0 comments/ 2421 views/ 1 favorites The Balance Ch. 22-24 By: Glaze72 Hello All: This story is now complete. The last chapters will be submitted over the last few weeks. I welcome your comments and votes. ***** Chapter 22 A short time earlier... Ariana and Pathia sat in companionable silence in Pathia's quarters in the temple of the Deity. Ariana held a goblet of Pathia's best mulled wine cradled in her palms. Sighing, she took a long sip, savoring the warmth. They had spent some time reminiscing about the past and old friends, long gone to other temples. At last Pathia had brought her around to the reason for her visit, and she had handed over the prince's missive. Sighing, Pathia dropped the letter to her desk. Closing her eyes, she reached out to the Deity for guidance. What she was told startled her. Frowning, she asked again, and was given the same instructions. She reached for a bell on her desk and rang it. When a novice appeared, she wrote a note and passed it to her. "Make sure the head novice on duty gets this," she said. "I will, my lady," the novice disappeared. Pathia smiled at Ariana's questioning look. "Just some minor housekeeping I forgot to address before we came in here," she said, trembling at her audacity in deceiving the high priestess, her former lover in their youth, regardless of the fact that the orders came from the Deity Himself. "Tell me," she said, changing the subject. "Do you think Prince Alan's concerns are valid?" "Well, without knowing what he said..." Ariana shrugged. "I do know that I have concerns, and the Deity has asked me to come here and to speak with you. I have already sent letters to several other of the larger temples, both here and and the other cities. But since you and I know each other so well," she smiled, "I thought I would come here myself. "You know the Deity thinks in terms of generations. That is the reason why our line has maintained a policy of inbreeding in order to keep the purity of our faith stable." Pathia waved her hand. "I know. Seems like a plot to keep the most gorgeous men for yourself, if I can be permitted an opinion. Your father-husband was a beautiful man, and your husband-son! I only saw him for a short time at the assembly last week, but if he had been unwed, my dear, I would have done my best to trip him then and there." "You're welcome to try," laughed Ariana. "It seems the Deity has decided to make a change. When He married us, He changed the vows. We are not to cleave to each other alone." "Oh my," Pathia breathed, and Ariana could see her eyes widen in happy speculation. "Concentrate, dear," she said. "This has to do with all of us. The Wanton, the Lover, the Father, and the Mother. Not the Children, I believe, nor the Youth and the Maiden. Not yet. We are bid to be fruitful and multiply, as the christians would say. We will recruit more priests and priestesses for the days to come, when our lands may be harried by those who seek to expunge our faith from the pages of history. And those who bear the seeds of great faith will be asked to pass those down to the next generation." Pathia put the pieces together. "Ariana, are you saying what I think?" Ariana smiled grimly, "If what the Deity desires comes to pass, I will have many more children. And they will not all be those of my husband-son. And Abiron will have children of his body who are not of mine. The Deity is casting His net wide and arming His borders. The same will hold true for you. More priestesses will come here, and more to the Lover, the Mother, and the Father. You will be asked to bear children, offspring of your loins, whose faith will be as great as your own, and who will carry our belief forward when we are gone. "The Deity has decided that this storm cannot be held back. We will have to weather it as best we may. But we will fight it every step of the way, from this moment until the very Day of Doom." "Children," said Pathia, amusement clear in her tone. "That will be new. When we take up this role, the Deity has always closed the gates of The Wanton's womb. The same holds true for the Lovers. What other way to be sure that an unwanted child is not conceived? We will have to put new protocols in place to make sure those who come to us for guidance know they may be siring children." "I think some would choose to bear a child of the Lover, or be pleased knowing they had sired a child on a Wanton. Who knows, it may be seen as a sign of heavenly favor. If not, the Great Temple of the Deity will see to their care," said Ariana. "We have more money than we know what to do with. And no one will be forced to bear or sire a child unwilling. "And if my foretelling holds true, Abiron and I will be asked to make our home here, in the capital. We can no longer live apart from the rest of the world." Pathia gave the first honest smile since they had entered the room. "That's splendid! I always said that you were wasted out there in the boondocks. And honestly, Ari dear, how much influence can you hope to wield when you are so far away from the court? Yes, I know there were reasons," she said, waving Ariana's protest away with her hands, "but I am glad you are finally seeing sense. The Great Temple is still here, well-cared for and ready for you and the High Priest to take possession. "All of our best should be in one place. The leaders of our nation, spiritual and corporeal, should march together. " Ariana nodded. She hoped Paul would return soon. They spoke more of the time to come, and Pathia, greatly cheered by the thought of Ariana returning to the capital, prattled on, speaking of her plans for when she and Abiron came back to court permanently. Taking a moments 'leave, Ariana left to visit the garderobe, but Paul was not there when she returned. She wandered about the temple, looking for a man wearing a dark blue jacket with light brown hair, but he was not to be seen. Impatiently, she went outdoors. She saw Kris and Sean, her two guards, along with an ill-favored lout that they seemed to have captured spying on them, but no sign of a thin, well-dressed young priest. "Sergeant, where is Brother Paul? He was to have come for me in the temple long since." Kris frowned. "You have not seen him, my lady? He left us some time ago. After we caught this piece of dung," he said, nudging Titus with his boot, "he went in to seek you." Ariana went cold. Walking swiftly, almost running, she clattered back through the temple to Pathia's quarters. She glared at her friend. "Where is the monk?" "I sent him to Diana. She is accompanying him now." "Well, that is well, I feared..." her memory of the terminology of the Temple of the Wanton returned. She blanched and her sight went dim. She heard her voice speaking as if from a great distance. "You sent...a christian priest...sworn to celibacy...to one of your priestesses...to take away his virginity? Are you completely mad?!" Pathia smiled, untroubled by her rage. "I have done as I have been bid by the Deity." "By the Lover's Balls!" she spat, and fled out of Pathia's chamber and through the temple. Guided by instinct, she turned into hall leading to Diana's chamber, crashed through the sitting room, barely sensing the clothes strewn on the floor, and threw open the door to the bedchamber. Two