning and bandaging
the wound as best he could, he continued on his way to the next town, but when
he woke the next morning at the inn where he stayed, he was consumed by fever. The
illness lasted three days, but receded quickly, so he was able to continue on
his way and complete his business.
Four days later, however, as he was on his
way back through the forest, a feverish feeling came upon him, and in a state
of near delirium he found himself dismounting, and casting off his clothes as
his skin was inflamed with heat. To his horror, felt himself transforming. When
his mind cleared, he found that he was a wolf. His horse abandoned him in
terror, and in misery and confusion he wandered the forest for three days,
until, on the evening of the third day, the feverish feeling returned and some
strange urge compelled him to return to his clothes and attempt to garb his wolfish
form. To his astonishment, his human body returned.
All that night he
staggered toward his home, dishevelled, dirty, exhausted, famished, with a
partly healed wound on his hand, wan with the horror of his ordeal.
His horse had made
its way home without him, causing Lady Genoveffa and two of their servants to
ride out seeking him. They found him before he left the forest, and their concern
and relief were such that Agapito could not bear the thought of explaining to them
the truth of what had happened to him; claiming instead that his horse had bolted
deep into the forest and thrown him, and recounting only his earlier fever at
the inn to explain his pallor and weakness.
In vain did he
hope that the transformation would not happen again. For, four days later, he
felt the fever upon him again, and, making an excuse, took himself on foot to the
nearest forest: one that lay to the North of his manor.
From then on,
he learned the pattern of his disease.
Lady Genoveffa well
remembered the frightening incident; her dread upon seeing her husband’s horse
return riderless, her relief upon finding him wretched but whole in the forest,
and how her husband’s unease had lasted for days even after he was once again
safe at home. Now she listened with mute terror to the full story.
Agapito told
her that he had since ridden out to find the wolf who bit him, in the hope that
it was also a werewolf and might be able to help him to lift his disease, and
had searched in both wolf and human form; but had never found any trace of that
creature who had stolen his food and changed his life forever.
When the lady again
found her tongue, she stammered, “What of your clothes? Do they change with
you?”
“No; the
illness compels me to undress and leave them behind.”
“But — you
are gone for days; how do you keep them safe and dry?”
Agapito’s brow crinkled,
and he was silent in thought for some time. At last he said, “Genoveffa, my
love, I cannot tell you. It is only as I put on my clothes that I change from
wolf to man. Somehow, I feel that if I lose my clothing, I will be trapped as a
wolf forever. Please, humour me in this, and let me keep this secret.”
The lady began
to weep. “Do you not trust me, Agapito? — Me, your own wife?”
In vain did her
husband explain that it was an abundance of caution, not a mote of distrust, that
stayed his tongue. His wife would not be satisfied. And so she importuned him,
with many tears, for an hour in the night, until her loving husband could stand
it no longer.
He whispered to
her that there was an ancient chapel in the forest, all overgrown with moss and
mould, with young trees sprouting in its rooms, like forest acolytes, and ivy
for its tapestries. It was difficult to see from the forest path, but for those
who knew of it, it was easy enough to reach. At the farther end of the chapel
was a cluster of bushes and a mess of rubble where part of the chapel wall had
collapsed, and one of the largest stones he had hollowed out inside and
concealed beneath a bush, and in that stone did he hide his clothing.
“After two
nights,” Agapito said, “before sunset, when I can feel that my transformation
is receding, I return to the chapel, and reclaim my clothes, and, with them, my
shape.”
At last, Sir Agapito
asked his wife, “Are you content? Have I satisfied your questions at last?”
And the lady told
him that he had.
“And,” Sir Agapito asked, “do you still love me?”
And the lady
told him that she did.
Relieved, Sir Agapito
kissed his wife’s hand, and then the tired knight fell deeply asleep.
But the lady
Genoveffa could not sleep that night.
All night she
lay awake and stared into the darkness, listening to the breathing of her
sleeping husband, imagining his face and form twisting into that of a thick-furred,
heavy-pawed, great-toothed, slavering beast. What if he should transform at
home, one day? If he could not control his transformations but was obliged to
leave so that they were not observed by others, what would happen if he could
not leave? If some sickness or injury compelled him to remain at home
— what then?
