0 comments/ 2766 views/ 1 favorites The Balance Ch. 19-21 By: Glaze72 Chapter 19 Paul was very sure he had made a mistake. One beer had become two, which had become three, and by the time the owner of the tap-house had (politely) asked he and Sean and Kristopher to leave, he was only vaguely aware of his surroundings. Yes, he thought, trying to focus on the high priestess through the pounding in his head and the roiling of his guts, I have made a big mistake. It was difficult enough to try to match wits with this woman without his head being muddled. To try to do so when he was much the worse for drink was asking the impossible. "Are you well, Brother Paul?" The voice of the priestess was soft and sweet, and, Paul thought, very faintly amused. "No," he replied. He gave up the charade. They had been conversing about the various miracles performed by their respective deities, but his heart was not in it. He closed his eyes and slumped back into the couch in his rooms, where they were talking. "I now know why there is a warning against strong drink. I feel like the adversary himself is using my head for my own personal Hell." "Poor boy," she said. "The last time I saw someone look as ill as you, my son had decided the best way to grow tall was to eat as much as possible for five meals running. By the time I realized his plan, he was in the process of losing the last four." She stood and went to the door. Summoning a guard, she said, "The priest is ill. We need a pitcher of cold juice, and as many buckets of hot water as you can manage." The juice came quickly. Ariana poured a mug for him. "Drink," she said. Paul looked at the mug and shuddered. "Drink," she said again, "You are dehydrated and need to replenish your liquids. Don't think you can try to out-stubborn me either," she said, catching the look in his eye. "I've been dealing with sick children since before you were born. Drink it." Paul drank. Gingerly at first, then with growing thirst. When the mug was empty he placed it on the table. Could it be that he felt just a tiny bit better? "Poor lad," the Ariana remarked. "Now we know better than to go out drinking with soldiers, don't we?" "Yes, my lady." Ariana sat beside him on the couch. She was dressed in a dark blue dress edged with silver at the hems of the sleeves. She sniffed disapprovingly "Have you bathed today?" "ummm..." "Have you bathed in the last two days?" "Well..." "Have you bathed this week?" "..." "That settles it," she said disgustedly. "No wonder you feel awful. A belly full of bad beer and fried food, and clothes full of rancid night-stink? Well," she sighed, "Let's start at the beginning. We'll get the Deity to get rid of that hangover for you and then we'll work on the rest." "Um. What?" "Well," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "we were talking about miracles, weren't we? Here is your chance to see an example." Without any more fuss she laid her hands on either side of his head, turning it towards her own. She gently placed her forehead against his, closing her eyes. "Mighty Deity, He who guides and protects us all, please grant your servant's prayer. Please see fit to remove the pain from this man before you, and to give it to one more deserving of your scorn and spite. We fully admit our errors, and will strive to more fully embrace Your will in the future. Please forgive our weakness, and aid us in our quest for strength." Bless you, boys. Ariana thought. If Sean and Kristopher had been before them now, she would have kissed them both. How better to teach Paul of the Deity's power than to have a miracle, even a small one, manifested upon him. The warm glow in her mind told her that her prayer had been answered. Even if that had not been there, the look of Paul's face would have told her, as the headache-induced pallor faded and a more healthy shade of pink crept in. While this had been going on, a procession of maidservants had been filing in and setting down buckets of steaming hot water. With a look and a pointed arm, she directed them into the bathing area to fill up the granite tub set into the floor, blessing all the while the hedonism of generations of rulers who had made sure that guests in the palace would have the advantages they gave themselves. No simple copper tub, the bathing pool was fully four feet deep at one end, eight feet long, and nearly half that wide. Plenty of room for two, she thought with a smile. She took Paul by the hand and led him into the bathing area. She pointed to the tub, now nearly full of hot water. "Strip," she said. Paul looked at her, then down at his clothes, and then at the tub. His eyes were wide and panicked. Very like, Ariana thought, like a spooked cow. "My lady, I..." "Oh, do shut up. And don't be silly if you can help it. I am a woman newly-wed only these past three months, and you are young enough to be my son. Nearly. Well, no, you aren't, but do you think I will ravage you here in a desperate attempt to seduce you to betray your god? "The gift of love-making is a blessing of the Deity. I will not profane His grace by using it in this way. When you come to Her, as you must, there will be no taint on my soul. "So take of your damn clothes and get into the tub." God, she is more strong-willed than my first abbot, thought Paul. Better looking, though. He resisted an insane urge to giggle. Six days ago the most exciting thing in his life was a bet he made with himself every morning about how long it would take Ulf to turn into a frothing lunatic at the behavior he saw in the castle. Now he was about to bathe with a woman whose beauty made the tales of the the old goddesses pale by comparison. He rapidly undid his clothes, noticing happily that Ariana had not stayed in the room to watch him disrobe. Wrinkling his nose at the acrid smell of his robe, he cast it aside and stepped gingerly into the bathing pool. Ducking his head under the water, he scrubbed his hair vigorously. When he stood up, Ariana was in the room with him. She was completely nude, her hair her only adornment, flowing like a dark, curling river down her back. Tall and proud, she walked through the room like a queen through a reception line, completely unconcerned with the judgment of others. Her face was wise, her eyes were bright and clear. Her arms strong, her breasts (oh her breasts) were high and firm and full, capped with dark nipples. Face burning, he turned away before his traitorous eyes could observe more. She smiled as she saw him and stepped over the rim of the tub and sank down like an earth goddess into a sacred pool. Her eyes drank him in, noting the blush that spread over his milk-white skin as he turned away in embarrassment and shame. No, not a cow, she thought, recalling her earlier thoughts. She looked at his rangy form. More like a horse, albeit one that is underfed and untrained. Not a gelding either, she thought with an inward smile. Almost. Not quite, but almost a stallion. Warmth curled in her belly as the Wanton rose within her, nipples peaking. Do try to be sensible, Ariana. Take him now and he will enjoy it, and so will you. But five minutes after the deed is done he will be plagued by guilt and every fear he has about you and your people will be vindicated. He will be lost to us, probably forever. She closed her eyes and with a wrenching act of will she