young people, one obviously male and the other spectacularly female, sweaty and looking terribly well-pleased with themselves, met her horrified gaze. Too late too late too late. "Paul," she whispered. "Oh, Brother Paul. I am so sorry. I did not mean for this to happen." Paul stood. He looked at her and his face was a blank. No warmth, almost no humanity at all. The grave, quiet young man that she had known was gone. When he spoke, his voice was as cold and harsh as the ice floes of the northern seas. "My lady. I see that you are here at last. I think it is time that we go." With that, he bent to retrieve his discarded garments, not even looking at his companion. He stepped out of the bedroom, leaving Ariana alone with Diana. "You," she snarled. "You have ruined us all. Do you have any idea of the damage you have done?" Diana smiled, immune to her anger, "I have done as my lady has bid. She is pleased. Very well pleased." "Mad," Ariana said flatly. "You are all mad." she stalked out, slamming the door behind her. Left alone in the bedroom, Diana laid her hands gently over her womb and smiled. When Ariana rejoined Paul, he was already nearly dressed. Not even looking at her, he finished buttoning his vest and shrugged into his jacket. Stomping into his boots, he spared her one scornful glance, "Shall we go?" When they left the building, Paul stopped and took a deep breath. He turned and looked at them all. Ariana, all but weeping with distress. Kris and Sean, honest faces confused by the tension between the two of them. Behind them, squatting like a toad against a wall, the sneering face of Titus. He spoke, voice flat, barely looking at her. No, Ariana thought despairingly, looking through me. He cannot stand the sight of me. "My lady, it gives me no pleasure to say this. I think our time together, as pleasant as it has been, is at an end. I have seen the depths to which a person may sink to try to gain victory. The lies, the betrayals of those who should have been honored and cherished. The depravity," his lip curled, "of those who dare call themselves priests. "Upon my return to the castle, I will seek an audience with the king. I will tell him that my part in this contest is over. I have made my decision. I will have no more part of it." Ariana's heart broke within her. She had been so close. So close to breaking through! Her hand shaking, heedless of her dignity and standing, she reached out to put a hand on Paul's sleeve. "Brother! But your headache! Your back! The Deity healed them for you when I asked! Surely you know He is divine! You cannot deny Him!" Paul twitched his arm out of her grasp, "I know no such thing. Satan tempted our Lord and showed him all the glories of Earth. He did not fall. Neither will I." He turned his back on her and walked up the street towards the castle. With an apologetic look, Sean and Kris followed him, dragging Titus between them. Sobbing with the realization of her failure, Ariana followed. ### When Abiron and Angela returned to the castle, they found it in an uproar. Servants were clustered in every corner, whispering with round eyes and nervous faces. They stood aside as two lords of the court pounded along the hallway, nearly running them down. "What can have possibly happened?" Angela was asking, when a sergeant in the palace guard approached them. "My Lord Abiron, Sister Angela, the king asks that you present yourselves to him in their majesty's private chambers immediately." They traded glances, confused, then followed the guard. When they entered the king's chambers, Angela was even more confused than before. It seemed that anyone who was involved in the contest was there. Besides the royal family, the High Priestess and Brother Paul were also present. Paul was wedged into a corner, his arms folded, looking at Ariana with expression of uttermost contempt. Ariana looked like she had been weeping, her eyes red and puffy. First time I've ever seen her looking other than gorgeous, Angela thought spitefully. Even the guards assigned to them were present, looking uncomfortable and trying to appear unobtrusive. Talking quietly together were Bishop Lambert and brother Ulf. Angela wandered over to them and caught the end of their conversation. "...doesn't have much to charge him with. Watching somebody isn't a crime, even in this pit of iniquity," Lambert was saying. He noticed Angela's approach and broke off. "Good evening, Sister." "Good evening, Your Grace," Angela glanced about the room. "Do you know why we are here?" "Your guess is as good as mine," Lambert shrugged, eyes hooded. "From what I hear, Paul returned from an afternoon in the town with that strumpet," he said, nodding at Ariana, "in a towering rage, and demanded to see their majesties, and all of us with them." Even as Lambert finished speaking, the King rose for attention, and all conversation was muted. "Here we are," he said, "though I am still not sure why. Brother Paul, this contest still has three days to run. May I ask why you have seen fit to draw us all together?" Paul left his corner. The bow he gave the king was barely polite. His voice bordered on outright rudeness. "Your majesty, I have seen enough of Heklos and your people. And especially of your clergy. This afternoon I accompanied High Priestess Ariana to a temple in town. What I witnessed today I have no desire to share with anyone, not even my confessor. Suffice it to say that I have been shocked to the very core of my being. I have made my decision. If Sister Angela will agree, I say we put an end to this farce and end it all today." Angela looked at her companions. Lambert wore a hopeful smile. Ulf grinned, showing bad teeth in his unpleasant face. The king nodded slowly. Beside him, Queen Cassieopeia sat, pale as carved wax. Prince Alan's fists were clenched in rage as he stared at Paul, and Princess Hannah's eyes burned with hatred. "Very well. I will not try to sway a man against his conscience. My lady Ariana? My Lord Abiron? Are you ready to give your answers as well?" Ariana gave a jerky nod. "Your Majesty, I am," said Abiron. Benedictos' gentle gaze fell on her. "Sister Angela?" Angela took three steps toward the throne, and gave the full curtsy, from a member of the nobility to royalty. Holding it, eyes cast down demurely, wishing she had a full court gown to make the pose more appealing, she spoke. "Your Majesty, I did not anticipate such an enormous decision being thrust upon me so soon. Being a weak and feeble woman, I ask that I be given time to order my thoughts." From the corner of her eye, she saw Abiron's eyes narrow at her choice of words. "I beg leave for one nights' contemplation." The king nodded sharply. "A courteous request and well-spoken. Sister, you shall have what you ask. We will meet tomorrow morning at nine of the clock in the throne room for a formal end to this matter. For the nonce, all guards will keep their assigned duties to Brother Paul and Sister Angela. I would hate," he said drily, "for an unfortunate accident to befall Brother Paul, no matter how ill-mannered he is." Without a glance at the priests of the Deity or the royal family, Paul made for the door. Nearing Angela, he paused briefly. His whisper came warm into her ear. "It would have