“Do you mean to make me a hostage?”
She signed. At once her servants and retainers left the tent until only she, Alain, the hounds, and Agius remained. She glanced once at the hounds and evidently decided she was safe with them—or with Alain, who controlled them. “I mean to make you a weapon.”
“I am no longer a weapon to be used in worldly pursuits, Biscop Antonia. When I pledged myself to the church, I pledged myself to no longer care for the things of this world.”
She smiled gently. “We shall see.” She nodded serenely at Alain and left the tent.
Agius followed her, but his way was blocked by guards. For a moment, Alain thought Agius meant to push past them, to force a confrontation. Abruptly he dropped to his knees to pray, wincing when his wounded leg—obviously not yet healed although it had been almost two months since Sorrow’s bite—took his weight. It took Alain some time to distinguish words out of the mumbled flow of syllables.
“I am an unworthy son, Oh, Lady, please make me worthy of Your Mercy. Please judge me not harshly, Lady. Please grant Your Forgiveness to this sinner. Ai, Lady. Please grant me the serenity to accept humility and vanquish pride.”
He went on in this way without seeming inclined to stop. Hearing voices raised outside in the short service of Compline, for sunset, Alain knelt and joined in the prayer.
Biscop Antonia did not return after the service was completed. Presumably she went to feast. Cleric Willibrod brought bread and cheese and wine for Alain and Agius; then he, together with several of the other clerics, went back to making necklaces. The frater touched nothing although, in the end, Alain got him to swallow a few sips of wine.
Antonia returned later and went to her bed, her servants and clerics sleeping on pallets around her. Alain slept miserably, huddled on the ground with the two hounds pressed up against him. Questions nagged him through his restless sleep. What did Agius’ niece have to do with Lady Sabella’s revolt? Agius was, after all, only a simple frater—although a simple frater would never dare seat himself in the chair reserved for a holy biscop.
Every time Alain woke, he heard Agius, still whispering his prayers.
In the morning, Alain was allowed out under guard to let the hounds run. As he returned, he saw a retinue approaching, many finely dressed men and women in rich tunics hung with gold and silver chains. He hurried inside to Agius.
“The biscop and many others are approaching!” he hissed. “Noble folk are with her.”
Agius rose, a bit shakily, but he straightened and faced the entrance proudly—not at all like a humble frater. Alain knelt, hounds on either side of him; he could not stand before such noble lords and ladies. He was only a simple merchant’s son.
The light from outside was dazzling but not as dazzling as the rich clothing of Lady Sabella and the portly man who attended her: Rodulf, Duke of Varingia. Contrasted to their elegant clothing, studded with jewels and trimmed with gold and silver ribbons, and the handsome display of gold in chains and coronets and rings, Biscop Antonia’s vestments, merely sewn with gold thread, appeared modest.
Rodulf barked out a laugh and addressed Biscop Antonia. “Blessed Lord! I would not have recognized the child, dressed in such rags, had you not warned me, Your Grace.” He stumped forward on thick legs. Broad-shouldered and heavy, he had the red cheeks of a man who eats heartily and never wants for food. Clapping Frater Agius on the shoulder, he shook him with evident good cheer. “What is this, lad? Some disgrace? Ai, I heard your father and mother were in a red rage when you turned your back on marriage to enter the church. But I thought you’d surely be a presbyter, sent down to that damned hot city of Darre to stand attendance on the skopos. What is this?” He grasped a handful of the old robe in one fleshy hand and tugged on it so hard Alain cringed, hoping the cloth would not tear.
“I serve Our Lady,” said Agius stiffly. “I never intended otherwise.” He made no obeisance toward Rodulf nor toward Lady Sabella, who stood quietly behind, looking stern and thoughtful.
“But you have come to aid our cousin,” said Rodulf, indicating Sabella.
“I have not.”
Alain dared not stir by one finger’s-breadth for fear of the outburst that would certainly come next.
Sabella appeared unflustered. She stepped forward. “You will serve our needs nevertheless, Agius,” she said in her flat voice. “I do not have time to spare for a siege of Autun, and Biscop Constance will not give the city over to me willingly, nor can I march forward with Autun’s militia and resources—and hostility—at my back. In return for the safe passage of your niece, you will bring me the Biscop of Autun as a hostage by whatever means you must use.”