forced the Wanton back down inside her. Her eyes came up and focused on Paul again, then gasped at what she saw. Abstinence, obedience, and chastity, Paul chanted to himself. Discipline is the key to control. His body was turned away from Ariana, but his flesh remembered what his eyes had seen. Mindless and eager, his manhood raged for release, hard and urgent. Remembering the lessons of his youth, he grappled unseeing for the rim of the bathing pool. Once there, he ground his throbbing erection into the hard granite of the pool, welcoming the pain. Remember, little brother, the ghost of a monk said in his ear, mortification of the flesh is necessary to tame it to our will. Pain is a blessing. Pain erupted again, this time at the side of his head. Unwilling, he turned around, hauled by a grip on his ear, to look down into the outraged face of a high priestess. Before he could say a word, her hand rose and dealt him a stinging slap across the side of his face. "What the HELL do you think you are doing to yourself?" she snarled. Paul looked at her, then himself. All the events of the last several days seemed to crash into his brain at once. Wagers for impossibly high stakes, new friendships, old regrets, the kindness of strangers and the resentment and suspicion of old companions. Lastly, and most importantly, desire which he knew would never be consummated or returned. His mouth opened and closed, refusing to form words for ideas he did not know how to express. Finally, he gave up. He brushed past Ariana, sat in the shallow end of the tub, put his hands over his face, and wept silently. After a few moments, he became aware of another body beside his. Her arms came around him and she pillowed his head on her shoulder as he gave vent to his confusion and grief. "Oh, you poor boy," she said. "I forgot how difficult this must be for you. It is no easy thing to be one of the gamepieces of the gods." Paul sniffled. He wasn't sure what she was talking about, but his body was starved for comfort and a kind touch. He slowly relaxed within her embrace. He dipped his hands into the water, then brought them up, cleaning his face of tears and sweat. Gently, he disengaged himself from Ariana and dipped out a handful of soft soap from the basin at the side of the pool. Silently, he began to clean himself. Sensing his fragile mood, Ariana kept silent. While Paul washed his front, chest, legs, and arms, she moved behind him. Gathering a handful of soap for herself, she quickly bathed, then turned her attentions to Paul's back. At the first touch of her hands, he flinched violently, but then stood stock-still. Reminding herself to take care, she gently scrubbed his shoulders and back, being careful to avoid his buttocks. A beam of light came in through the high windows and glanced off the water. Blinking in the brighter light, Ariana saw scars, ridged like ropes on Paul's back. Tracing them with a finger she asked, voice steady, "How did you come by these?" For a moment she thought he would refuse to answer, or give a quick and easy lie. "They were a punishment, and a reminder," Paul said flatly. "For what?" Paul spoke again, and his voice was one of a prisoner reciting the facts of his incarceration. "Several years ago, the change of life came upon me. We had been warned of this in the abbey. That this was an opportunity the adversary would use to tempt us. That he would come to us in dreams. That we would want to use our hands on ourselves to bring us pleasure, that we would turn to each other for comfort, or seek out women. "I may say that I never saw one of my fellow brothers as a object of desire, and that opportunity to lie with a woman of the village never came to me. But the flesh is weak, and though I tried to put temptation aside, I could not resist the demands my body made of me. "The first time I was caught I was given penance. The second time, I was confined to my cell for a week. The third time...you see the evidence before you. "The times following...I was very careful not to get caught." Ariana swallowed. The antipathy she had felt towards Christianity had always been strong, but had been impersonal. More an intellectual exercise than one which had weight in her soul. This...obscenity, however... Her voice was just as flat as Paul's, "You were...flogged...for masturbation?" "It is a sin, you see?" she could not make out the emotion in Paul's voice. "We glorify what is fleshly and transitory, while failing to give proper glory to what is heavenly and eternal. Our attention should be focused on the next world, not this one. So we punish the flesh, make it subsidiary to the mind and the soul. Pain is a blessing, driving out the sin. And the scars are a reminder. I was...reminding...myself of that lesson a few moments ago. Five lashes. The punishing brother thought the abbot was too lenient" "Those bastards." Paul looked up. Reciting his long-ago crime had taken him away from the present. He looked at Ariana, and what he saw astonished him. Before, he had been mesmerized by her beauty, and impressed with her wit and kindness. But now? Now her face was transformed by fury. So an avenging angel might look, Paul thought, when the time came to smite those who transgressed against her god. Her hands clutched spasmodically at her sides, as if she sought to grasp a non-existent sword. "Paul," she said, and her voice shook with rage and horror. "Paul, please know what you have told me here is blackest heresy according to my god and my people. We have been taught, and believe, that our bodies are created to give us pleasure. That sharing that pleasure with others is one of the greatest joys in life. That to take that joy away, or to force it upon another unwilling, is an offense against our Deity. "That you, who were little more than a child, who explored your body in innocence, was whipped for it..." she swallowed her anger and came forward. "If any man or woman in this country had dared to do this, they would have been tried and put to death. That is, if the mob had spared them so that they lived to stand trial." Ariana stepped back and tried to think. Paul had handed her a potent weapon. If word of this got out, the bargain the king had struck with Lambert would be meaningless. A howling horde would greet any Christian who dared to try to enter their lands, and any who escaped with their lives would count themselves fortunate. But it would only be a temporary solution. Faced with the murder of their envoys, Rome itself would call upon neighboring powers for a crusade, and they could not stand against all of them together. No, I cannot use this weapon, Ariana thought to herself. Not until everything else is lost, and we are at the uttermost end of need. But what to do with this man before her? With an act she could cast him aside and destroy him, and all the members of his embassy, in a welter of fire and blood. She thought of his faith, and how it had held against even the desecration that had been visited upon his body. But there is a handle to grasp there, she thought, if you dare. No one who had been abused in this fashion could be without resentment. And she could make use of that. Scars do not only manifest on the flesh. She took a deep breath and forced calmness into herself. She felt that she was walking on a knife's edge with this man. At