been better had you agreed to be heard this evening. If you have a weapon, ward yourself. He will come for you tonight." He walked away quickly, giving the bishop a courteous nod as he left the chambers, followed by his guards. Lambert frowned as he watched him leave. "What did he say to you?" he asked. Angela blinked. "I'll be blessed if I know. Some nonsense about being afraid of Abiron, I think. As if that boy could ever harm anyone." She yawned. "Your Grace, I am fatigued by the events of the day. I will return to my chambers and contemplate how best to frame my answer to the king tomorrow without giving offense." Lambert chuckled. "After the treatment Brother Paul has given him, I don't know how anything you say could offend him further." With a bow he withdrew. &&& Once he was free of the king's chambers, Paul gave a great sigh of relief. Taking care to make sure the corridor was clear of eavesdroppers, he turned and faced Sean and Kris. "Gentlemen, can I trust you?" he asked. "What the hell are you playing at, boy?" asked Sean. His normally friendly face was grim. "You know that Lambert is planning an invasion as soon as this game is over, and there you are sucking up to him like he is your best pal. And don't think," he said, prodding Paul's chest with a stiff finger, "that we didn't notice the way you treated Lady Ariana. Once upon a time I thought you were sweet on her. Now you look at her like she is dog crap on your boots." "But who knows about Lambert's invasion, Sean?" Paul said, ignoring the painfully true words about his treatment of Ariana. His heart felt like it was breaking. "You, me, Kris here, and that toad in his cell. Lambert knows we have him, but he doesn't know what we have been told. Once Lambert has a chance to think, he is going to realize that Titus is no longer useful. If I know Lambert, he will have records of every corrupt official, noble, and officer Titus has subverted. Titus is no longer a tool to the bishop. He is a threat. If he opens his mouth, Lambert is done for. "That is why I had to keep him off-balance by that act in the throne room. He is going to be so happy that he is going to win that he hasn't thought about disposing of Titus. But he will." "So...that means...you aren't actually going to come down on the side of the Christians? You will side with our Lady?" asked Kris, as he tried to follow Paul's thought. Paul drew himself up. "My faith is as firm as it has ever been," he said coldly. "This is not about whether Christians are allowed into this land to preach, Sergeant. If you remember, that is how this whole thing started. This is about invasion and rape and slaughter. If we can spike Lambert's wheel by exposing the traitors in Benedictos' government, then he can show a strong face to the outside world. He can keep the balance. Your army is strong, gentlemen. If it wasn't, you would have been ground down long since. "Now, I ask again. Do you trust me?" Sean and Kris looked at each other. Sean shrugged. "What do you need?" "One of you needs to stay with Titus and make sure there aren't any 'accidents' around him." "I don't see why," Sean shrugged, "He is safe in the cells and the palace guard is in charge of him." Paul restrained the urge to beat his head against the wall. "Damn it, Sean, I thought you two were the smart ones. The palace guard might be full of traitors. If Lambert got to one of them, how hard would it be for one of them to slip in his cell tonight and slit his throat?" "Shit," said Sean. "Not hard at all." He looked at the sergeant. If you can take that one, Kris, I'll take the other." He paused. "What's the other?" he asked. "As soon as I get to my chamber I am locking the door and bolting the windows. I am not coming out until the audience tomorrow. I am not a warrior, and I can't risk Ulf or Lambert or someone he has corrupted getting to me tonight. I need someone to watch my door. Not too obtrusive," he added. "We don't want anyone to get suspicious by having an armed guard standing in my doorway. Just someone who can look menacing if someone should be seen trying to sneak in late at night." "I can do that." Chapter 23 The last stragglers left the king's chambers. Ariana waited until the doors were closed, then hurled herself into her husband's arms, weeping as if her heart would break. Abiron cradled her there, trying to piece together what had happened. He felt a tug on his sleeve, and saw the queen. She pressed a glass of wine into his hands and pointed at Ariana. He led his wife to a couch and sat down with her. Murmuring quietly, he at last convinced her to take a drink. Slowly, the tears faded to sniffles and hiccups. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and looked up. Cassie smiled sadly, "Well, Ariana, you might as well tell us what happened. But from your reaction and the look on that boy's face, it seems you have made a rare muddle of things." The Balance Ch. 22-24 Ariana nodded. Brokenly, she told them of their trip into the town, and what happened at the temple. Prince Alan cursed roundly, "My fault! If I hadn't asked you to go there to deliver a letter..." "Then I would have gone there anyway, and the same thing would have happened," Ariana said tiredly. "I meant to visit Pathia today anyway. The fault is not yours, my prince." "Then all of our hopes cling to Sister Angela," said the king. "What say you, Abiron? Do you think the fact that she asked for a night's respite is an indicator that she may be wavering?" Abiron shook his head sadly, "She told me this afternoon that I had no hope of swaying her. She does not dare to let emotion guide her. It has treated her too cruelly before. And logic has no place, either. She needs proof. And that is the one thing I cannot provide." He swore viciously, causing Hannah to jump. "I am a priest! And now the one thing that cannot serve me is faith!" "Even gods have their limits, young one," said the queen sadly. Prince Alan poured wine for all of them, and Ariana drank deep. "The Deity told me as much once myself," Abiron agreed. He tried the wine, made a face, and asked for a mug of ale. When it came, he took a deep swallow and wiped the foam from his lip. "The Deity told me..." muttered Hannah quietly. "So what do we do after we lose tomorrow?" said the king. "Keep calm and soldier on," said Ariana, taking another swallow of wine. Abiron watched her worriedly. He hoped she was not going to get too deep into her cups tonight. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with a hungover High Priestess in the morning. "We keep our relations with the Christians polite and cordial. We allow their emissaries entrance. We do not molest them. We do not forbid our people to worship their god, but we do not encourage it." "The Deity told me..." repeated Hannah. She closed her eyes and shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. "In the meantime, I have taken steps that will ensure that we have a steady supply of new priests and priestesses coming up through the ranks." "How will you do that?" asked the prince. "Pay a bounty?" "I HAVE IT! I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED!!" They all stared at Hannah. Her face was shining with joy. She rushed forward, words tumbling over one another in her haste to get them out. "Lady Ariana. When you told us what happened in the temple you said that Priestess Pathia told you that she had been instructed to send Brother Paul to Diana by the Deity, right?" Ariana frowned. "Yes, but..." "And when you found Diana and Paul together, you told us that Diana told you that she had done as she was bid by the spirit of the Wanton, correct?" Hannah blushed as she went on. Ariana blinked through a fog of wine. "Yes." "Then what Paul and Diana did was blessed by the Deity Himself! He would never work against us. When Paul went to Diana it was part of the Deity's plan!" "Well-reasoned, child, but do not get too excited," said the king gently. "If it was part of the Deity's plan, why did Paul treat Lady Ariana so harshly when he was found with Diana, exactly as one would who was overcome by guilt?" Despite his words, Ariana could tell that the king was intrigued. The others sat back, mulling Hannah's logic. "Mother, when you found Paul, did he look guilty or embarrassed?" Abiron asked. Ariana thought back to those terrible moments. "No," she said softly, "his face was a blank. Like someone who had locked all his emotions away. It was only later on that he treated me with contempt." "So if it wasn't his actions with Diana, what else could it be?" asked the queen. Suddenly, Ariana knew. She laughed aloud, cursing herself for a fool. "The spy!" "The spy? What spy?" asked Benedictos. "Paul and his guards found a spy trailing him. They brought him back with us, but with the uproar Paul caused when we returned, it is not surprising no one noticed it." The king frowned. "No one noticed it," he mused. "Why would he wish for a captured spy to not be noticed? Could it be one of his?" "No," said Cassieopeia. "If it was one of his, why capture him?" "One of ours?" asked Alan. "Our spies don't get caught," said the queen, "and even if he was, he would have been able to provide proofs to the guards that would have made them let him go." "So he isn't his and he isn't ours," said Abiron. "Who will read this riddle for us?" "He's Lambert's," said Hannah. They all looked at her. "Paul is an innocent, you have all said so. So an innocent man finds out he is being trailed and spied upon. He catches him. He finds out the spy was set upon him by his superior, a man who was supposed to guide and protect him. Who can blame him from being outraged?" "Yes, that makes sense, princess," said Abiron. "So we now know that he found a spy, and we suspect the spy was set by Lambert. But why hide that fact? Why demand to see the king and queen, rather than confronting Lambert?" "Something the spy said scared him, and he wanted to pull attention away from the fact that he had him," said Alan. "A threat?" asked the queen. "Against who?" asked the king. "Him?" asked Alan. "A foundling. No family. And his faith is so firm he would be a willing martyr. No." said Abiron. "Against us," Ariana breathed. She looked at Hannah, who nodded agreement, and took another swallow of wine. "Who else could he threaten? Angela? Two-a-penny spies don't threaten the offspring of Saxon nobility, no matter how far in disgrace they are. Especially not to a houseless orphan like Paul. All Paul would have to do would be to warn her, and her family would crush him, and anyone associated with him. "But consider Paul. He wishes nothing more than to serve his god, but he is also a good man with a gentle heart. If this spy made threats against us, if he or his masters has somehow subverted our subjects so that violence would somehow be done against us, or the royal family, or our people, would Paul not be moved to try to protect us? "So he causes a great commotion. He draws attention away from the spy he has captured, focusing all eyes on him. Meanwhile the spy languishes unnoticed and his master is distracted. "It is brilliant." "It's not just brilliant, it is textbook tactics," said Prince Alan. "Keep your enemy's attention focused elsewhere, blind to all else that moves, while you muster resources that will destroy him." "So what do we do now?" asked the princess. "We have suspicions. Now we must check them. If you were Lambert and you knew that your spy had been captured, what would you do?" asked the king. Prince Alan shuddered in mock-horror, "I have no wish to pretend I am Lambert," and Abiron, despite the tension they were all under, smiled. "But if I was, I would remove the threats." "Which are the spy, this Titus, as he is called," said Ariana. "And Paul himself," added Alan. "Lambert has no idea what he knows or was told." "And the guards who helped catch him," said the king. "But it would be a rare fool indeed who tried to remove two guards in the king's own castle." "So we set a watch on those four, and make sure they are protected. After the audience tomorrow and we have lost, we hold Titus and find out what he knows and who among our people is set to betray us." He looked at his daughter approvingly. "Well done, child. Because of your quick mind, tomorrow's events will only be a disaster for this country, rather than a catastrophe," he smiled bitterly. "Well, I suppose I had better see to it. This has to be the greatest jest in the history of this kingdom. That the ruler would be at his wit's end trying to protect an enemy spy and a christian monk." "My lord?" Abiron's voice was soft. "Yes, lad?" "If our suspicions are true, we must take care that we do not warn our enemy by enlisting his pawns. Choose only those you trust completely for this task." The king nodded. "Captain Diogenes, I think. I have known him since I was six. He is the most cynical bastard that has ever walked this earth, but he would slit his own throat before he took a bribe or betrayed his king." He left the room. Abiron slumped in his seat, exhausted. By the Deity, thinking and planning were far more tiring than working the fields! He had felt far fresher after a long day of caring for the stock back home than he felt now. He turned to his wife. "Mother, I'm going back to our rooms to prepare for tomorrow. Will you come with me, or do you wish to stay here?" Ariana shook her head and drained her wineglass. Even after the skull-storming session which they just had, and the meager hope for survival which came with it, she was pale and drawn. "I'm not fit company for you right now, my love. I'll sit and have another glass or two with Cassieopeia, and then I'll join you." With a smooth motion she stood and hurled her wineglass into the fireplace, where it burst into fragments. "Damn her," she grated between clenched teeth. "How could she have done this to me?" "If she was guided by the Deity, I don't think she really had any choice in the matter, my lady," said Princess Hannah, who had been woken from a doze by the shattering glass. "I beg you not to judge Pathia too harshly." "I wasn't talking about her," said Ariana as she poured herself another goblet and sat down again, "though if you turn out to be wrong and Paul isn't planning some last-minute stratagem to try to protect us from his own church, I am going to make sure she is busted down to novice, transferred to an orphanage, and spends the next five years washing dirty diapers without a virile man in sight. "I was talking about Diana. How could she