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“It surprises me to hear you say such a thing,” replied Sabella. “For we both promised safe passage and met our obligations. I do not hold it as deceit.”
“I do.”
“Yet reflect on this, cousin. Were Constance to remain in Autun, there would be war between her people and mine. What better judgment is there than that by which discord is dissolved and peace reestablished?”
“What better judgment? That of Our Lady, who looks within our souls and judges what She sees there.”
Sabella lifted an eyebrow, the most expressive gesture Alain had ever seen her use. “I am as you see me, Frater Agius. By this must you judge me. I trust you will submit to the custody of Biscop Antonia.”
“I will submit because I have no choice.”
“Then he is yours, Your Grace,” she said to Antonia.
“And this one as well,” said Antonia. To Alain’s horror, the white-haired biscop turned her gaze on him.
“This one?” Sabella looked first here and then there and finally, with some confusion, found him with the hounds as if she had not truly seen him before. “He is a kennel boy, is he not? I recognize Lavastine’s hounds.”
“Not just a kennel boy, I believe,” said Antonia. “I would be gratified if you would render him into my care.”
Sabella shrugged. She did not even consult Lavastine, who in any case no longer spoke except when spoken to and then in that flat monotone which reminded Alain of Sabella’s voice. “He is yours.” She turned away, leading Duke Rodulf and the others with her. Tallia trailed behind, looking back over her shoulder. Briefly, Alain met her eyes: They were palest gray-blue, like the dawn sky on a cloudless day. Then she followed her mother inside the great tent.
Alain shivered. He dared not look up at Antonia. Sabella’s indifference to his fate terrified him. So easily was he abandoned. Outside of Lavastine’s camp, none knew or cared what happened to him. What if Antonia suspected, or even knew, he had witnessed Lackling’s murder?
“Come,” said the biscop in her usual kind voice. “You will serve at the feast tonight, Alain.”
He shuddered. She even remembered his name.
“Frater Agius, I hope you are not too proud to serve as well.”
“I will serve as I am bid.”
But Alain heard the terrible pain welling up underneath the humble words.
Together they were escorted to the river and given some privacy to wash. Agius’ expression had taken on such a cast of blankness that Alain feared for him. But the frater said nothing. He knelt on the bank and prayed silently while Alain washed his own face and hands, then, tentatively, peeled off his tunic and washed his chest and back. Finally, not sure when he would have such a chance again, he stripped and waded to the deepest part of the little river, up past his thighs, took a ragged breath, and went under.
He came up, spitting and coughing, into a boiling mass of hounds. They swam round him, their tails whipping against his skin. Rage nipped at him, and Sorrow swam on to the other side of the river and shook himself all over with such power that Alain, in the middle, felt the spray off his coat.
Unexpectedly, Alain felt a swell of simple joy. He laughed. Had not Rage and Sorrow chosen him as their companion? It seemed impossible for Biscop Antonia to harm him as long as the two hounds protected him.
He waded back to shore. Agius was still praying. If his eyes had lifted from his hands even once, Alain saw no sign of it.
“Wash yourself, my friend,” said Alain finally. “Is it not what Our Lady would wish, that we appear before her cleansed?”
He was not sure Agius heard the words, so he shook out his clothing as best he could, let himself dry off, and dressed. The guards shifted at their positions, anxious to return their charges to the biscop’s custody.
“You are right,” said Agius suddenly. He took off his frater’s robe. Under it, against his skin, he wore a coarse shirt woven of linen and horsehair. But Alain noticed at once that his leg, where Sorrow had bitten him, was dirty, red, and swollen. Before Alain could utter a word, Agius removed his hair shirt.
Alain could not restrain a gasp. Even the guards murmured in awe and horror.
The stiff cloth had rubbed Agius’ skin raw. In places, the open skin was festering.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” Alain whispered, feeling the pain like fire on his own back and chest.
Agius threw himself full length on the ground, hands clenched, awful tortured skin exposed. “It is no more than I deserve. I betrayed one for the other, only to find myself betrayed in return. Ai, Lady, I thought only to help the child, for the love I bore Frederic.”
“But you saved your niece, surely?”
“Saved her from what? She still remains in Sabella’s custody, since Sabella’s creature now acts as biscop of Autun in Constance’s place. I could not even take the child to safety, back to her mother’s castle or to the king’s progress. I pray that the king learns of these deeds soon, for they will make him very angry.” He spoke more slowly now, almost savoring the words. “The king’s anger is a terrible thing to behold.” A slight moan escaped him, the sound of a creature mourning. “Ai, Lady, You will judge me harshly, as I deserve. I vowed to leave the world and enter Your service, and yet the world pursues me and grants no mercy from its burdens. Forgive me my sins. Let my belief in the true knowledge of Your Son’s sacrifice grant me a measure of peace in my heart.”