first she had thought him simply a pleasant young person, not much different from hundreds she had seen before. But she now realized she would have to be even more circumspect with how she lured him away from his god and to hers. Any outward manifestation of physical love was linked in his mind with sin and pain. But how to remove it? Healing, Ariana, takes many forms, said a deep voice in her head. Trust yourself. Gently, hardly daring to breathe, she reached out to Paul and took his hand. Drawing it to her nose, she inhaled, ignoring his flinch. "It seems we have accomplished one thing this afternoon at least. My nostrils no longer find your presence offensive," she gently grasped his arm and forced him to turn his back to her. She ran a hand up his back, sighing sadly as he jumped again. He is like a stray dog, as afraid of a kind pat as he is of a kick, because he knows the hand that feeds him may also be the one that strikes him. She put a teasing tone into her voice, "But so tense! No wonder you jump at every touch. It is not well for you to be so nervous," She rose from the pool and put on one of the robes the serving-girls had left for them. She snapped her fingers at him. "Come on out. I am going to give you a massage." "What? On the couch, or perhaps on this nice cold stone floor?" Paul asked. He was confused by Ariana's tone. A few minutes ago she looked ready to lay waste to continents, and now she was acting like the silliest flutterhead. A massage? Ariana threw him a towel. "Dry off. This suite has a bed, does it not?" Paul sighed. "It is my fate, I see, to be ordered about by the religious hierarchy. It doesn't even seem to matter what country I find myself in. I wonder," he said, "is it a flaw in my character, or am I being punished for some unknown sin?" He almost smiled. He dried himself with the towel, blushing as he realized he was fully visible to the priestess. Hiding his burning face, he turned away and lay down facefirst on the bed, unable to keep from sighing softly in comfort as he sank into the mattress. Closing his eyes, he felt the mattress shift as Ariana joined him on the bed. Ariana's mind was awash in conflicting thoughts. Part of her wanted to drown this innocent boy in desire, to replace his fear of physical pleasure with the joy such pleasure brought. Another part of her stood away, knowing that to push Paul would be to break him or drive him away. While her mind raced, her hands, working without thought, uncapped a bottle of fragrant oil and poured a measure on Paul's back. Humming softly, she spread the oil over his shoulders and his back, wincing inwardly as her fingertips caught the areas where ragged flesh had awkwardly healed. Scarred for life, and damn them all. she thought. Then another thought struck her. Keeping her hands steady, she continued to gently knead the oil into Paul's skin. But now she sent up a prayer to the Deity. She asked for healing for the man beneath her. Gentle Deity, please heal the man in my care. He is not one of ours. Not yet. But his heart is gentle and his soul is kind. Please take these scars away, both of body, and if you are able, of his soul. Prove to him your power, so that he may walk at our side in the days to come. This was a greater request than heating a tub of water for a bath, or even curing a hangover. Ariana knew from experience that the greater healing miracles were seldom answered, and that more depended upon the person for whom the request was made than the priestess who made the request. Nevertheless, after an agonizing pause, Ariana felt a blaze of heat under her hands, almost uncomfortable to the touch. Giving thanks in her heart, she carefully brushed her fingertips over Paul's back. Where she touched, the scars disappeared, leaving clean healthy skin in their place, indistinguishable from the surrounding flesh. Paul shuddered in drowsy pleasure. The caress of Ariana's hands, combined with the emotions of the day and the comfort of the bed had taken him close to sleep. In his half-dreaming state, he was reminded of the great ovens in the bakery at the abbey where he had spent hours in his youth, leaning against them on chill winter days to keep out the cold The heat from Ariana's hands reminded him of soaking up the heat from the stone doors of the ovens. He felt her shift beside him. "Get up, little brother. Your massage is done. Stretch and put on your clothes. I think we are finshed for the day." Paul rose from the bed, making sure the towel was still tightly cinched around his waist. Obeying Ariana's instructions, he stretched his arms high above his head, delighting in the loose feel of his muscles. Suddenly he frowned. Something was missing. The tightness in his upper back and shoulders, which had been with him so long it was almost unnoticed, was missing. Craning his head, he tried to look over his shoulders, and failed. He then grasped at his neck and shoulders with his hands, feeling for the ridges of poorly-healed skin which had been with him for years, and failing to find them. The Balance Ch. 19-21 "What did you do to me?" His voice was a wondering gasp. "I? I did nothing. However, the Deity decided that you were worthy of a measure of His grace. I asked Him to heal you. And He has." "And the price?" Paul's voice was steady, but his hands trembled. "Was this all a game to find out how my loyalty may be bought?" "No. There is no price. Even if I had known before we met that you had been...damaged...I would not have dared to try to bargain in such a fashion. The Deity does not always grant what we ask. I know that, to my sorrow." Her eyes grew dark. "If I had tried to convince you to throw over your faith for mine, with your healing being the price, and I failed? What would you have thought of me? I would have been just another jumped-up hedge-witch, and nothing I could have said or done from that point forward would have kept me from your contempt." She touched his arm. "No, little brother. This is a gift, freely given. Take it with my blessing," she looked at the sun outside the window. "And now, I think it is time I go. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow." Chapter 20 More than a week later they gathered in the royal apartments. The king spoke first. "All right. We are all here again. Abiron, we will start with you. What progress are we making?" Benedictos' face was lined with weariness. The strain of showing a confident public image was beginning to effect him. Abiron paused before answering. He had spoken with his wife about Angela, and she to him about Paul. But they had decided to think on the matters before they discussed them with others. "Regarding our test of faith, I have little enough to report. Her mind is like steel. I do not know if I can convince her in words to change her faith. However, I now know the circumstances of her assignment to this embassy, and quite a bit about her past," In short, terse sentences he described what Angela had told him. When he had finished, he examined the faces around him. The king was grim, The prince and princess looked horrified, and Cassieopeia's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Poor child," she whispered. Abiron looked at Ariana. Her look surprised him. Unlike the others, she did not look surprised by the revelation of Angela's past. Rather, she wore a