have been Paul's first? It was supposed to be me!" Abiron smiled and kissed his wife, tasting wine on her lips. He found he had no jealousy of the young man at all. "If it was indeed Diana who led him over the border, Ariana, then I don't think Paul had much choice either," said Cassieopeia. "From the tales I have heard, the hand of the Deity has touched her, and the only way Paul could have avoided her grasp would be if he was one of those who prefer to lie with men. And maybe not then." "Well," Abiron heard as he closed the door to the royal suite behind him, "that makes me feel a little better. My goodness, Cassie, this is really good wine." &&& Sergeant Kristopher Zsurdenk sat on a stool in the dungeon, watching the sand trickle slowly through an hourglass. Behind him, Titus snored softly in his barred cell, asleep in the flickering torchlight. Four times since he had arrived down here he had turned the glass. Four hours gone. It was midnight. In eight hours, eight more turns of the glass, he would wake the prisoner and walk him up to the audience chamber, where, when the time was right, he and his best friend and a monk from a church he hated would use him to save his adopted country from invasion. He thought of the farm boy from Pskov he had been, long ago, and what that boy would think if he could see him now.. He heard bootsteps approaching. Warned by Paul's suspicions, he was unsurprised when the form of Bishop Lambert turned the corner. Seeing Kris sitting in front of the cell, he paused, then smiled benevolently and walked slowly forward. "Good evening, sergeant. I am Bishop Lambert." Kris nodded. "I understand that there is a prisoner here who has claimed to be in my employ. May I speak with him?" "Prisoner's sleeping," he grunted. "Come back tomorrow." He found that he was beginning to enjoy this. Lambert's smile grew a little forced. "Well, there's no reason to worry too much about his comfort, is there? Be sensible, sergeant. Let me in to talk to him for a minute or two, and then I'll be on my way." he stepped forward, clearly intending to brush past, though how he intended to get into a locked cell was beyond Kris' guess. Kris drew his dagger and lifted a whetstone from the table beside him. He slowly ran the tool down the side of the dagger, honing the edge. Lambert stopped abruptly. He had discovered that the sight of a naked blade made many people nervous, for some reason. He stood and leaned against the table, looking Lambert square in the eye. "Prisoner's sleeping. Come back tomorrow." Lambert's smile was thin and bitter. "Sergeant Zsurdenk, isn't it? Yes, I've heard of you. You're the one who wanted an annulment because your wife couldn't stand your touch, weren't you?" Kris' hand froze on the whetstone. He stood motionless. "I could help you out, sergeant. Wouldn't cost you a thing. Just let me in, take a little walk, and I'll be gone before you get back. And maybe you'll get that annulment you want and be able to marry again." "You bastard," Kris breathed. "You're right. It wouldn't cost me a thing. It would cost me everything. Including my life. Because I couldn't live knowing I had let a slug like you buy me." Steps sounded in the corridor. A lot of them. Kris dropped the whetstone and drew his sword. If this was some of Lambert's bought-and-paid-for friends, they would have to kill him before they got to Titus. A full squad of guards rounded the corner, led by Captain Diogenes. "Hullo Captain," said Kris, "Where's your lamp?" "Didn't match my armor," said the Captain. He was a tall, spare man with short graying hair. He looked at Lambert. "What's he doing here?" "Oh, don't mind the bishop," said Kris. He grinned like a shark. "He came down to give me some marital advice, but he was just leaving, wasn't he?" Lambert's hands twitched. He looked from Kris to Diogenes and back again, clearly trying to think of a card he could play which would allow him to talk to Titus. Finally re relaxed and gave a curt nod. "Yes. I'm leaving. Remember this night, sergeant. I believe that one day you will have cause to regret it." He turned and stalked out of the cells. "Ye gods, that was trite. Too bad he didn't have a little mustache he could twirl while snarling, 'You'll rue the day'!" Kris giggled. He looked at Diogenes. "What in the world are you doing down here at this time of night, Captain? It's a little late to be doing an inspection of the cells." Diogenes gave an order to his squad. Half of the eight men peeled off and waited in the corridor. The other four sat at the table with an air of professional dangerousness. He gave a jerk of his head and walked with Kris into a corner. "His majesty came to my quarters about an hour ago," he said quietly. "Said that you and Corporal Dealrach caught a spy who might be willing to talk, but that Lambert might be happier if he never said anything ever again. Said there might be dirty work down here and that I should make sure the prisoner was safe, along with you and Dealrach and that christian priest who helped catch him. "Also said that if anything happened to the four of you he would make sure I never saw the light of day again," he shuddered. "I've known the man since he was knee-high, and I have never seen him more serious, not even when he was about to propose to the queen and was scared stiff she would turn him down. "So I'm glad you're here. Sounds like one of you figured out that maggot," he said with an old soldier's disgust for spies, "might have a short life span once the bishop found out he was down here with a loose tongue. I'm going to leave these four lads with you. I don't think that any of my boys are disloyal, and I know there is no way under the Deity's sun that all them are. They'll watch each other, and you and the spy. The rest of us are going to make sure Dealrach and the priest are safe." He gave Kris a soldier's nod; one professional to another, "Deity's blessings be on you, guardsman." He left the cells, trailing four shadows. Kris looked into the cell to see Titus watching him with bright mocking eyes. "Thanks for my life, sarge. I wouldn't have given tuppence for my chances if you had let Lambert in. He carries quite a few knives, you know, and your jailers took all mine away. Rather unsporting, wouldn't you say?" "Knives on a bishop? Pull the other one, it's got bells on," scoffed one of the guardsmen, a beefy man named Pollo. "Wasn't always a bishop, though, was he? Got his start in Normandy as a foot soldier, if what I hear is true. Developed a taste for loot and some of the fun that comes with it. Got a little careless in one of Duke William's little wars and had a choice between taking the cloth or getting a short haircut. With an axe. "So anyway, much obliged, sarge. Kept me alive for one more day." Kris looked at the man with disgust. Who would choose to give his loyalty to a man like Lambert? He joined the other guards at the table, taking care to keep his back to the wall and his dagger loose in his belt. One of the guards produced a deck of cards. "Want in, sarge?" "Sure. One way to pass the time." "Sarge, can I ask a question?" One of the younger guards, Festus. "Sure, private. What do you want to know?" "Why do some of you keep asking the captain for his lamp?" Kris