Agius stood with hands clenched, gaze fixed on his niece with uncomfortable intensity. The new biscop staggered and had to be supported by a servant.
“I will allow this,” said Sabella at last. “Constance, I leave you in the hands of Biscop Antonia. Now.” She turned to Duke Rodulf. “We march. Autun will comply with the wishes of her rightful biscop, although we will leave a garrison behind to make sure of their loyalty to us.”
Alain caught sight suddenly of Sabella’s husband, Berengar, sitting with a servant on the ground in front of Sabella’s great tent. The two men—noble and servant—were playing chess. Berengar laughed with great gusto, almost braying with pleasure, knocked over the servant’s pieces, and proclaimed himself winner. Tallia flinched. Biscop Antonia set a steadying hand on the young woman’s shoulder.
So it was done. The girlchild, Ermengard, was led away in the company of the new biscop of Autun. Constance was led away under guard, though she refused to relinquish her biscop’s robes and mitre and scarf, and none there dared take these things from her by force.
“You have deceived me, Sabella,” said Agius finally.
“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.