look of grim satisfaction, as if a theory long-held had been proven correct. "Mother?" he asked. "Do you know something about this that you are not telling us?" "Only that the Gods work in mysterious ways," Ariana said, with a grimace which was half-amused, half-disgusted. "I wonder how many celestial strings the Deity had to pull to get these two assigned to this embassy, and without their God being aware that he was being manipulated." Speaking quickly, she told Paul's story, including how she had healed his scars. When she was done, silence filled the room. Prince Alan spoke, "They are the locks. We have the keys. Angela's fury at being condemned to a life of imprisonment for an act we would not even call an error. The physical and spiritual abuse heaped on Paul for an act every boy in this kingdom performs before he reaches fifteen years of age. How can we turn the key and unlock the door? All we need is one of them. We know that Angela, at least, despises the circumstances of her captivity. Do you think she would turn on them, Abiron?" Abiron replied slowly, "I think that would depend on the circumstances. Know this. She has been cut off from her family. As she sees it, she has no choice but to play the cards she has. If she denies the Deity, her future is somewhat less bleak. We may gain her if she thought she had a way out of the trap. "But we cannot offer it to her by voice, word, or deed. She is intelligent and suspicious of us. Of everyone, really. She would think we are offering her a bribe. If we caught her in the wrong mood, she may take the offer to Lambert as proof of our perfidy. No," he continued, "she would have to know the offer is there without words. And the only way to do that is to show her what we are like as a people. "However, in the right circumstances, she may come to our side. She has been deeply wounded. If she thought herself safe, she would condemn them and damn the consequences." The queen nodded, "I have known her longer than you have, child, but I think you are right. Despite her anger, she has a bright core that wishes to do right. What do you say of Paul, Ariana?" "I think that faith can be a terrible thing sometimes." Ariana's voice was dark with exasperation. "I cannot understand him! This is a man of twenty-three years! I was naked in the bathing pool with him! And he did not make one move towards me! "I must be getting old." Cassieopeia giggled, the king guffawed outright, and even the princess smiled. "What is the matter, Ariana? Do you think that your beauty is dimming because one priest's faith was not overthrown by your body? "Dearest friend," the queen continued, "you outshine us all. But we are getting off the subject. What of Paul?" "He has his faith to sustain him. He knows that he has been sorely abused, but he does not yet equate the acts of his superiors with what his god demands. In his eyes, men are fallible, his god is not, and he puts his faith in his god. Even when a miracle is performed on him. "However," Ariana continued, "I may have made some progress. I asked the Deity to heal both his body and his soul. Understand that he has always seen physical desire as a manifestation of sin. And the marks that were put on his body were proof of his sinful nature. But the marks no longer exist. And while I am no Healer, blessed by the Deity to make whole a broken mind, I think that I have eased him enough to make him less...shy...around women. He may find himself responding to them in unexpected ways." "Yes, but how soon?" asked Princess Hannah. "We have less than a week left. It is well and good to say that this person resents the Church, and that another was mistreated, and we have done some things that will give them happy-good feelings," she said mockingly, waving her hands in the air, "but we must win! To lose this is to lose all, and to bow our necks to those who we know bear us no good will." "Truly said, Princess," said Abiron. "Mother, we have laid the groundwork. Now we must focus on the endgame. I have a proposal. We have been too long in the castle. With their majesties' permission, I would ask that we be allowed to go into the town tomorrow." "For what purpose, Abiron?" asked the king. "Although we may wish that these two had chosen a different god to worship, I think that they both have a strong sense of justice. Especially Angela, who has been used so cruelly. If we let them see the people who will be most directly affected by the changes that the Church would bring, that may bear more weight than thinking about them in the abstract." "I think it an excellent idea," the queen said decisively. She traded a look at the king, who nodded. "If you want to go into the town tomorrow, no one will stop you. You will have to take a guard, of course," she continued as Ariana snorted. "But that is the only restriction we will make." ******* The next day... Angela could tell that Abiron was restless. Usually when they spoke together his attention was completely focused on her. Even when he was animated by argument, there was a core of calm about him, as if he was a deep pool with his surface only momentarily ruffled by a strong breeze. Today, however, he could not keep still. He roamed from couch to chair to window, his hands fidgeting. His wit, usually so sharp, strayed, and their argument turned dull and desultory, as if it was a chore rather than a matter of utmost urgency. "Do I bore you, Abiron? Is the need of Heklos so small that you cannot concentrate on me? If so, say so and have done. I would not be the cause of your distress." "Not bored, Angela. Simply tired of the same apartments and the same arguments, endlessly repeated. You are not familiar enough with my faith to give an argument against the existence of the Deity more convincing than "because my God says so", and I am beginning to despair of denting your faith. What say you to a walk outside these walls? I grew up where I could walk for five miles in any direction I chose, and I swear, my rooms are getting smaller with every day I spend in this castle." Angela's spirit leaped at the chance. She had few enough opportunities to roam free over the last several years. An expedition, even if one as small as a trip into the town surrounding the castle, was a jewel beyond price. She tried to keep the eagerness out of her voice, "We are bid to spend time contesting against each other." "But no one said it had to be here. Come, Sister. I have received permission of the king and queen. We must take a guard, but other than that, we are free to roam where we will. "However, I must ask that you wear other clothing than that which you now have on, " he dropped his head, embarrassed. "Some of our folk are not well-disposed toward your sect. It may be better if they did not recognize you." Little though she liked it, Angela saw the wisdom of this request. Besides, she thought, it would be good to walk in public as just another faceless woman. For all of her life she had been marked. First as a daughter of the Saxon nobility. Then as a nun, however unwilling. Lastly, as a member of this embassy. When, she thought, had anyone ever judged her by what she was, rather than whose daughter she was or what clothes she wore? Retiring to her bedchamber, she quickly changed into a heavy gown of light gray wool, with a darker gray cloak over all, and