How could she
ever feel safe whilst she was married to a werewolf?
~*~*~
Now there was another knight who had known the
lady Genoveffa since they were young, and had loved her for years before she chose
Sir Agapito for her husband. Twice had he begged her to marry him, but she had
denied him. His name was Baldovino, and the moment that Genoveffa was sure in
her heart that she could not be happy married to a werewolf, she wrote to him.
Dear friend, she wrote, rejoice: for I suffer in my marriage to Agapito, and
regret a thousand times that I did not choose you, sweet Baldovino; you who
have loved me so patiently for so long. Only aid me in escaping Agapito, and I
will pledge myself to you forever. Please come; please help me; please be mine.
Baldovino sent his
reply at once, eagerly accepting her offer, and Genoveffa told him the date to
arrive: one when Agapito would be yet again in the woods.
This time, when
Sir Agapito left, his wife shuddered as he closed the door behind him, for now she
knew where he was going; and where, in her innocence, she had wished for his
return, in her new knowledge she wished he would never come back.
When Sir Baldovino
arrived, the day after Agapito left, Genoveffa confided all to him, and told
him of her next intentions.
Baldovino hesitated
when the lady explained her plan, but he agreed that it was not right that she should
be married to a beast, and when she begged for his help and promised him her love,
he could not resist.
It was a fine
midsummer day with a light breeze; pleasant for riding. Together, in broad
daylight, they rode to the chapel in the forest.
~*~*~
The next day, in the early evening, a great
grey wolf trotted past the chapel and to a large stone half-hidden in the
bushes. With practised effort, he set his powerful furry shoulder to the stone
and overturned it.
It was chiselled
hollow. And it contained nothing. Not even the waxed linen bag that kept
Agapito’s clothes, purse, dagger, and other effects safe from the damp.
In anguish, the
wolf circled the spot three times, his whimpers growing more and more piteous,
until at last he put his nose to the hollow stone, and smelt the scent he had
dreaded to perceive, and another. He followed them to the other end of the
chapel, and found the hoofprints of two horses. Swiftly he traced the prints
and the horses’ scents to the edge of the forest, and thence to the edge of his
own property.
Then, he could no
longer cling to any doubt that he had been betrayed.
At once the
wolf turned back to the forest, for he dared not linger in the farmland and fields,
and as he fled into the dusk, his grey coat blurring into the greys and greens
of the forest that would now be his home forever, his heart seemed to shatter
within him.
In the manor
house, the one whom he had married swiftly dismantled his clothing so that it
would burn more readily on the fire in their bedchamber.
All that night,
and the next, the forest echoed with a dreadful howling.
Few folk heard
it, but those who did shivered, and pulled their loved ones closer.
~*~*~
The lady Genoveffa was slow to announce to
her servants and tenants that her husband had disappeared. As she explained to
them, and as they had reasoned themselves, he was so frequently away on business
that she had not worried, at first, when he was gone for a little longer than
usual. But once a whole week had passed without his return, it became clear
that something was amiss, and though the grounds and the nearby forest were searched
and many inquiries made, no trace of Sir Agapito could be found.
Lady Genoveffa did
not weep, but sent to her old friend Sir Baldovino for aid. The knight brought three
of his own servants to assist in the search, and still Sir Agapito, be he alive
or dead, remained missing.
During this
time, two weeks after Sir Agapito had left, a messenger from King Damiano
arrived at Lady Genoveffa’s house to ask if Sir Agapito would care to visit the
king for a hunting trip, and returned to the king’s castle with the news that
Agapito was missing. Immediately, the king himself postponed all his business
and rode with his best trackers and hunters to the area, and for nearly two weeks
they searched and made inquiries until they were exhausted; but any trail that
Agapito might have left had long disappeared, and no one could tell anything of
the man.
At last, almost
one month after Sir Agapito was last seen, even the king concluded that he
would be seen no more, and all searching ceased.