smiled, "Oh, it's an old joke with all of us who have served with the captain. There was an old philosopher named Diogenes. He used to go 'round with a lamp, even in daytime. When folks asked him what he was doing, he said that he was looking for an honest man. Claimed he never found one. You've served with the captain, private. Doesn't that sound like something he would do?" Festus and the other guards laughed, and the cards were dealt. &&& In the small section of the palace which had been given over to the christian priests, Corporal Sean Dealrach flexed his hands and cursed softly. He hoped no trouble would come this evening, because he was in no condition for a fight. He had not had time to see the physician about his hand, and his unsplinted finger was aching and swollen. He knew he would not be able to wield his two-handed sword with anything approaching his usual skill, such as it was. Instead, he kept his dagger in hand as he carefully paced his route, taking care to keep Paul's room no more than a few steps away. He had seen Lambert leave a short time before, and then return in a towering fury, slamming the door to his suite shut. Ulf had skulked by once or twice but before he could do more than try Paul's door, Sean had wandered by, making plenty of noise, and giving Ulf a foolish smile. Flickering torchlight at the end of the hall revealed several shapes approaching. His heart in his throat, Sean planted himself squarely in Paul's doorway. Was this a group of traitors come to deal Paul death in order to keep his suspicions quiet? His breath slowed as he recognized Captain Diogenes. With a few words the captain explained how the king, his family, and the priesthood had put the pieces of the puzzle together, and had decided to send Diogenes and his squad to make sure that those who knew of the spy were kept safe until after the audience the next day. Sean sighed in relief. "Well, captain, I've been manning the front here. But I'm only one person and I've got a bum hand. Perhaps if you sent two out to the garden out back so you can make sure no one tries to get in from the rear through the windows, and left one with me, that would leave you and one other man to keep an eye on Kris downstairs and our group here." Unnoticed behind them, Lambert opened the door of his suite and slipped away down the hall. Diogenes nodded. "That sounds like a good idea, Corporal." He gave a few quick orders and two of the guards left to watch outside. A third, an old campaigner named Lucien, gave Sean a nod and settled into an alert pose several yards away from Paul's door, apparently prepared to stay there until hell froze over. The Balance Ch. 22-24 Diogenes clapped Sean on the shoulder. "Good thinking, guardsman. When this is over, come and talk with me. There's a sergeant's spot coming up in my squad and I think you might be the man to fill it." "Oh God, no. The last thing I want is a promotion!" The captain chuckled and walked away, the last soldier trailing him. Far away, a bell tolled the hour. One o'clock in the morning. This night is going to last forever. He looked over at Lucien. "Heard any good ones lately?" Chapter 24 In another part of the palace, Angela tried once more to relax and go to sleep. Ever since their audience with the king and queen broke up, she had been in a state of high agitation. She had spent part of an hour in the communal bathing room, listening to the castle gossip. Many of the high-born ladies bathed together in the old Roman way, gathering in the calidarium or the frigidarium, laughing and relaxing after a days' labor. Some of them had given her long, questioning looks, but none had dared to approach her to ask about what had happened earlier in the evening. Which was well, for she hardly understood it herself. Something had greatly upset Paul, that she could tell. What had happened to drive an otherwise sweet-tempered young man to the heights of scorn which he had shown for Ariana and the royal family, Angela could hardly guess. What had he seen? The sort of orgy which Ulf had described, his face twisted in a half-loathing, half-hopeful rictus? Pagan worship rites? Witchcraft? She sighed and sat on her small bed, combing her hair. None of her maids were with her this evening. The thought saddened her, for her heart foretold that after the events of tomorrow morning, this would be the last she saw of Heklos. She had told Abiron the truth. She did not think for a moment that Lambert would allow her to stay to try to guide the new church here. She had been chosen for a beautiful face and a clever mind, not her faith, and her scarlet past would always follow her. The thought of leaving troubled her. It was a strange thing, she reflected, that in the past two weeks Heklos had begun to feel like a home. She would miss it. The dark-haired, sweet-faced maids, the other castle servants, cheerfully busy throughout the day, the few ladies of rank who had warmed enough to her to exchange greetings and polite conversation. And Abiron. And Abiron. She removed and hung up her gown in the wardrobe beside her habit and the other few pieces of clothing which she had brought. Stripped to her shift, she blew out the candles and lay down to sleep, the coals of the fire the only light in the room. In the dim light, she caught the gleam of steel. Her dagger, discarded on a side table. Thinking of Paul's warning, she got up, shivering in the chill air, hid it under her pillow, and crawled under the bedclothes again. And lay, sleepless. I've made up my mind. I have. In the morning she would stand in the great hall and denounce Abiron's faith, and the faith of almost everyone in Heklos, as a fiction. She would testify to the greatness of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. She would not do so happily, but to do otherwise was to invite personal ruin. Paul would do the same, with more passion, and this entire sad affair would be over. Lambert would betray her, and she would be shunted back to another nunnery, less restrictive than the first, but still a cage. There to live out the rest of her life, unless her family should someday have need of her and summon her back home, a useful tool once more. Angela ground her teeth. She had never given in before. Why was she doing so now? Even when her father had stood over her, with his sword still red with the blood of her only lover, she had not begged forgiveness, but had instead raged against him in fury at the outrage he had committed. That, she had thought in her more introspective hours, and not the act of fornication itself, had been what had really driven Lord Robert to send her into exile. She turned from side to side, then lay on her back, staring at the ceiling above her, dark wood beams almost unseen in the darkness. Unbidden, her hands met and clasped on her chest. Unthinking, voiceless, she prayed. She used no words, but sent up a silent plea of emotion, asking for guidance, for forgiveness, and for mercy. For who, she could not tell. Was it for herself? Her faith? Or for every person in this land which she was only now beginning to know? Across the apartment, in the sitting room, her door slowly creaked open. A dark shape, only visible as a deeper shadow against the dimness of the