leather boots on her feet. The weather was sunny, but the chill, as they drew closer to midwinter, was fierce. Returning to her sitting room, she found Abiron. He had not returned to his rooms to change, but rather had donned a long leather coat, belted at the middle. To her surprise, the belt held a long dagger in a scabbard. She looked at it, then at his face, her eyes questioning. "Is this necessary? I am told that the town here is safe. And we are going to have our guards with us." "I am not taking any chances. The one thing that would doom us is if you, or any member of your group, took harm while in our care. It would be an easy thing for your superiors to claim that we led you into danger on purpose, and demand redress for our fault." Offering her his arm, he led her out of the chamber. Their guard fell in behind them as they left the apartments set aside for the christian's embassy and wound their way through the halls to the main gate of the castle. When they finally passed through the last arch and entered the town itself, Angela took a deep breath. For the last few days she had felt as if she were stifling, hemmed in by duty and the ever-mounting stress of a competition she had less and less appetite for. Sneaking a look at Abiron, she saw the same relief on his face. For a moment, she forgot the reason they had been thrown together, and smiled with pure pleasure. "Where to, Sister?" For a moment Angela simply gaped. If ever she had had a moment where she was free to choose her own path, she had long since forgotten it. And now it was offered to her in such an offhand manner that it implied that such things were a matter of course in this land. Back home, she thought darkly, even if I had a chance to step out with a man with such a small escort, he would never ask me my opinion of where we should go. He would simply decide, and tell me. And I would have to bow to his will. Trying to keep her astonishment from her face, she asked, "Is there a market nearby? I have little money, but I would still like to see what your merchants have to offer." Abiron conferred with the guard for a moment, then turned to her. "It seems we are in luck, Angela. I am told that today is a market day, and that one of the better places to buy and sell is only a short walk from here." Arm in arm, they stepped out in to the bright chill day. It was little past noon, and though the streets were busy, they were not overcrowded. In places, braziers of hot coals had been set up to drive away the chill and to also cook food, which was sold on sticks or in paper cups to passers-by. In others, great swathes of cloth had been draped across the entire thoroughfare to shield the street from rain or snow, which gave areas a strange, cave-like appearance. It suddenly occurred to Angela that she was happy. For the first time in her memory, she was free. She was with a person whose company she enjoyed. The rage which she had hidden beneath a placid exterior was, for once, in abeyance. She looked at Abiron. He was relaxed and graceful beside her, his head overtopping hers by only the barest of margins. He looked around with every evidence of enjoyment, obviously appreciating their freedom as much as she did. I could grow to like this man very much. The thought came unbidden into her mind. Before she had a chance to stamp on it as heretical or to examine it more fully, she was suddenly distracted. A heavenly aroma was wafting from the shop to their right, and her stomach clenched in hunger. Almost involuntarily, she turned, pulling Abiron with her. It was a bakery, she saw, noting the sign over the door with a stylized loaf and wheat sheaf. Inside, the heat from the ovens made a welcome change from the chill outside. But the scene was one of barely-controlled chaos. A lone man was darting to and fro, from oven to counter and back again, trying to serve those who waited in line. He was middle aged, and a face that would ordinarily be good-natured was set in a scowl of effort, damp dark hair plastered against his cheeks. "By the Maiden's tears! Where is the girl?" he panted, handing a stack of loaves to a man at the counter. "I can't handle the counter and the oven at the same time, and I can't have the days' baking burnt!" He took the coins the man gave her in payment and thrust them into a drawer under the counter, then turned, clearly undecided as to whether he had time to serve the next customer before he had to tend the ovens again. Quick as a fox, Abiron stripped off his coat and hopped over the partition that separated the bakery proper from the serving area. "Which oven first, master?" he asked. Angela gaped in surprise, as did the baker. The baker recovered first, however, and pointed to an oven near the back. "Check on the pies in that one. If they are done, bring them to the counter. You. Girl," he said, pointing at Angela. "Get over here and wrap the pies when he brings them here." Amused, Angela did as bidden, crouching low to go under the barrier while their bemused guard watched from the waiting area. Abiron grabbed a long wooden pole with a flat paddle on the end. He deftly slid the paddle under a pie, then walked it over to the counter. Following the baker's instructions, Angela wrapped the pies in clean cloth to keep them warm while waiting to be sold. Between wrapping pies, Angela was free to observe Abiron. His body was much better displayed in this environment than sitting or standing in a stuffy apartment, she thought. While he was not much more than middle height, his erect carriage made him seem taller, and his movements were clean and nimble. No fumble fingered adolescent, he, she thought. There is a man who knows what to do with his hands. For the first time, she was happy of the heat of the bakery which hid her blush. Embarrassment, or something more? With their help, the waiting customers were soon served. When the last had thanked him and left, the baker, who introduced himself as Claude, grabbed another paddle. Reversing it, he raised the narrow handle, and thumped menacingly on the ceiling. "Helena, are you up there? Come down this instant! And give thanks that two strangers chose to help rather than laugh as the noon batch burnt black as a raven's wing!" There was a silence from above, then something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Hushed voices sounded from overhead. More than one, thought Angela. A clatter of descending footsteps sounded, and from a staircase at the rear of the bakery two figures came into view. The first was a year or two younger than Angela, and so like in looks and bearing to their baker-friend Claude that Angela had no doubt she was his daughter. The other was a man several years her elder, with a round red face and mild blue eyes. "Sorry, Papa. We made love earlier and we both fell asleep. And when we woke, well, it seemed like it would be a shame if we didn't make love again," she said with a mischievous smile. Blood drained from Angela's face. She could not believe what her ears had heard. Trembling, she waited for the fury which would erupt from Claude and fall upon his daughter. She quickly looked at Helena's hands, and saw no sign of a wedding band. Was the girl mad, to declare in front of her father and other witnesses that she had been fornicating in her own home? Claude gave a snort of