King Damiano returned
to his castle, and his tears fell on his horse’s saddle all the way.
~*~*~
A few weeks afterwards, the king’s friend
and counsellor, Sir Tancredi, found King Damiano on the battlements, regarding the
rolling farmland that surrounded his castle, about an hour before sunset.
“My lord,” Tancredi
said, “did you hear that Lady Genoveffa has married Sir Baldovino?”
The king looked
at him sharply in surprise, and, after a moment, he asked, “When?”
“Five days ago,
I believe,” said the knight.
Murmured the
king, “So soon …”
Sir Tancredi
shrugged his shoulders and said, “I suppose it is hard, for someone who has
been married, to be alone.”
“We had but
recently called off the search,” said the king lowly.
“Lady Genoveffa
and Sir Baldovino have been friends for many years,” said Sir Tancredi. “Perhaps
it was Agapito’s wish.”
The king gazed
over the late Summer fields, full of the sounds of birds and insects and the contented
lowing of cattle, and was silent for a time.
At last he
said, “Is it strange that she, his wife, should remarry so soon, while I, his
friend, grieve him still? Tell me, Tancredi, is it strange?”
“No, my lord. A
husband is a role to fill; it is a duty, a position, like knight or king or
page or parent. But a friend is a person. A person whom we may love for
who they are, not what they are. She lost a husband; the role can be filled by
another. But you lost a friend. As did I.”
The king hung
his head, then shook it. “I thought Agapito loved her. And she him.”
Sir Tancredi
shrugged again. “I suppose they did love each other. Perhaps she also loved Sir
Baldovino. Who knows? In the end, if she is happy, what does it matter?”
The king sighed
deeply, and leaned on the battlements.
“I suppose it does
not,” he said.
~*~*~
A year passed.
King Damiano often
went hunting, and one day in early Autumn he chanced to hunt in the forest that
lay to the North of Sir Agapito’s old manor, now given to another knight to run,
after Lady Genoveffa chose to leave it and live with her new husband. He did
not often hunt there, but the hounds quickly found a scent which excited them
greatly, and the hunt began to pursue it.
Eventually, they
caught sight of their quarry: an enormous grey wolf.
The wolf ran
cleverly, doubling back and leading them over difficult terrain, so that their
horses quickly tired, and every time they caught a glimpse of him every hunter
was astonished by his size.
As the hunt
continued, they began to marvel at his intelligence, for he ran as though he
understood how they would attempt to follow him, and where they could not go.
They despaired
of ever catching him, and the king was about to call off the hunt and let all turn
their weary horses toward home, when, even as the hounds sought him ahead, the
wolf himself appeared out of the trees on a hillside to the king’s left. The
king’s breath hitched, and he opened his mouth to call to his fellow hunters, but
the wolf, panting from his exertions, walked calmly toward him. As the king
tried to control his frightened horse, the wolf halted a few paces before the
king, and stretched out his forelegs, lowering his chest almost to the ground and
laying his jaw on his forelegs, as though bowing deeply to the king.
At this extraordinary
behaviour, the king hesitated. The wolf arose, took another step forward, and
bowed again, repeating the gesture until he reached the king’s stirrup, upon
which he laid his head and began to fawn upon the king’s boot. The king’s horse
would not tolerate this, and danced away, but the king was astounded by the wolf’s
behaviour, and immediately called off the hunt, giving orders for the hounds and
most of the hunters to return home ahead, while he and Sir Tancredi and two others
lagged far behind, for the king wished to see what the strange wolf would do.
And indeed, the
wolf continued to be extraordinary, for it kept pace with the four riders, just
far enough away to keep their horses from panicking at its presence.
When the party stopped
to lodge for the night, reuniting with the rest of the hunting party, the wolf slipped
away into the night, and the king and his companions had little expectation of
seeing the creature again; but when, the next morning, they mounted their
horses to return to the castle, the wolf reappeared, standing aloof until the
king once again ordered the hounds and most of the party to progress ahead;
whereupon the wolf, once again, kept pace with the king and his three companions.