hall, stood outlined in the entranceway. He will come for you tonight. Angela smiled. Paul had misjudged her badly, and Abiron as well. If he came to her tonight he would find a willing bedmate. And why not? Why should she not have one night of happiness to warm her for all the long cold nights to come? One memory of happiness to set against the guilt tomorrow would bring? She closed her eyes, feigning sleep, but her ears strained for his voice and her skin heated for his touch. Instead, a strong, clammy hand, damp with sweat, covered her mouth, and a cruel grip dug into her upper arm, fingers strong enough to bruise. "Damn you, wake up!" a voice hissed. Lambert. Eyes wide with outrage, still fixed in his grasp, Angela scrambled to a sitting position. She struck at the bishop, but found her blows warded effortlessly aside. "Silence, damn it!" he hissed. "It's Lambert! Don't struggle." God's kneecap. He thinks I am fighting him because I think it is someone else. Not because he disgusts me. She forced herself to relax. "Your Grace," she said, and she did not have to fake the trembling in her voice. "Forgive me. After what Brother Paul said this evening, I was worried that Abiron was come here to...attack me. You woke me from sleep and I panicked. I am sorry." Lambert nodded, but his eyes were still cold. Releasing her, he lit a taper from the fire, and used it to light a candle near the bed. By its light, she could see that his face was drawn and agitated where he crouched, only an arms length away from her. "Are you troubled, my lord?" she asked. He looked sharply at her, and she schooled her face to meekness. Carefully, she thought. He is a pig but no fool. Do not let on you sympathize, however slightly, with his enemies. "There are too many guards about, and my movements are watched. I am denied conversation with a man in my employ. I see betrayal, Sister. Tell me," he said, and his voice with thick with suspicion, "what did you and High Priest Abiron," and here he sneered openly, "do in your little excursion to town today? Find a little place to cuddle? Did you make arrangements to betray your God? I know how slow a woman's wits can become when a pleasant face becomes involved." Angela gaped, and nearly laughed before she caught herself. Was the man insane? She drew herself up regally and spoke with the hauteur of generations of Saxon nobility. "You forget yourself, Your Grace. You know, better than any other, what one lapse in judgment has cost me. Do you think I would abandon my God for this jumped-up pagan deity and a cult of rural fools? Abiron is a comely boy. But he is just that. A boy. And tomorrow he and his wife and every single person in this stinking, festering pit will bow their heads to us." Lambert nodded, mollified. "Well said, Sister." He looked at her, and something in him changed. "You say boys do not interest you. Perhaps a man would?" He drew a fingertip down her shrinking arm. Goosebumps rose in revulsion at his touch. "I will say, Sister, that it is not inconceivable that I can improve your station. Can you read and write? If you agree to become my private secretary, there is no telling how far you may rise." His wandering hand found her left wrist and gripped it cruelly, grinding the small bones together. "Do otherwise, and things will be less...pleasant." Eyes watering in pain, she flung aside her pillow with her right hand and grabbed the naked dagger that rested on the mattress. Lunging, she set its point at his astonished throat. "Touch me again unwilling, and I will bleed you where you stand," she snarled. "I am not some whore you can buy for a loaf of bread or a skin of wine. I am still Lady Angela Lyons, and I will go to no one's bed who I do not choose." Lambert rose, and the look he gave her chilled her bones. "There are many forms of surrender, Sister. You should choose your battles more wisely. I will forgive this impertinence. But if you betray us, I will have you assigned to my service, and you will be able to do nothing about it. I will look forward to the pleasure of breaking you. "Tell me. How long do you think it will take before you beg me to take you, just for the privilege of eating or drinking? What will you do to avoid being shared out among the men in a war-camp? "Make sure you keep me happy, little Sister. I would hate to see your sweet flesh abused. At least, I would hate for it to be by someone who was not myself." Whistling merrily, he left the chamber, leaving the door open behind him. Shaking, Angela closed and bolted the door, cursing herself for not taking the precaution earlier. Weeping with pain and with reaction to Lambert's threats, she opened the window of her bedchamber and looked out into the garden. In the south, the moon was riding high, silvering the frost-bitten plants with light. A few pale stars shone dimly, eclipsed here and there by thin, scudding clouds. Who to go to? she thought. And can I go to anyone? The royals may have sympathy with her claims, but even if they declared the game a forfeit in response to the threat against her person, they could not protect her permanently. And would the king understand, or even try to protect her? The queen might try to intervene on her behalf, but Angela knew from sad experience how little a woman's wishes mattered when set up against those of her lord. Angela's spiritual superiors could even seize on her absence as an excuse to wage war against Heklos, claiming that she had been kidnapped and held against her will, a victim of the perfidious lusts of the king or prince. Or of the priesthood of the Deity itself. Her best course of action, she decided, was to bow her head to Lambert, and to flee into the anonymity of a cloister as soon as she could. The stifling captivity of that life may kill her, she knew, but that was far better than the future of rape and degradation she could see in Lambert's eyes. But I can't leave without saying goodbye. Not to Abiron. And his lady wife has been kind to me, in her own way, little though we have met. If I am going to condemn them to ruin, the least I can do is apologize and try to part as friends. Or if not friends, at least not as enemies. With new resolve she shed her nightgown and dressed. She put on her last clean chemise and eyed her gowns. With no one to aid her in dressing, she resentfully donned her habit, belting it harshly around her waist. She stepped into a pair of soft slippers, paused for one moment to slide an object in the pocket of her gown, then opened the door. She glared at the guard standing there. Not, she noticed, the one who had gone into town with her and Abiron the previous day. This was the dim one who was always looking at her breasts, as if she was faceless and mindless, a mere body for his gaze. "I don't suppose it occurred to you that I might not want to let a man into my room after midnight, you fool," she said with biting sarcasm. He gave her a look of bovine stupidity. "He's a priest, and your superior, isn't he, miss? Was I supposed to keep him out?" His eyes took on a cunning cast. "And he gave me a little coin for my trouble, too. Maybe you should have treated me a little nicer over the past few weeks. As it is, I'll drink on this for the next couple months." he