laughter. "Of course you were making love. If it isn't Jason here, it is the wainwright from up the block, or the chandler two streets over. All these lonely men who depend on you for comfort and solace. You missed your calling, daughter. You should have been a priestess, and labored to bear men over the line from boyhood to manhood." "Deity forbid! I like a man with a bit of experience, like Jason, not a fumbled-fingered stripling who will spend himself before I get my pleasure. And if I have to stay with one man once I am wed, it is best to find out which one pleases me best, isn't it, Papa?" Helena said merrily. Angela gaped. No fury? No recriminations? No casting out and weeping for his daughter's disgrace? Claude sighed. "Of course you do, dear. So did your mother, before she settled on me, Deity hold her safe. But," he said, and his voice was stern, "That does not excuse you from your duties. If I had not had the aid of these good people here, half the days' baking would be ruined, or our customers would have found some other bakery to get their goods at. We are not the only ones in town, you know. I will have your apology." Helena hung her head. "I'm sorry, Papa. It won't happen again." Angela thought she sounded honestly repentant. "Very well. You have forfeited your pay for the day. And now for you two," he said with a smile, turning to Abiron and Angela. "What did you come in here for in the first place?" "Please master, I smelled something so good, but I cannot put a name to it. It was bread, but it also smelled of sweetness..." Angela's voice faded as she sought for the right words. "Ah! I think I know what you mean," said Claude. He reached under the counter and brought forth a loaf wrapped in cloth. Unwrapping it set loose the smell that had drawn Angela in. "I thought so," he said in response to Angela's happy nod. "Cinnamon-sugar. Pretty rare, but we have those who like it as much as you do. And you, lad? Would you like a pie to keep it company?" Abiron smiled, "Yes, master. An apple one, if you would be so kind." "I will." He put both items into a drawstring carry bag and handed it to them. He waved off their offer of payment. "You saved me as much as those two things cost and more. So take them and be welcome." After leaving the bakery, Abiron and Angela wandered around the marketplace, sharing the bread, which thy ripped from the loaf in large, sugary chunks. Angela was quiet for some time. They were at a glassblowers shop, watching well-muscled women dip iron poles into the glowing liquid and spin it into beautiful forms, before she spoke again. The Balance Ch. 19-21 "Abiron?" "Yes, Sister?" "Did you take me to that shop on purpose, knowing what we would see there?" Abiron frowned. "No. How could I? I had no idea what scene we were walking into. And if you will remember," he said with a smile, "it was your nose that led us to the door. "I tell you truly, Angela. Prophecy does occasionally stir in our line. But it does not come on command. And to seek it out? Well, you are an educated woman. Surely you know the story of Cassandra." Angela nodded, remembering the sad tale of the seer who was cursed to always tell the truth and never be believed. "Can I ask why you thought I may have drawn you into that shop on purpose?" Angela sighed. When she spoke her voice was sad and resigned, as if all the bitterness had been leached out of it. "I have been dealing with lies for so long, Abiron. I do not even know if I remember what the truth looks like anymore. My parents and brothers said they loved me. But they loved the good name of our family more, and turned me out lest I besmirch it. The priest at our castle told me that God loved me, but he turned his face away when I begged for his aid, and his God allowed a gentle man to be killed for the crime of finding me beautiful. "The sisters and nuns at the convent where I stayed gave lip service to serving the glory of the Almighty, but most of them spent their time engaged in petty games of power. I grew to loathe them in a matter of weeks. "Lambert tells me that me that when our embassy is over I will be left here, to help create our church in your lands. But I know better. He will never put me in a position of power. Ulf claims to love God. He lies. What he loves is his hate and anger and the suffering of others. He is mad, Abiron. I knew that long before you warned me against him." "And Paul?" Abiron asked. He was interested in Angela's view of a man who he knew his mother had begun to admire. "Paul?" and here Angela laughed, sharp and bitter. "Paul is like I was, or like I think I was, before I took a walk in a meadow. He is too good for this world, Abiron. And so the world will break him. "But I believe this." And here she stood closer to him and took his hands in her hers. "For weeks now, the people here have been telling me that this place is different. Priests and priestesses of your faith, nobles, Princess Hannah, even the maids in my chambers and the guards as they make their rounds. I have questioned them all, and they have sung the same tune. That women are not despised as inferior creatures. That they are educated, if they wish, and may choose lovers without being wed, if they want. Even that they may seek their own way in the world, and not be held at the whim of a father or brother. "I thought it all a lie. A way to prey on the emotions of a weak and feeble woman and try to subvert me to your cause. And, I thought, what might be true for a noblewoman or a princess would surely not be true for a commoner. The mighty can make the rules they want. "But now I think you were telling me the truth. And I want you to know, Abiron, how truly sorry I am." "Sorry, Angela? Why?" "Because it still doesn't matter!" she said, and her voice was a tortured wail. A few passers -by looked at them, but seeing nothing amiss, hurried along. "Even if every word you have told me about Heklos is true, and it really is the paradigm of enlightenment you claim, I am still going to have to stand in front of that throne and tell the king and that snake Lambert that I have seen no signs of the divinity of your Deity. I have not seen Him, or Her, or whoever It is. I have seen no miracles, and you have told me you will not try to perform one for fear of angering your god and proving yourself a charlatan. "And sweet Brother Paul is going to say the same thing. He actually loves God, you see? He isn't like the rest of us. Even if your Deity came down from on high and granted him three wishes, he would still hold true. "It is hopeless, Abiron. Your religion will fall. And your land will be under the heel of Rome." Angela's words hit Abiron like blows. Until now he had thought he could win Angela over; if not with reason, then with kindness and compassion. Now he saw what a fool he had been. Angela's former faith had been broken. She would demand proof before she believed again, and Abiron had not supplied any. In desperation he racked his brain, thinking that he might, with the blessing of the Deity, do something that would serve as proof. But as he thought, his glance fell on a little girl across the street. She stopped playing with her dolly for a second and met his eyes. Smiling, she shook her head. Abiron sighed, relieved. Regardless of what Angela thought, it seemed the game was still not over. He