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As befit the daughter and sister of kings, the Biscop of Autun had a handsome and impressive retinue. Her clerics wore robes of fine linen dyed a rich burgundy, and each one held a book, a token of their station. Draped over their left shoulders they each wore a long, embroidered linen scarf. There were perhaps thirty clerics in the company; Alain had never seen so many books in one place before. Indeed, it had never occurred to him so many might exist in all the world.
Monks and nuns attended her also, carrying thuribles, round vessels of beaten brass in which incense was burned; the thuribles hung from chains, swinging slowly back and forth to the rhythm of the soft chanting of the company. “Kyria eleison. Kyrie eleison.” Lady, have mercy on us. Lord, have mercy on us.
The Biscop of Autun rode a white mule at the center of the procession. Though she wore a biscop’s rich vestments and mitre, Alain could see at her neck the golden torque marking her as born of royal kin. She was young, certainly younger than Agius, but she had a grave expression that made her look as steady and wise as a woman twice her years. Her complexion was healthy if pale, and when she dismounted and came forward on foot, hands outstretched to greet her sister biscop, Alain could see she was tall and of good stature, like her elder half sister Sabella. She had a light step and an elegant manner. Alain saw immediately why she had received the name ‘the white deer.’
She took Biscop Antonia’s hands in hers and at once the soft chanting of her company ceased. There was silence except for the scrape of shifting feet on dirt and the jingling of harness.
“I greet you, sister, and welcome you to my city,” said Constance. She had a pleasingly high voice, full and clear. But she did not smile. “I am surprised to find you here, so far from Mainni and the Hearth over which you were ordained to watch.”
“I give you greetings in return, sister,” said Antonia with rather more sweetness. “I come in the peace of Our Lord and Lady.”
“There are others with you.” Constance looked back along the road down which Antonia and the others had come.
Of course, the road was empty. Sabella’s army was safely encamped several hours’ ride into the Duke of Varingia’s territory. This was strange, certainly, in itself. The duchy of Arconia remained under the aegis of Berengar and Sabella. Yet a biscop’s duties were twofold. She watched over the spiritual well-being of her charges and over the Hearth of the cathedral given unto her by the authority of the skopos. But a biscop must be consulted in worldly matters as well, just as the king or duke had a say in what noblewoman was most deserving of elevation to biscop when a see became empty by reason of death or dishonor. As Biscop of Autun, whose spiritual duty was to watch over the inhabitants of the central portion of the kingdoms of Wendar and Varre—the region known as Arconia—Constance had the right to demand to be consulted on matters pertaining to the administration of the duchy of Arconia. Perhaps Sabella’s hold on the loyalty of the populace in her own husband’s duchy was not as strong as that populace’s love for their new young biscop, Constance.
“I fear there is strife in your family,” said Antonia, sounding much stricken at having to be the bearer of bad tidings. “I have come as mediator. I beg of you to come with me to speak of these matters with Sabella and Rodulf.”
“It grieves me to hear of such things,” replied Constance without any indication this was news to her, “but I fear the ill-will of Sabella, for reasons you must know, and in any case I am loath to leave my people—” Here she gestured toward the city, which lay quiet in the midday sun. “—without my guidance, and without my presence to protect them.”
Agius had remained in the background, hidden by the robes of Antonia’s clerics. Now he stepped forward. The bleak dark stain of his frater’s robes stood out starkly against the brighter clothing of his more worldly brethren.
Constance’s expression brightened. She looked delighted. “Agius! You have surprised me.” She released Antonia’s hands and reached and drew Agius to her as if he were her brother. The show of familiarity astonished Alain. “I did not expect to find you in such company.”
Just barely Alain caught in Constance’s tone a muted disgust for the company Agius was keeping. If Antonia noticed it, she made no sign; she beamed as fondly on them as an elderly kinswoman might approve the reuniting of two feuding siblings.
“I travel where I must,” Agius said. He looked torn between his obvious pleasure in seeing Biscop Constance and the dilemma that hung over him as the executioner’s sword hangs over the neck of the condemned. “I follow the path which Our Lady has set before my feet.”
“And that path led you to Sabella’s camp?” asked Constance. If there was sarcasm in her utterance, Alain could not hear it.
“Worldly consideration led me to Sabella’s camp, Your Grace.”
“I thought you had turned your face away from worldly considerations, Frater Agius, when you refused marriage and took the brown robe of service instead.”
He smiled grimly. “The world is not yet done with me, Your Grace. Alas.”
“It is ever thus, that the world intrudes when we wish most devoutly only to contemplate God.” Constance folded her hands together and bowed her head slightly, as if in submission to God’s will. Then she raised her head to look at Agius directly again. “But God in kindness endowed humans with freedom equal to that of the angels. For is it not true that the sun and the moon and indeed even the stars are so fixed that they can only move in the path marked out for them? Yet it is not so with those born of human mothers. Thus must our behavior be reckoned with that of the angels. The praise or blame which a man’s conduct deserves is really his own.” She turned to Biscop Antonia. “Do you not agree, Your Grace?”
Of course Alain recognized at once that the remark was like a barbed spear: meant to sink in with little hope to ease it out without great pain.
Biscop Antonia had impenetrable armor. She nodded. “It is as you say, Your Grace. Thus do Our Lord and Lady judge our actions, by what we do and by what we leave undone.”
Agius made no reply.
This silence Biscop Constance took in stride. “Now that we are met on the road,” she continued, “I pray you will return with me to my hall, where my people will entertain you as is fitting with a good feast and a taste of Autun wine.”
Agius shifted violently. “I have come to ask,” he said quickly, “that you return with us to Sabella’s camp, as Biscop Antonia requests of you.”
“Surely it would be unwise of me to place myself in Sabella’s power, although certainly I hold no personal enmity toward my sister.”
“I will hold myself responsible, and none other, if any harm comes to you, Your Grace.”
“Are you pledging me safe passage, Agius?”
“I pledge to escort you safely back to your city, Your Grace.”
She was startled, though she tried to conceal it. “Then I will agree to go,” she said. “Better peace than war, as the blessed Daisan said.”
“I will go with you, then,” added Agius, “to your hall while you gather anything you need to take to Sabella’s camp.”
