Black Cat Weekly #9

THE WOLF WOMAN, by H. Bedford-Jones-2

“Perhaps it were better to go, like the rest,” she murmured.

“We could take nothing, Indra,” said one of her chiefs. “We must leave all arms and all treasure.”

Her lips firmed. Her eyes flashed.

“No, then!” she exclaimed. “No! Keep our arms and our city; we, the last of our race!”

The chieftains assented and went to tell the Dravidian envoys. Indra, looking out upon the hills, perceived the deep cunning of these small people.

On the hills and slopes all about the town and castle, were palaces and chateaux. The Aryan princes and nobles had used these, for coolness in summer, for hunting in the winter; now the Dravidians occupied them, and the owners were dead. She perceived that the swarthy warriors thus held the place in a cordon. Their main host could go its ways and they would wait, grimly.

The summer had ended, autumn was whistling over the mountains, the first snow would fall any day now. Indra lifted unseeing eyes to the southward. There, over the vast lands that stretched to the sea and the ends of earth, the dark people had moved in. The Aryans had gone, scattered in migration after migration to the west and north, over the horizon to destiny unknown. Here among the mountains were the final remnant.

* * * *

Her husband had fallen, the princes and great men had fallen. They had slain until they were borne down by sheer weight of numbers, like a man defying the tide to cover him. She, and the last of her people, and the boy who should some day be a king—her son; these were left. A king? Over what? There was no longer a kingdom. There would be no more a people over which he could rule, when he reached manhood.

An old councilor came to her, and pointed to the courtyard below.

“Come, Lady Indra! The king of these people comes; you must meet him before the gates and swear the oath.”

“Eh? What oath?” she demanded.

“To observe the treaty; that none of our people shall war against his or leave these walls. Otherwise they die. He swears to let provisions enter freely, even to supply them, and to carry no fight to us. A great oath, with all the gods to witness!”

* * * *

It was so accomplished before the gates, in sight of all men, and with sacrifices to the gods. This King Savastri drew the eye of Indra. He was a man of thirty, proud of eye and bearded, very active and light on his feet despite his armor; his features held a certain humor, and men said he was merry and as a warrior unequaled. He was grave today, however, and Indra thought his dark eyes were hungry as he looked upon her.

So she swore that she would permit none of her people to make war or leave the castle. And he to his own oaths, and the people and the host bearing witness. It was published that anyone leaving the castle might be slain by the dark folk, without redress.

“Leave now, if ye like—your whole people!” said King Savastri, white teeth flashing in a laugh. “Leave, and die! The quicker it’s done, the sooner we’ll have your women.”

His eye touched upon Indra as he spoke, but she turned away in contempt and made no reply to the taunt. Thus was the doom of the last Aryans sealed. They obeyed Indra to the letter, as they had sworn to do. Being a fierce people, they might have preferred to sally forth and die fighting, but she thought of the boy, and decided to temporize; so they obeyed, though it meant slow death for them all, cut away from the whole world.

But Indra sat in the great courtyard, as the days passed, with the huge tamed wolf, Vic, at her feet; and her blue eyes flamed as reports came to her. The Dravidian host had flowed away over the hills like an ocean wave. Plenty of them remained; their leaders dwelt in the little castles and chateaux, the dark folk made villages around each one, and their king, Savastri, occupied the massive hunting-lodge built by Indra’s husband, three miles away. From here, he ruled his dark people, who had taken over the whole land. The autumn rains came down, and the first touches of snow, but little frost as yet.

It was said that everywhere in the country the civilization of the Aryan people was lost and ruined, for these Dravidians were an uncouth and ignorant race.

Indra listened to all and said little, toying now with the boy, now with the wolf. The prince was a child of four; he and the wolf were friends. A grim and fierce thing was Vic, trained to obey Indra and to defend her; the greatest of wolves, he had been captured as a pup and tamed, but his heart was savage. So large was he that the boy Shiva rode about on his back, though this did not please Vic overmuch.

On the afternoon of the first snow, with a gale sweeping over the hills and forests, Indra sent for her old councilor Ran, and for the chief warrior who remained, the stalwart Shatra. To the latter, she spoke briefly.

“Tell whatever officer commands the guard at the little postern gate in the east wall tonight, that he is to let me go out and watch for my return, without question.”

“You, Indra?” exclaimed the warrior, astonished. “Who accompanies you?”

“Vic,” she said. At his name, the wolf lifted head and eyed her, unwinking.

* * * *

Upon Shatra fell fear and dismay. “Lady, think twice!” he said. “In the whole country, none of our people remain except women who are enslaved. If you’re found abroad and taken or killed—”

“Prince Shiva will then be in your care,” she said, and dismissed him. When he had gone, she turned to the old councilor.

“Would you break the oaths you swore to the gods?” he demanded, eying her keenly.