They reached
the castle safely, and, to the astonishment of all, the wolf followed the king
calmly into the courtyard, and sat down within the castle walls.
Many remarked
that it was a strange hunt indeed, that had yielded nothing but a live wolf!
~*~*~
That night, King Damiano would have let the
wolf sleep in the kennels or stables, but the other animals fretted and barked
and growled at the presence of the beast, and would not calm down in the least
until he had left their sight and scent; so the wolf was called into the
courtyard, and slept amongst some lavender bushes at the foot of the castle wall.
The wolf made
no attempt to leave the castle courtyard, nor to cause any trouble therein. In
the morning, when the king went to see if the wolf remained within the walls,
the wolf greeted him by nuzzling his hand, and followed him like a dog.
The king questioned
his own wisdom in treating a wild animal thus, but fed the great beast because
he was so charming.
From that day
on, the wolf scarcely left King Damiano’s side; the creature lay at the king’s
feet while the king worked at his desk or sat reading, accompanied him when he
walked, and lay behind the king’s chair at meetings.
The people of
the castle soon found that the wolf would come when called to, and they addressed
him simply as ‘lupo’: ‘wolf’.
In fact, the
wolf’s behaviour to all was so gentle, even polite, that within a month almost every
human in the castle viewed him as a guest, the king’s special pet. After the
first week, as the wolf’s behaviour continued to be flawless and mild, and the
weather became more chill and the animals in the stables still loathed the wolf’s
presence, King Damiano called the wolf to sleep indoors, in the fire-warmed
great hall. Two weeks after that, he invited the wolf to sleep on a rug in the
king’s own bedchamber; and though the servants were a little nervous at the prospect,
in the end, those who cared for the king were pleased, for who would dare to
venture harm upon the king when a full-grown wolf lay on the floor beside his
bed?
Gradually, Lupo
even befriended the horses of the castle, for he kept his distance and behaved meekly,
gradually drawing closer as the horses became more accustomed to his presence,
until at last, after many weeks, he was able to move among them and greet them
gently, and loped beside the king’s horse when he rode.
The king placed
a richly carved leather collar on the wolf, covered in crowns and the king’s arms,
so that all would know that Lupo was no wild beast to be shot but was the king’s
pet. Indeed, the king, a lover of dogs, found himself giving the wolf tidbits
from his own plate, though the wolf never begged for them, and fondling the thick
ruff, and even kissing the great furry muzzle, as though the wolf were his
childhood companion and not an enigmatic wild creature.
~*~*~
It was the king’s custom to host a great
feast in the midst of Winter, lighting candles and drinking wine to spite the snow
and mud and darkness. Among the guests who were always invited were Lady Genoveffa
and Sir Baldovino, but this year the lady was ill and remained at home.
The great hall
was filled with light and warmth, and the happy chatter and greetings of the entering
guests, as the servants filled the tables with gleaming, steaming dishes. News
of the king’s pet wolf and his extraordinary conduct had spread, and many of
the guests were eager to see him for themselves, though others were nervous, for
a wild wolf is still a wild wolf even when it wears a collar and sits elegantly
beside its chosen master.
“I have never
trained him,” King Damiano said, to those who asked. “He is free to leave and
free to stay. He has the run of the castle; though the dogs dislike him, so we
try to keep them apart.”
The meal had not
yet begun, and all was well, until the moment after the knight Baldovino entered.
The most hideous snarling and raving filled the room, as the wolf bounded between
the clusters of guests and hurled himself at Baldovino’s throat. It was all the
guards could do to keep him off the knight without harming him. The king seized
the wolf’s collar, and, with great effort and the assistance of several others,
managed to haul him away.
The wolf’s face
was contorted with rage, every fearsome tooth showing, black-lipped jaws
slavering, his golden eyes filled with baleful ire. Never before had he behaved
thus, and the king was shocked more than any other.
For the sake of
his guests, King Damiano reluctantly ordered that the wolf be taken outside and
restrained in the stables. The guards obeyed, handling him roughly in their
fear of the great beast who could turn so savage so unpredictably.