bowed to Angela. He took her right hand, which he still held, and brought it to his lips. "My lady, I thank you for your advice and your warning. Despite what you say, I will not give up hope. For you, or for my land. "But enough about that for the time being. I see a leather-worker over yonder. Tell me, do you have a knife, or a blade to protect yourself?" Angela frowned at the change of subject. If she had not received ample proof of the opposite in the past several days, she would have thought that Abiron was too dense to heed the warning she had just given him. "I have a dagger that my youngest brother gave to me on my sixteenth name-day," she said, as they approached the leather-worker's stall. "It amused him to teach a girl to use it." "Do you? That is well. But I may say that I have never seen you wear it. "Now that makes sense when you are among gentlefolk in the castle. But there may come a time when you must walk unescorted. Not all in our land bear you good will. And you may need to protect yourself." "What would you have me do, Abiron? Wear a swordbelt over my nun's habit? Or over a gown like this one?" "Indeed no. But there are other places to hide a blade." Well, I can think of one place to hide your blade, Angela thought, and was shocked at her boldness. For one fiery instant she wished she could put this entire sick game behind her, all the stress and lies and self-loathing, and get to know Abiron as he truly was, a simple priest at the temple he had spoken of so fondly. No hope for it now, even if he were not wed to the High Priestess, she thought sadly, and wrenched her attention back to Abiron and the leather-worker. Abiron had removed his belt and was showing the sheath to the proprietor, a lean man with gray hair and sharp eyes. "Angela, can describe the size of your dagger to this gentleman?" Angela frowned at the naked blade on the table. Thinking hard, she grabbed a stub of charcoal from where it lay on the table and outlined the dimensions of her dagger on the bare wood. The leather-worker, who had been introduced as Phillipos, nodded. "Seems about right. I have something here that I think will do." He rummaged in a bin and came back with a battered leather sheath. Unlike Abiron's, it was not attached to a belt, but instead had a pair of leather thongs, and a long thin hook of metal that extruded from the mouth of the sheath at a shallow angle. "How am I supposed to tie that around my waist?' she asked. "You don't. Pull up your gown." Angela simply stared at him in disbelief. Abiron's mouth hung open as the shock of what he had just said penetrated his brain. Across the table, Phillipos cackled in laughter, joined by the guard standing behind them. "I...I mean...May I see your boots, Angela?" With a glare, Angela pulled the hem of her gown slightly higher, so that the tops of her boots came in to view. Abiron bent down, then looked up at her. "Right-handed?" he asked. Angela nodded. Working quickly and efficiently, he tied the thongs around the outside of her right boot, with the sheath on her outer calf. The metal hook slid down the inside of her boot, where it lay cold against the stocking on her calf, slowly warming. "Do you see? The leather of your boot itself acts as a wedge to hold the sheath in place. The thongs are merely to give stability in case you have to move quickly. If you are threatened, you can lean down and draw the dagger, and any cutpurse will think twice before molesting you." Thanking Phillipos, he paid him and they left his stall, Angela trying to get used to the unfamiliar weight of the sheath on her leg. "Tell me, Angela, do you enjoy acts of skill? I hear that there is a juggling troupe which performs two streets over." Hand in hand, they walked away. Chapter 21 Unlike Abiron, Ariana had not resorted to subterfuge to convince Paul to take a trip into town. She had simply shown up at his quarters and informed him of their plans for the day. As Paul dithered in surprise, Ariana cast a frowning glance at his monk's robe. "Don't you have any other clothes to wear?" Paul shuffled his feet uncomfortably, "We were given the garments we need, my lady. It is not thought proper that a simple monk have expensive clothes. I have no rank beyond that of a member of this embassy." "I thought you and Sister Angela were to become the head of the church in this land, were your embassy to succeed," commented Ariana. "If that is true, I think you are going to need something a little finer than sackcloth to wear," She stepped closer and distastefully fingered the harsh cloth of the robe. Smelling only clean skin and soap, she noted in approval that he had bathed recently. Maybe some of my lessons are paying off after all. "Come with me," she commanded, and led him out of his chambers, their guards following along; Sean mock-sloppy as usual, Kris with a more military bearing. As they walked towards the royal apartments, Paul considered Ariana's words. Surely the High Priestess had the right of it. He could not be expected to lead the new church in Heklos in a simple robe. It did not seem like Bishop Lambert to have overlooked so important a detail. A worm of doubt entered his mind. Had Lambert been playing he and Angela for fools all this time, promising high station in order to yoke them to his cause? Ruthlessly he crushed the treasonous thoughts. I will remind Lambert after we have won and before he returns to Rome. I am sure he has money set aside for a fitting wardrobe for Sister Angela and myself. Turning a corner, Paul nearly ran down a man in the livery of the castle. Apologizing, Paul went on, while a memory niggled at his mind. He turned to look after the fellow. I have been seeing him around quite a bit lately. Too often for coincidence. He snorted. Someone, at least, thought him important enough to spy on. But who? Ulf? He thought after their confrontation in the tap-room the ill-favored priest would leave him alone. Ahead of him, Ariana stopped at a splendid set of doors. She knocked perfunctorily. Then, not waiting for a response, she swept in. Eyes wide, Paul followed. Sean and Kristopher stayed at the door under the eyes of the guards who warded the door. They did not even try to stop her, Sean thought wonderingly. They must trust her implicitly. Following Ariana, Paul entered a well-appointed apartment, much more elaborate than his own. Passing through a short hallway, they emerged in a sitting room where Prince Alan sat at a desk, going through a pile of correspondence. On seeing her, he rose with a smile of greeting. "Ariana darling! Have you come to steal me away from this tedious paperwork? Or perhaps the Deity has answered my prayers at last, and you will bless me by sharing my bed for a day? Or even an hour?" he said, waggling his brows outrageously as Paul blushed scarlet. Ariana laughed, "If half the tales I hear are true, my prince, you do not lack for bedmates. How could I, old woman that I am, hope to compete with the beautiful young women of the court?" "You are beyond compare. Any man would bless the Almighty for a chance to be in your arms." Gaping, Ariana and Alan turned, for it was Paul who spoke. Paul flushed, then went white with terror. He swallowed and thought to flee from the room. Stand, you fool! Will you prove yourself a coward for all time? Somehow he managed to keep