“I swore much for my people; nothing for myself,” she said, and this was true. “I alone can make war upon these dark folk; I alone can avenge my dead husband and our lost cities and country, our scattered people. I know secrets none other lives to know, and ways of doing this. Let’s have no argument, Ran. Are they sending us cattle tomorrow?”

“It was so promised,” said Ran. “A hundred head.”

“Good. See to it, then, that those who bring the cattle, are told a certain story they may carry back with them: The story you used to tell me, about our ancestors who changed their shape at night and became ravening wolves.”

“As ordered, I will obey,” said the old man. “But what drives you to such extremes of vengeance and hatred? Why cannot you live like the rest of us—”

“Live until you die behind walls, or go forth to be killed?” she said in disdain. “If you must know, I shall bring about the death of that man who rules them.”

“So?” Old Ran fingered his white beard. “Because of his look and his words, when the oath was sworn—eh? I hear he is better than his nobles and leaders; in fact, a wise ruler, a king with brains—”

Indra flushed. “A king who shall taste the vengeance of the conquered! See that the story is told them. I intend to make that man Savastri suffer before he dies. No other can kill him, but I can. The wind howling upon the thick trees howls death this night!”

“He lives in the castle your husband built, with guards and warriors—”

“And I, who helped build that castle, know its secrets,” she said, smiling terribly.

Indra, who came of a warrior race, could use sword or spear better than most men.

* * * *

That night, respecting her signet ring, though they could not see her face, the guards at the little east gate let her out. She was clad in a robe of wolfskins, and the head was drawn over her head after the manner of hunters, with a flap down to conceal her face. She carried a hunting-spear, and the huge wolf Vic was at her heels. They saw her vanish into the trees where the storm tossed and the first snowflakes were drifting and sifting; and so closed the gate again, looking one at another with affrighted eyes.

Toward dawn, her voice summoned them, and the throaty howl of Vic. A torch was brought, and recognizing her, they let her in, but not as she had gone. Red was her spear, and the cruel jaws of Vic slavered blood.

“Do no talking,” she ordered the guards, and went her way.

With morning, Dravidian warriors drove cattle into the great castle, as promised, and told a strange tale. Wolves had broken into the king’s lodge, none knew how; one of their princes, and two of the bodyguard of the king, had been slain. The wolves had vanished again.

These men were told the legends of the royal house, and how certain of its princes could take the shape of wolves, at will. Undoubtedly, the ghost of the dead king had acted thus, taking vengeance upon his conquerors. With this cold comfort, the Dravidians were sent whence they had come.

Three days later, King Savastri and six of his chieftains came demanding speech with Indra. She had them brought up to the courtyard of the keep, and sent Vic away to the kennel he occupied; he was licking his jaws and his fur, this frosty morning.

Word spread that there had been more killing in the king’s lodge, last night. Indra appeared, with Ran and others of the council behind her, and greeted the king. He saluted her, his bold, eager eyes never leaving her face.

“Lady, there is peace between my people and yours, for so you have chosen,” he said abruptly. “We have kept the peace; but your people have come upon us in the night, slaying.”

“That is untrue,” Indra replied, and beckoned Ran. “Go and discover if any man left the gates last night or yesterday. If so, he shall die here and now for disobedience.”

The old man departed, and she looked again at Savastri, unsmiling and serene.

“You are no liar,” he said impulsively.

“I am no liar,” she rejoined. “Now tell me what has happened.”

“This is the second time,” he said, while his chieftains assented. “Last night two of my captains were slain—mangled as though by wolves. A guard thought he saw a wolf-shape slinking through the rooms. Evidently your people are doing this.”

“If so, they shall die; I swear it,” she rejoined. “Is it possible you don’t know the legends of our royal house? The ghosts of the dead are visiting you, great king; the ghost of my husband, whom your warriors slew, takes a wolf-shape in the night and kills. This is the old story, for my people are hunters and forest people.”

“I have heard some such story being noised abroad,” said Savastri. “All nonsense! One of those captains was killed with a spear, last night. Wolves don’t use spears.”

* * * *

“So?” She regarded him steadily, a cool smile of contempt in her eyes. “Great king, let me advise you to change your dwelling. Seek safety elsewhere. Let your warriors occupy the royal lodge and risk the vengeance of dead men; you can hide safely in another place.”

The cool mockery of her words was bitter to bear, and Savastri flushed.

“I’m not that sort, lady. By the god Shiva! I’ll lay that ghost, if ghost it be!”

“Shiva?” She started slightly. “Who is he?”

“One of our gods.”

“Aye? It’s the name of my son—there he is, now.”

The boy appeared crossing the courtyard. Savastri and his chiefs regarded him, and their stern dark faces changed and lightened with swift admiration. The boy was like a radiant sunbeam. Savastri turned quickly to Indra.