The king
apologised profusely to Sir Baldovino, and to the rest of his guests, and the
evening was not entirely spoiled, though the king was mortified that his famous
pet had betrayed its charming reputation in so hideous and terrifying a fashion.
In the morning,
King Damiano visited Lupo in his cage in the stables, but he would not allow
him to be released until a few days later, when all the guests had returned to
their homes. During this time the wolf displayed only his mildest, most humble
behaviour, and the king decided to allow him his freedom once more; but he eyed
the wolf sternly before he unlatched the cage door.
“You must
never,” he said to the enormous grey creature, “attack anyone again.”
The wolf bowed
low.
And the king was
happier to release him than he cared to admit to anyone.
Only Sir Tancredi
realised, after the feast was over, that Baldovino had been wearing a beautiful
doublet, embroidered all over in blue and silver and green, that had previously
belonged to Sir Agapito.
~*~*~
When Spring came, King Damiano desired to
tour part of his lands and visit with some of his subjects. His travels took
him to a manor next to that of Baldovino and Genoveffa, and, as the lady Genoveffa
had missed the traditional midwinter feast, she desired to see the king and
visit him. She dressed beautifully, and rode with her handmaiden to the neighbouring
manor where the king and his retinue were lodged.
As ever, Lupo
lay at the side of his chosen master’s chair, but the moment Lady Genoveffa was
shown into the room his hackles rose, and he leapt at her with a hateful roar, his
great teeth bared and aimed at her throat. But a guard standing in the room beside
the door had seen the wolf’s hackles rising and had anticipated his attack, and
threw his shoulder into the wolf’s chest at the same time as the lady recoiled,
so that the huge beast barely touched the woman. Every guard and knight in the
room seized the wolf and held him, forcing him to the floor, though he thrashed
and snarled.
Even so, Genoveffa
howled in pain and held her hands to her face. When she pulled them away, her
palms and fingers were bloody, and her mouth and chin ran scarlet: the wolf’s
teeth had torn her lower lip.
The king was
beside himself. Once again, his beloved Lupo had turned brutal and
untrustworthy without warning.
The lady’s maid
guided her out of the room, and a servant was sent to summon the nearest healer.
King Damiano stared down at his precious wolf, his hand on his dagger and his
brow darkly furrowed. Lupo, still held down by half a dozen people, began to
whine softly, as though in apology, and all his struggling ceased.
“I told you never
to do that again,” the king cried, as though the wolf could understand him, though
he was less sure than ever that this was so.
“My lord, he is
too dangerous!” exclaimed one of the guards, and others in the room agreed with
him. All knew how the king loved his wolf, and all who knew the wolf were charmed
by him, but a creature of such size and power with a violence so unpredictable must
be a danger to all.
King Damiano’s
hand tightened on his dagger’s hilt.
He remembered the
meek bow that Lupo had given him in the stables, when the king told him never
to attack again.
He also remembered
the utter suddenness, and the sheer fury, of the two times the beast had
attacked.
Rulers may love
many things, but their greatest love must be their subjects, or they are unworthy
to rule. A sovereign must always value the safety of his people above any person
or creature he personally loves.
Tears came to
the king’s eyes, and he drew his dagger.
“Wait,” urged Sir
Tancredi, and rose from helping to restrain the now-still wolf. He approached the
king and drew him aside, speaking lowly. “My lord, the wolf has lived with us
for more than half a year. Only twice has he ever shown savagery, and only to two
people: the lady Genoveffa and her second husband. Why those two? … My lord, surely
you have realised from the start that Lupo is not a normal wolf. And you know
that he was found in the forest to the North of the manor that belonged to Agapito,
the forest in which Agapito went missing, not two months before Lady Genoveffa
married Sir Baldovino.”
The king stared
at his friend. Of course he knew all these things, but any connection between
them seemed far-fetched indeed.
“I suggest,” murmured
Sir Tancredi, “that you ask the lady, and Sir Baldovino, if they know anything
they are not telling. Anything that the wolf, perchance, also knows.”
