“I pray you,” said Agius without opening his eyes, “I am not worthy of your compassion.”
“Surely every soul is worthy of compassion,” replied Alain, surprised. He dabbed more water on the linen cloth and carefully began to wash the frater’s feet. “Is kindness not what we are commanded to give freely, to our sisters and brothers?” He glanced up. To his horror, Agius was weeping silently. He drew the cloth away at once. It was mottled with blood and pus and dirt. “I beg your pardon. I did not mean to cause you pain.”
“I care nothing for my body’s pain. It serves to remind me of my sins. Ai, Lady, in my pride I thought I had put aside the threads that bind me to the old ties of blood and earth. But it is not so. I cannot set my affection for my brother behind me. I cannot love him less than I love Our Lady, even though he is dead and in Her care. So now his child is put in harm’s way and I am brought forward to be used, forced by that threat of harm, by those who seek power in this world. In my pride I thought I had put my birth behind me. Now I see it is not so. It can never be so, as long as I am bound by old affections. I am not willing to make the true sacrifice, that of unbinding myself from the ties of kin and giving myself entirely to Our Lady.”
Not knowing what else to do, Alain went back to washing the frater’s feet, dabbing carefully, trying not to break open freshly healed scabs. “Who are you?” he asked, then feared he was being presumptuous.
After a long silence, Agius replied. “I am the eldest son of Burchard, Duke of Avaria, and Ida, daughter of the due de Provensalle.”
In Osna village, it was considered the duty of the eldest daughter to inherit her mother’s goods and property and carry on her work and title, and the duty of the eldest son to marry well and thus weave a greater web of connection between households. Only younger children were sent into the church. Surely the great princes of the realm, men and women, expected the same from their sons and daughters.
“No wonder your parents were angry,” said Alain as the full import of Agius’ rebellion hit him.
The frater merely grunted. He sat back abruptly and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it, then fingered his chin to rub at the days’-old beard now growing there.
“What will you do?” asked Alain.
“I will save my brother’s daughter, for the love there was between us. So will the number of my sins become greater.”
“But you said you would not aid them … and she is so young.” Alain trailed off. The girlchild was only a little younger than Aunt Bel’s youngest daughter, sweet Agnes. “What hold do they truly have over you? Surely they wouldn’t—”
“Kill her?” Agius smiled sourly. “You are a good boy, Alain. You do not yet understand what we are capable of, we who still pursue the power held before us by the Enemy as a temptation. For the power given us to wield on this earth is an empty power compared to the sacrifice of the blessed Daisan and the promise of the Chamber of Light. But we are tainted by darkness, and so with clouded eyes we grasp at shadows.” He clapped his hands; once, imperiously. “Cleric! Bring me a knife. I am not worthy to call myself a good churchman with such a beard.” His expression was ragged with despair, but he moved with the sure and decided movements of a man who has come to terms with a terrible destiny.
3
AGIUS walked, and Alain walked beside him, trailed by the hounds. Biscop Antonia rode at the front of the procession on her white mule, led by her servants. A cleric carried a green banner on a pole, marked with the badge of her city: a black tower at the confluence of two rivers. The black cloth of the tower was embroidered in gold thread with a biscop’s crosier.
“There is so much talk of dukes and lands and biscops and allegiances,” Alain confessed. “I can’t make sense of it.”
Agius smiled thinly. “You cannot make sense of why I am to be used as the snare to trap the white deer?”
“The white deer?”
“That is the name we gave Constance.” When Alain nodded, trying to look as if he understood perfectly well what Agius was talking about, the frater gave a sigh of frustration. “Constance is King Henry’s sister, his youngest sibling except for Brun.”
“But why would Lady Sabella call you cousin? You do not wear—” Alain drew his fingers around the curve of his throat.
“Only those descended from the house of royal kin are permitted to wear the golden torque. It signifies their royal blood. Both Sabella and her husband Berengar may wear the golden torque. Duchess Liutgard is so ornamented. I am not.”
