Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 1 (49 page)

"No need." She shrugged and gestured to her servants to bring her mule. "I am armored with my faith, Prater Agius, as are we all who have given our lives to Our Lord and Lady. And I am made strong by my brother's confidence in me
—as he is by mine in him."

"Then it is well we should go." Yet Agius hesitated as both biscops were helped onto their mounts. He came forward and took the reins of Biscop Constance's mule in the place of her servant. "But did not the blessed Daisan say, he who spurns what is offered is all too often in want? It is past midday, and if we ride on now, we and the others of Biscop Antonia's party will have walked all day fasting."

Even Alain did not have to guess at Biscop Constance's reaction to this statement; she was delighted to be able to offer hospitality. Aunt Bel had said many a time within his hearing:
"So does Our Lady judge us, by our generosity at table."
Aunt Bel was so well-known for feeding folk passing through Osna village that less magnanimous householders sometimes fobbed guests off on her. Never had she turned one away.

"Then certainly we must return to my palace and dine," said Constance with evident pleasure.

They returned, Agius still leading the mule, to Autun. It was the largest city Alain had ever seen, with a stone wall and a stone and timber cathedral and so many buildings all shoved together that he wondered how the folk who lived there did not choke on each other. They passed quickly through the gate and down a wide avenue flanked with timber houses built in a style quite unlike the longhouses of his village. The walls of the biscop's palace rose to the height of three men. He barely had time to catch his breath before they were led inside its imposing timber frame.

There, he was allowed to sit by the great hearth and eat bread so white and soft it was more like a cloud than what he knew as bread, heavy loaves with thick dark crusts. He was given leave to eat as much as he wished of the best cheese he had ever tasted and the leavings of the fowl and fish that made up the biscop's simple mid-day meal. All this while Rage and Sorrow gnawed on hambones still bristling with meat and fat. Probably poor Lackling had never eaten as much pork in his entire cold and lonely life as the hounds devoured in the course of the next hour. It was a terrible thing to sit and eat with such pleasure while Lackling had not even the peace of a marked grave.

But Alain could not help himself. Even helping to serve at Count Lavastine's table during the visit of Lady Sabella and her entourage he had not seen a meal as casually elegant as this. But then, Biscop Constance was the king's sister, born of the lineage of kings. The dark beams and tapestried walls, the bustling clerics and the fine linen worn by every least servant, served to remind him how small a place Osna village was. Certainly Aunt Bel and his father Henri were respectable and prosperous freeholders. Of this they and their children could always be proud. Bel had lost children to disease but never to starvation, as many did. But sitting in this hall, even in the ashy corner by the hearth, that pride seemed little compared to the great state employed in the service of princes.

What the great ones spoke of he had no idea. He ate too much and then his stomach ached from the rich food, to which he was not accustomed. The long walk back to Sabella's camp seemed to take an eternity. Each step jolted him. He leaned, alternately, on Rage and then on Sorrow, to keep his balance. The two biscops rode side by side, not giving pride of place to the other. Agius, evidently set on maintaining his pose as simple frater rather than duke's son, continued to lead Constance's mule.

Alain hoped he would make it to camp without throwing up by the side of the road.

But after an hour and with the day neither too warm nor too cold and the wind a pleasant touch on his face, he began to feel better. Of them all, only Agius looked steadily worse as they came closer to Sabella's camp.

Scouts had run ahead. As their party crossed the last rye field before the camp began its sprawl through pasture and light woods, soldiers and campfolk appeared to line their path, to stare at the royal biscop. Together, Antonia and Constance made a striking pair: cheerful age and stern youth. To see two biscops in the same cavalcade was a rare sight, and Alain wished suddenly and painfully that Lackling could be alive to see it, for he so loved all that was bright and lovely to look upon
—even if only from a distance. But Antonia had brought death to the boy. How could she ride with such a smooth countenance, as if nothing troubled her conscience?

But was it not Agius who spoke of the inner heart? As Aunt Bel said:
"A smooth countenance without reflects a calm soul within."
So Alain had always believed. Now he wondered. How could any person make dealings with blood and dark shades and by that means bring about the death of an innocent simple boy, and yet show no sign of that terrible sin in her face?

Lady Sabella waited in front of the great tent surmounted by her banner. Her daughter Tallia stood beside her, looking pale and cold in a gown of silk the color of harvested wheat. Duke Rodulf and her other partisans stood at her side or a few steps back; Count Lavastine, in their midst, appeared wooden, drained of life. Sabella did not come forward to greet her half sister but rather waited for Constance to dismount and walk forward in
her
turn.