~*~*~
So it was that the wolf was kept in kennels,
and not permitted into any other of the manor houses that the king visited in
the following weeks, until the king’s travels ended and he returned to his own
castle. The lady Genoveffa and the knight Baldovino had been ordered to report
to the king the morning after he returned to his residence, and so they did. Genoveffa’s
face was still bandaged, and her countenance was wan and haunted; with the help
of her husband, and with sparse, lisping speech, she told the king that she had
recently endured a fever as a result of the wound in her lip, and begged to be
allowed to return to her home as soon as possible. Sir Baldovino looked anxious
and weary, like one who carries fearful secrets and is afraid of more trouble.
The king wasted
no time, but, with Sir Tancredi, bluntly questioned the pair as to why Lupo
should attack them and no one else. They pleaded utter ignorance, but when
Tancredi mentioned that Lupo had followed the king home from the forest in
which Genoveffa’s first husband had gone missing, and remarked that the wolf’s conduct
and bearing were astonishingly different from what one would expect from a wild
animal, and observed that Sir Baldovino had been wearing the missing man’s
clothing when Lupo attacked him, the fear on their faces showed that they knew
some terrible truth.
As pallid as
she could be, the lady sank to her knees, nearly fainting; and when she could
speak she stuttered out what she and Baldovino had done.
Sir Baldovino knelt
also, with hanging head, and confirmed the lady’s story, speaking for her when
she could not continue.
When he had heard
the full story, the king slapped each of them across the face with all his force,
not caring for Genoveffa’s torn mouth. Then he demanded that any remaining
clothes of Sir Agapito’s be brought to him immediately.
Two riders on swift
horses were sent with the king’s orders to the manor of Sir Baldovino, and the
perplexed servants hastened to bring every item in Baldovino’s personal
wardrobe to the messengers, who bundled it all up — every undergarment, hat,
and shoe — and returned with it that very evening.
Meanwhile, the
king paced uneasily, and sought to distract himself with work. Several times he
desired to address Lupo, to question the wolf, but he knew not what to ask nor to
say, so strange did the whole affair seem; and he thought, moreover, that if
the wolf really were Agapito, the transformed knight had made no attempt to reveal
himself to the king or anyone else, and perhaps he had his reasons for it; yet
this silence on Agapito’s part did not mean that the king would not attempt to offer
the wolf the chance to change his form.
The guilty pair
were held under guard in one chamber of the castle, while Lupo was kept well
away from them, and all guards were warned not to let him anywhere near the
prisoners; and though the wolf made no effort to approach his hated enemies, King
Damiano could tell by the wolf’s glances and the rising of his hackles that Lupo
knew that they were in the castle.
The clothes
were presented to Baldovino and Genoveffa, who singled out several garments
that had belonged to Sir Agapito. These were taken to a different room, and
there laid before the wolf.
But Lupo looked
at the clothes, then turned his gaze on King Damiano, long and steady, as
though trying to convey something to him; and after a moment the king realised
that the wolf could not bring himself to transform in front of others.
“My lord,” Sir
Tancredi began, but the king interjected.
“I know. Come
with us, Tancredi.”
The king
himself gathered up the clothes, and, calling Lupo to follow him, led the way
to his own bedchamber, with Sir Tancredi following behind. He and Tancredi laid
out the garments on the floor of the room, as the wolf watched gravely. Then,
glancing at the wolf’s face but not daring to speak, they left, locking the
door behind them.
Said the king, “Tancredi,
let no one enter this room for half an hour.”
The knight nodded
his approval and assent, and took the key that King Damiano handed to him. Then
he asked lowly, “My lord, what will you do to punish Baldovino and Genoveffa?”
“If Lupo is
indeed Agapito,” the king murmured, “I will let him choose what punishment best
suits the ones who hurt him. I doubt that there is any precedent in law for a
case like this.”
~*~*~
At last, Agapito was left alone with his
clothes. He had not seen these garments in more than a year and a half, and they
retained not his own scent but reeked of Baldovino, yet he had recognised them
at once.
