Agius was so pale his dark eyes stood out as if they had been painted black, as a whore might to attract men. The child clung to him, face buried in his robes.
“Constance will not suspect you, Agius,” Sabella continued. “You were raised together, and of course, as I recall, there was even talk of a betrothal between you and her before it was settled she should enter the church and you should marry Duchess Liutgard.” She touched the gold torque she wore at her neck, then lowered the hand to display her palm, a hand empty to the air. “But that betrothal did not end in your marriage to the young duchess but rather in your brother’s. A kind and generous man was young Frederic. A good soldier, too. Alas. So many killed in Henry’s wars in the east when he ought to have been paying better attention to the lands he claims already to hold. Now.” She signed again to the servingwoman, who went forward to take hold of the girl.
The girl began to cry again, clutching at her uncle. He embraced her more tightly at first, a look of utter fury on his face, but in the end, his expression now twisted with self-loathing, he coaxed her into letting go of him. The servingwoman led her away.
“I see we understand each other,” said Sabella to Agius. Without further discussion, she left the tent.
“You must see,” said Rodulf abruptly, “that I will have no more Wendish kings and biscops set over my lands. You’re of Wendish blood on your father’s side, so you may have little sympathy for my views, but I hold strongly to them. But still, I do not like these methods.”
“Many lives will be spared thereby,” said Biscop Antonia soothingly, “and the city of Autun will not be devastated by war. Surely we agree that peace is better than war.”
“War is at least an honorable profession,” mumbled Rodulf under his breath. “Deceit is not, even if approved by a biscop.” He went outside.
“We leave tomorrow at midday, then,” said Biscop Antonia. “I will escort you.” She gestured toward the tent and its furnishings. “Prepare yourselves as you see fit.”
When she had left, Alain and Agius were allowed privacy to bathe. Alain poured water from a pitcher into the plain copper basin reserved for the use of the biscop’s servants. He stripped off his tunic and washed his chest and arms and face. The water was bitterly cold.
Agius’ deep-set eyes were red with exhaustion. He knell and clasped his hands in prayer.
Alain felt a terrible compassion for the frater. Surely Our Lady and Lord did not intend for any one person to mortify themselves with this agony of self-doubt? Was it not through Their Mercy that people were given the promise of being cleansed of darkness?
Taking the basin, he carried it over to Agius and knelt beside him. “Here is water to cleanse yourself, Brother.”
Agius grimaced in pain. “I am tainted forever with the sin of pride,” he said between clenched teeth, his eyes tight shut.
For the first time, Alain noticed the frater’s feet, half covered by his threadbare robes. They were bare, covered with old, suppurated sores and fresh cuts caked with dried blood and dirt. Every step must hurt. Alain suddenly wished fervently to spare Agius any more pain, for he was so very full of pain, that was apparent by his expression of utter wretchedness. He dabbed cloth in water and gently wiped the other man’s face.
threat, if threat it was, did not sway Agius. He looked, if anything, more confident now. “If you do not have support enough to march against King Henry, then perhaps you would do better to retire to your own lands and administer them in a manner more fitting than this.”
Sabella’s thin lips turned up, though she did not really smile. She gestured to one of her servants. At once, a servingwoman entered the tent, bringing with her a girl-child of some five or six summers, a well-grown girl with hair as pale and wispy as Agius’ was dark and thick. Her face still wore tears, but she shrieked aloud when she saw Agius, tore herself out of the servingwoman’s grasp, and flung herself on him, crying, “Uncle! Uncle! They killed my nurse!” She burst into tears.
He held her tightly, hushing her with whispered words.
When she quieted, Sabella spoke again. “My outriders came across your niece and her retinue as they rode in toward Autun. There was a skirmish. Some number of her retainers refused to come without a fight.”
“What do you mean to do with her?” he demanded. “She is meant for the church, as you must know.”
Rodulf fidgeted, playing with the rings on his fingers. He looked as if this interview were distasteful to him. Biscop Antonia beamed sweetly on all concerned. Alain felt her gaze settle on him, and he shuddered as if spiders crawled up his back. Rage growled, and he set a hand gently on her muzzle.
“I mean to do nothing with her,” said Sabella. “Unless I am forced to. I want Biscop Constance.”
Agius was so pale his dark eyes stood out as if they had been painted black, as a whore might to attract men. The child clung to him, face buried in his robes.
“Constance will not suspect you, Agius,” Sabella continued. “You were raised together, and of course, as I recall, there was even talk of a betrothal between you and her before it was settled she should enter the church and you should marry Duchess Liutgard.” She touched the gold torque she wore at her neck, then lowered the hand to display her palm, a hand empty to the air. “But that betrothal did not end in your marriage to the young duchess but rather in your brother’s. A kind and generous man was young Frederic. A good soldier, too. Alas. So many killed in Henry’s wars in the east when he ought to have been paying better attention to the lands he claims already to hold. Now.” She signed again to the servingwoman, who went forward to take hold of the girl.
The girl began to cry again, clutching at her uncle. He embraced her more tightly at first, a look of utter fury on his face, but in the end, his expression now twisted with self-loathing, he coaxed her into letting go of him. The servingwoman led her away.
“I see we understand each other,” said Sabella to Agius. Without further discussion, she left the tent.
“You must see,” said Rodulf abruptly, “that I will have no more Wendish kings and biscops set over my lands. You’re of Wendish blood on your father’s side, so you may have little sympathy for my views, but I hold strongly to them. But still, I do not like these methods.”
“Many lives will be spared thereby,” said Biscop Antonia soothingly, “and the city of Autun will not be devastated by war. Surely we agree that peace is better than war.”
“War is at least an honorable profession,” mumbled Rodulf under his breath. “Deceit is not, even if approved by a biscop.” He went outside.
“We leave tomorrow at midday, then,” said Biscop Antonia. “I will escort you.” She gestured toward the tent and its furnishings. “Prepare yourselves as you see fit.”
When she had left, Alain and Agius were allowed privacy to bathe. Alain poured water from a pitcher into the plain copper basin reserved for the use of the biscop’s servants. He stripped off his tunic and washed his chest and arms and face. The water was bitterly cold.