his feet still. Raising his chin bravely, he looked Ariana in the eyes and waited for the storm of invective he was sure would come his way. Ariana laughed, piercingly clear and joyous. Walking close to him, she lay a gentle hand on his chest and looked into his eyes. "Well done, young brother. Never has a man paid me a compliment so courteous and so bold. But that is not why we are here," she said, turning to the prince. "We are going to the town today, and poor Brother Paul has nothing suitable. I am not going to waste half the day while a tailor puts together an outfit for him, and I doubt his superiors would approve in any case. I believe you are of a size. Is it possible that he borrow a set of clothes for the afternoon?" "Of course," Alan answered. He eyed Paul, "Yes, almost the same size. Maybe slightly thinner in the waist, but nothing that a belt cannot hide." He led Paul into his bedchamber and opened a wardrobe. Working quickly, he sorted through what to Paul's eyes was a bewildering array of clothing. Tunics, breeches, vests, gloves, belts and more were sorted and discarded. In a few moments Prince Alan had what he sought. He pushed the pile into Paul's arms. "Try that on. If it doesn't suit, give me a shout. I'll be in the other room with my lady." Paul removed the robe and looked at the clothing in confusion. He had never worn clothes so fine, and it had been years since he had worn anything other than a monk's robe. Sighing, he bent to work. First a long undershirt, spun of linen so fine it felt like a sin against his skin. Then a cotton tunic of dark silver, edged with white. Then a red velvet vest, buttoned close. Over it all went a dark blue jacket and a heavy cloak. The shirt and tunic were tucked into a pair of breeches, dark blue like the jacket with metal buttons to hold the flies closed, and a black leather belt to finish the ensemble. Once the clothes were on, he fidgeted nervously, trying to get his phallus aligned comfortably within the confining breeches. Unused to the sensuous feel of fine cloth, it sought to surge erect. The thought of the High Priestess waiting in the next room did nothing to hide his arousal or calm his nervousness. Despairing, he gave up, and with the cloak pulled tight around him went back out to meet with Ariana and Prince Alan. When he entered the room they were speaking quietly, seemingly discussing his embassy, and did not hear him enter. "...no, it is not necessarily my job, my lady, but there is so much worry about these Christians," and Paul heard the loathing in the prince's voice, "that I have taken over some of my father's duties. I seek to calm the nobles and leading merchants of the land, and to make sure no hasty action is taken. I also tell them," he said, noticing his entrance and flashing a charming smile in Paul's direction, "that it is also entirely possible that no Christian churches at all will be allowed." Paul bowed stiffly. "Perhaps. But that will not come from me. My faith still holds true. And I pray daily that we will be able to rescue your land from heathenism and the clutches of the adversary." "Indeed," though the prince's voice was courteous, his eyes held more than a hint of active dislike. "You will forgive me if I do not hold quite the same opinion of our faith." "Let us talk no more of this," said Ariana with a bright smile. She moved to Paul, her look frankly admiring. She stood very close to him, and laid a hand on his cheek, "Beautiful boy. When I have finished atoning for my last sin, will you help me commit another?" Paul stuttered, unable to put anything into words. Inside his breeches, his phallus grew, hardening swiftly. Over Ariana's shoulder, he could see Alan shaking with mirth. His eyes narrowed. He must think it a fine game to mock one who must stay celibate, while he cuts a swathe through the eligible ladies of the court. And the ineligible ones, too, if what I hear is true. Gathering his courage, he smiled into Ariana's eyes, "My lady does me too much honor. Shall we go?" "Certainly," she turned to the Prince. "My lord Alan. Is there anything I may do for you in town?" "As a matter of fact, there is," he help out a sealed letter. "Could you set this in the hands of Priestess Pathia at the temple on the Street of Weavers? I believe you are familiar with the area." "The Street of Weavers," said Ariana, in the voice of one lost in memory. Her glorious eyes were distant. "Of course, my Prince. I meant to visit Pathia myself. Now I will combine duty and pleasure." Taking Paul's arm, they left the prince's quarters, guards again trailing behind. Ariana eyed them. "No need for both of you boys to come with us this afternoon. One will do." Sean and Kris shook their heads. "No worries, my lady," said Sean. "A trip into town is no duty at all. We'll stay with you, with your permission." Araina looked at Paul, who shrugged helplessly. "Very well." ***** When they emerged from the castle, Paul smiled with delight. He had been born and bred in the wild hills of Scotland. His abbey had been small, and most of his childhood days taken up with sheep-herding. He had grown everlastingly weary of the walls of the castle, no matter how well-built. They walked through the courtyard and out the gate, then took the main street down into the town below the castle. Everywhere Paul looked, he saw signs of prosperity, far different from the poverty he had seen when his travels had taken him through Edinburgh and London. To say nothing of the crawling sewer that was Paris, he thought disgustedly, or the shell that was all that remained of Rome, a city of tens of thousands reduced to a few struggling thousand eking out a bare living on the fetid banks of the Tiber, while the Holy Father lived in unrestrained luxury in the basilica. Looking around at the sights, he saw a familiar face. Scowling, he recognized the man from the hall earlier. He was carrying a knapsack, as if he had business in town, but he was being very careful to keep their group within a short distance. Paul dropped back to speak with Kris. "Sergeant, do you recognize that man?" he asked, jerking his chin at the figure who shadowed him. Catching his look, the man stepped away quickly, moving down the street to become lost in the crowd. Kris frowned. "I've seen him around the castle now and again. Works in the pantries, if my memory holds. Stocks the goods for the kitchens." He sucked his teeth contemplatively, "Seen him around quite a bit lately, it seems." He cast a quick glance at Paul, "Think someone has set him to watch on you?" Paul nodded. "He was in the hall near the Prince's chambers earlier. Now I see him here. If we should happen to run into him again, I would like to find out who he works for." Led by Ariana, they quickly walked through the streets. Crossing the market, Paul thought he saw Sister Angela and the High Priest speaking animatedly near a glass-blowers stall. Paul smiled. He was glad that Angela was warming to the High Priest. He had tried to draw her out several times lately and to speak of her meetings with Abiron. While more polite than usual, she had been cool to his questions and had not spoken in more than generalities. Once this farce is over and we are free to open a church, it will be well if Angela is on good terms with Abiron. It may help to smooth the paths for us all.