Overjoyed, he lay
on his belly and nudged his snout between the lower hems of a linen undershirt,
working his head and forepaws through the body of the shirt toward the collar,
as he had done so many times in the past. As his muzzle emerged from the collar
of the shirt, he felt his head and neck warp and reshape themselves, his fur
dissolving, snout receding, teeth and tongue shrinking, his ears travelling down
to the sides of his head, his hearing dulling, while his almighty sense of
smell seemed nearly to vanish. He blinked, and his eyes ached as they once
again beheld the colours of the world in a way he had almost forgotten. His
neck shrank, leaving the king’s leather collar hanging loose against his chest,
under the shirt. He could hear his own breathing, and it was human breathing;
his heartbeat was a human’s heartbeat.
Agapito could
have wept for joy; instead, he concentrated on pushing his right forepaw through
the nearest sleeve of the shirt. He felt his fingers split and lengthen, his thumb
regrow, and his claws flatten and shrink into fingernails. He did the same with
his left forepaw on the other side, and gasped and winced as his chest and
shoulders shifted their positions and his spine and ribs changed shape. Now his
upper half was a man, while from the waist down he was wolf, his hindlegs couched
while he lay on his chest with his cheek on the floor. With unsteady hands, he
tugged the skirt of the undershirt down toward his hips, and his belly changed
shape and became hairless, the rearranging of his guts making him queasy, as it
ever had.
He realised that
he had his shirt on backwards, for the king and Tancredi had laid out the
clothes so that they faced the wolf, but it did not matter. Agapito reached clumsily
for a pair of braes and took hold of them, then rolled onto his side, and, after
several attempts, managed to get his hindpaws through the leg-holes. This act was
always ticklish, for he could feel his paw pads becoming the soles of his feet,
the sudden shift of hocks into knees, the sensation of his fur being rubbed the
wrong way as he pulled the braes up to his waist, and, at last, his tail disappearing
from the tip to the root as it shrank back into a man’s tailbone.
Sir Agapito lay
panting for a moment, dressed in only his under-layers, shivering in his sudden
lack of fur, for strangely he now felt more naked while wearing clothes than he
did when covered only in thick fur. He pulled a hand up to his face and stared at
it, for it had been so long since he had seen his own hands.
Agapito touched
his own face, and almost wept. Eyebrows, nose, forehead, cheeks, eyelids, jaw —
all were there and as they should be.
After some
minutes, he dragged himself into a sitting position, with some difficulty, for it
was much more awkward to sit on his buttocks as a man than it was as a wolf; and
thence to his feet; but he staggered with a groan, and clutched at the bedpost
to keep himself from falling, while his other hand kept his untied braes from slipping
to the floor. The transformation had always wearied him, but this one seemed worse
even than his first. Unsteady and feeble, Agapito felt unsure if he remembered how
to be a human, and his entire body — every muscle and bone and inch of skin
— held a vague, dull ache. As the bed was before him, he dropped himself onto
it, intending to rest for a few moments before attempting to stand again.
So Agapito lay unmoving
on his side, feeling a little faint. Fabric, not fur, lay against his skin once
more. Slowly he tied a crude knot in the drawstring of his braes. The carved
leather collar still hung, fastened but loose, around his neck, beneath his shirt;
it was uncomfortable, so he exerted himself to pull it out of the neck of the
shirt and over his head.
Then, supremely
weary, he lay still, and so exhausted was he from the ordeal — for he had
remained in his wolf form not for three days but more than a year and a half — that
he passed rapidly into a deep sleep.
~*~*~
After half an hour of anxious waiting, the
king asked Tancredi and another trusted knight to accompany him into his bedchamber.
Sir Tancredi unlocked
the door, and knocked quietly upon it, but there was no sound from within the
chamber. He grasped the door handle, glanced at the king, and, at the king’s nod,
quietly opened the door, uncertain as to what they would find.
On the king’s carved
and tapestried bed, wearing only linen undershirt and braes, lay, half-curled
on his side, and very still, a man with curly dark-brown hair. The wolf’s
carved leather collar lay above his head on the pillow, still fastened in a circle,
while the other garments remained on the floor as they had been laid.
