“But why would—? And not you—? If you are the son of a duke?” Clouds had come in from the east. It was colder than it had been in the morning. Alain felt the dirt of the road under his boots. If it rained, the road would get muddy; how much rain, how much mud, would it take to prevent this plan from going forward? Yet he marched with Sabella’s forces, under the aegis of Count Lavastine. Should he not wish devoutly for her victory?
“As reading and prayer, so the ordering of the world,” said Agius with a sigh.
“What?”
“I seem fated to teach you, Alain. I trust to Our Lady’s Wisdom that you will take better to the great truth of Her Son’s sacrifice and redemption than you have so far to your letters. Now. Attend.”
They walked along a deserted road. The farmers and freeholders who owed allegiance to Autun had all fled inside the city walls at the approach of Sabella’s army. Though clouds were their roof and the green fields their chamber, Alain felt transported back to the days of lessons with the frater at Lavas Holding. Agius was not an easy teacher, more often ruthless and impatient with mistakes than forgiving of lapses. What he knew he was determined others should know.
“There are ten great princes in the kingdom of Wendar and Varre. Six of these princes we know as dukes. Four we know as margraves, since they administer the marches that lie along the eastern border. The sovereign is first among these princes, not apart from them. It is by their consent and the sovereign’s strength that a prince or princess of the royal line comes to be acknowledged as the next ruler of Wendar and Vane.”
“But weren’t Wendar and Varre once separate kingdoms?”
“I can’t imagine what your father was thinking,” said Agius with some exasperation, “not to educate you properly.”
“My father taught me all the things a merchant’s son needs to know,” said Alain hotly, stung by this unwarranted criticism. “I can repair a ship. I know a bit about sailing and navigation. I know the worth of coins from many different kingdoms and peoples. I can barter.”
“I did not mean your foster father.”
Distracted, Alain forgot his anger momentarily. “Surely you don’t still believe I might be Count Lavastine’s bastard?”
Agius gestured eloquently toward the hounds, which padded faithfully after Alain. They were as meek as puppies—as long as Alain or Count Lavastine was next to them. Agius knew well enough what they would do to anyone else who approached them. “But that is neither here nor there. I will perform the task given me by our Lady. Attend.”
They crested a rise. In the distance, Alain saw the city of Autun, the cathedral tower, the city walls, and the faint glimmer of the River Rhowne as it wound through fields lush with growing grain. Then the road dipped down into forest, and trees obscured the view.
“I will not trouble you with the story of the rise of the house: of Saony. It is a long and complicated affair better left to the nuns of Korvei, who have for many years chronicled the deeds of the great princes of this realm. What you must know is that in the year 679, according to that chronicle, the young King Louis of Varre, known as Louis the Child, died. Two years later the elder Arnulf, king of Wendar, died. Arnulf the younger, his son, became king of both Wendar and Varre. What year is it now, Alain?”
What year? It was spring. This particular day was St. Casceil’s Day, as had been duly recited in the morning service. Since they had not yet celebrated the Feast of St. Susannah, it must not yet be the month of Sormas, but he could not recall now which day of Avril St. Casceil’s Day fell on.
And as for years! Alain was not used to the marking of years. He dredged back into his memory, stumbled over a pothole in the road, and remembered.
“It is the year 728 since the Proclamation of the Word.”
“That is right. You know of the struggle of Henry and Sabella for the right to sit on the throne of Wendar and Varre.” Agius gestured, lips twisted in a frown, toward Biscop Antonia. She had begun to sing and as usual her clerics joined in with great sweetness of tone. Alain could not understand the words, since they sang in Dariyan.
But Agius, distracted, murmured words in time to their singing.
“‘These four Deacons were treasurers,
Who held in their integrity,
The key to the mystery.
Four days did they open to us,
Each one of them with her key.
To Thee be glory, Who chose them wisely!’”
“Is that what the words mean?” demanded Alain.
“Yes. It is an old song, from the East. But never mind it. We must not be distracted from our purpose. Soon we will come to the walls of Autun and there will be an end to your lesson. Now. What is the name of the king, and who are his siblings?”