"Sister," said Constance mildly, "I give you greetings. It is my devout hope we can mend these troubles that have torn our family apart."

Sabella did not offer Constance her hands, the sign of kinship and safekeeping. Instead, she took a step back and signed to her soldiers. They swarmed forward to form a ring around the two women and their retinues. Antonia dismounted and came to stand beside Sabella. Tallia stared somberly at Constance, as if the young biscop were an apparition. Agius sank to one knee, head bowed, still holding the halter of Constance's white mule.

"You are now come to rest in my hands, Constance," said Sabella in the flat voice that disguised her emotions, if indeed she had any. "You are my hostage for Henry's good behavior and for his agreement to give precedence to my rightful claim."

Like a deer, startled by the sudden appearance of the hunter, Biscop Constance threw up her head, eyes wide, looking as if she were about to bolt. But of course she was surrounded. She drew her hands back and folded them in front of her. This gesture allowed her to regain her composure.

"I have been betrayed," she said in a loud, firm voice. She turned to gaze directly at Agius, who rose slowly to face her, his complexion white. "You promised me safe escort, Agius.
Cousin."
The word, said with emphasis and anger, was a weapon, meant to wound. Agius said nothing.

"He gave you safe escort," interposed Antonia. "He escorted you safely into your city, where we broke our fast. Then we came here, but he had already discharged the obligation. He did not promise you safe passage for a
second
time."

Constance did not even glance toward Antonia. "You have deceived me, Agius. I will not forget it."

"Nor should you," he replied, his voice rough. But he looked beyond Constance to Sabella. Alain was suddenly struck by the age of the two women: Sabella was old enough to be Constance's mother; as indeed she would have been, might have been, had she proven herself fertile on her heir's progress so many years ago, the progress that had resulted in her being passed over for

the throne. Tallia, the late fruit of her marriage, looked like a frail reed out of which to create the staff that would grant her the authority of a sovereign queen.

"And so, Lady Sabella," said Agius harshly, "my part in this is finished. Release my niece and let us ride free, as you promised."

"As I promised, I will free your niece into the custody of the biscop of Autun, whom I now restore to the seat taken unlawfully from her by the decree of my brother Henry and with the connivance of my sister Constance." She gestured. An old, frail woman tottered forward, wearing biscop's vestments marked with the badge of the city of Autun.

"You will go against Henry's wishes?" Constance demanded. "/ am the biscop of Autun."

"And by what right did Henry remove
this
woman from her see?" Sabella's tone was mild but unyielding. "Helvissa was given the biscop's crosier by the authority of the skopos herself twenty years ago. Henry's worldly authority does not outrank the spiritual authority of the skopos in these matters. I merely restore Biscop Helvissa to her rightful place."

But looking at the old woman, whose hands shook with palsy, Alain could not imagine she would be anything except a pawn in Sabella's plans.

"She is Mother to a convent now," Constance said, "not biscop. / was invested
—"

"You were invested as a deacon in the church, sister. Your election to biscop can, I think, be treated as invalid. It is as a deacon you will remain in my custody."

Constance gasped. Looking furious, she shut her mouth tight.

A servingwoman came forward with the little girl, Agius' niece. The child had the expression of a cornered animal, gone still while waiting for the deathblow. She saw her uncle and leaned toward him as rashes lean in a stiff breeze, but she made no move to ran to him. It was

as if a leash held her to her captors. Tears trailed down her cheeks, yet she made no sound though her chin trembled. A slender gold torque gleamed at her neck.

"The child will return with the biscop to the city of Autun," said Sabella, sounding satisfied with herself and the fruition of her plan. "But you may not leave me, Prater Agius. I may still have need of you."

"Then my niece remains in your custody." His voice was quiet, too quiet, perhaps. Alain had never heard him so subdued. Agius glanced toward the girl, then tore his gaze away from her. The child hiccuped down a sob in response.

Constance knelt abruptly, extending her hands. "Come, child," she said, more order than request. The child looked to her uncle, got his bare nod, and took hesitant steps forward until Constance's hands rested lightly on her shoulders. "This is Ermengard, daughter of Duchess Liutgard and her husband Frederic of Avaria. She is destined for the church." Only then did Constance look back up at Sabella. "Even our quarrels must not stand in the way of Our Lady's and Lord's will. Let one of my clerics escort her to Autun and put her into the care of my chatelaine, a woman of good birth and education."

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, Prater 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?