King Damiano
froze, then rushed to the bedside and halted there, tentative, followed by his
knights. “Agapito?” he whispered.
The man on the bed
did not stir, though his slow breathing was apparent. But the longer he stared
at the man’s face, the more certain the king was that this was his old friend
whom he had grieved as dead. He was sure that he even recognised the hands, the
hair, the throat.
The man did not
seem to be injured or diseased, just very soundly asleep.
But was he still
right in his own mind, the king wondered.
“Agapito?” the
king murmured, and reached out to nudge the man’s shoulder.
Still the man
did not move, so deeply asleep was he.
King Damiano laid
his hand on the man’s upper arm and shook it gently, calling, “Agapito!”
And then the
man’s eyes opened, and he saw the king, and smiled through his weariness, recognising
him, and they were Agapito’s brown eyes and Agapito’s smile; and the king seized
him in an embrace and kissed his now-human face over and over, weeping for joy.
And Sir Tancredi, who was customarily a man of sober countenance, beamed as he
had not done in years.
“Why did you not
try to tell us who you were?” the king asked, once he had made sure that Agapito
was well. “Could you not do it?”
“I was …
afraid,” Agapito admitted huskily, with unflowing speech. “I knew you thought me
dead, and I feared you would not believe me.
“Besides, this
way … I could stay near you. I was safe and cared-for. … While I was with you,
as a wolf, I need never confront what my wife did to me. I need never think of how
… how the woman I loved betrayed me and took my life so easily, so swiftly. I could
pretend … that all was well. That I was naught but a wolf, a tame creature,
loved and petted and enjoyed.
“It was only when
I saw them in person … her and Baldovino … that I lost control of myself.”
Agapito’s voice
was rough and rasping from lack of use, and his body shivering and clumsy as
after a long illness, and so, after only a little conversation, the king helped
the exhausted man into his bed and laid the covers over him, and he and his
knights left him to sleep.
King Damiano
and Sir Tancredi went to the room where the lady Genoveffa and knight Baldovino
were being held under guard, and told them that their victim had returned to his
human form and would be given the right to decide their punishments.
“If I were to
choose,” said the king, “I would execute you both. You stole Agapito’s life
from him, betraying him as if to a living death.”
“My lord,”
begged Genoveffa, kneeling, and mumbling through her bandaged and painful
mouth, “please do not keep me here. Please let me return home under guard.”
The king vehemently
denied her request, and the lady began to weep most piteously, and to plead
like one condemned to death. At last, Sir Baldovino could hold his tongue no
longer, and confessed that Lady Genoveffa was now a werewolf. Her transformation
was expected tomorrow.
When the king
had recovered from his surprise, Sir Tancredi suggested that on the following
morning the lady Genoveffa be removed to the stables for her transformation; and
the king agreed, ordering her to be kept as far away from the animals as could
be managed, and guarded at all times.
The king and
Sir Tancredi left the room, and King Damiano began to order that preparations
be made to return all of Sir Agapito’s lands and possessions to him, but Tancredi
said, “My lord, I ask you to reconsider. It may be that Agapito would prefer not
to return to his old estate.”
“Then I shall
give him a new and better one,” the king declared; but again his friend stopped
him, and regarded him with meaningful expression.
“My lord, perhaps
Agapito would prefer to remain in your court indefinitely, as I do.”
King Damiano
seized him in an embrace, kissed his forehead and cheek, and exclaimed, “Tancredi,
you are the best of men. It is you who have saved Agapito, despite my stupidity;
and for this I owe you more than I can repay.”
For the second
time that day, Tancredi smiled most joyfully, as he returned the embrace of his
friend the king.
That night, Agapito’s
favourite dishes were served, at the king’s order; — though when he sent
his message to the cooks, he found that Sir Tancredi had already given them the
same instruction.
The king bade Agapito
sit at his right hand, and all the court noticed how he could not stop embracing
and kissing him. And Sir Agapito’s tired but euphoric smile illuminated the whole
room.
~*~*~*~*~
The
End.
G. Wulfing.
August 2022 to March 2023.