said, jingling his purse. "Dog," she said, cursing her swift temper. "No. Dogs are loyal. You are a rat, skulking in the shadows." The guard took a threatening step toward her. "Lay one hand on me, and I scream rape," she said calmly. "Will you be able to convince the mob of your innocence before they tear you limb from limb?" His face went white. "I am going for a walk. Do not think to follow me. Perhaps you are an honest traitor, and will stay bought. It is nothing to me. But I do not want to see you near me ever again. Make sure you are not here when I return." "The king...the king ordered me to guard you. If you are found missing and I am absent..." he stuttered. "Then the fault will be on your head. Indeed, the king ordered you to guard me. And instead, you let a man into my chambers for the price of a few mugs of beer." To his uncomprehending look she asked, "Your name wouldn't be Judas, would it?" Her back straight and her steps sure, she left him gaping in the corridor. It did not take her long to make her way to the apartments Abiron shared with his wife, the High Priestess. For a mercy, she saw light peeking around the doorframe, indicating that they were not yet abed. Frowning, she noticed the absence of guards at their door. Was every guard with a set of wits in the entire kingdom off having a drink? Gathering up her courage, she knocked at the door. Within moments, it was answered by Abiron. As she had been on the day of their first meeting, she was struck by his beauty. Like most men in this country, he was not overly tall. In fact, if they had been back in England, he would have been counted smaller than most. But he had a breadth of shoulder which was difficult to disguise and his arms and legs were lithe and strong. His eyes, Angela thought, were his best feature. Dark like his hair and deep set, they were windows to a face that was both calm and kind. He was younger than she, but there was always a sense of stillness about him, as if he were a pool of dark water and she had only glimpsed the surface. He smiled in greeting, but had a look of wary confusion on his face. "Sister Angela. How may I serve you?" Somehow she mustered a small smile. "I wished to speak with you and your wife. Is she here?" Abiron stepped aside. "Please. Enter. My lady wife is absent at the moment. We were discussing our future with the royal family, and I have just returned. It was the high priestess' desire to share a glass of wine with the queen before returning to our rooms." He gestured at a well-upholstered chair before the fire. "Please, sit. May I offer you something to drink? Wine?" Angela made a face. As a maiden in a noble house, she had grown used to watered wine with meals, but she had never enjoyed it. And the full-bodied wine served at this court was far too strong for her. The last thing she wanted was for her last meeting with Abiron to be fuzzed by strong drink. Paul laughed at her reaction. "I know just how you feel. I have never liked wine either. And I doubt you are in the mood for beer or ale." At her shake of the head, he continued, "I have just learned about a drink they serve here which comes from the East, from Chin. A kind of leaf, crumbled, steeped in boiling water, which may be drunk with milk or honey. It is called chai. I was just going to have a mug. Will you allow me to acquaint you with it?" Angela nodded. At her gesture, using a thick cloth, he carefully took hold of a pot which had hung suspended over the fire. He added a pinch of crumbled leaf to two empty mugs and poured a quantity of boiling water into each. With a flourish, he handled a mug to her, where she cradled it in her palms, hands slowly warming. Careful of the hot liquid, she assayed a sip. The taste was not displeasing, she decided. Strong, though somewhat bitter. Seeing Abiron setting out a small pot of honey, she ladled a generous dollop into her mug and stirred it. The second sip was far more pleasing then the first, and she smiled at her friend, relaxing for the first time in hours. A friend, she thought. How long since I had one of those? And how bitter the knowledge that no sooner had she realized that Abiron was her friend than they would have to part, with no meeting again on this side of heaven? Looking up from her chai, she saw Abiron looking at her over his own mug from where he sat on the opposite side of the fire. "Why did you come, Sister?" Taking a deep breath, she spoke. "After the events of tomorrow, I do not think I will be welcome here in Heklos. If what I suspect comes to pass, Bishop Lambert will take on the institution of our church in your lands onto his shoulders. Paul and myself will be set aside for others, of loftier rank. "Although we do not agree on many things, I have come to see you as a friend. And although I do not know her as well as I would like, I have come to regard your lady mother with respect as well. Abiron's eyes widened, but he motioned for her to continue. "Among my people, if one is taking leave of a friend and does not expect to see them again in this life..." her throat closed and she had to fight back tears. No more! I am sick to death of weeping. "It is a custom, in my house, to give a gift of leave-taking. That although friends may be parted by distance, by war, by enmity, or by the door through which we all pass, and that but once, we may look upon the object given and remember them with fondness." She fumbled in her robe. "I wished to give you another gift, my friend, but circumstances..." she shrugged. "We do not always choose our own paths." She handed him a small box, carved of dark wood. Abiron took it from her and opened it with gentle hands. Inside, two figures rested on worn cloth. Sitting on their haunches, wings unfurled, mouths wide open, displaying sharp teeth, the dragons looked ready to leap into the sky and do battle with fierce hummingbirds and deadly bumblebees. He smiled. "What are they called?" Angela extended a shaking hand and softly stroked one figure, the wood worn to satin smoothness by generations of fingers. "This one is Fafnir. He was slain by the hero Sigurd. The other," she touched a parchment-thin wing, "is Magelaar, who guards the world tree from those who would harm it. They were given to me by my mother, who had them from her mother. They have been in my bloodline for generations, from before our forefathers set foot on the island's shore. It is said we can trace our line back to the great King Hrothgar himself." "They are beautiful, my lady," for once she did not grow angry at the honorific. "I will always think of you when I look on them. However, I have a question." "What is that?" "You said that if circumstances were different, you would have chosen another gift." His voice, as always, was gentle. "What would have that gift been?" Angela hesitated. Why not tell him? Who will know? "It would have been myself, my friend. I would have given a gift of my body to you, and we both may have had a memory to treasure. But whatever I may be," she continued, as silent tears washed her cheeks, "I am not an adulteress. I will not tempt a man away from his wedding vows. And your wife the high priestess is far to wise and noble a lady for me to try to destroy your marriage." Abiron nodded. His eyes were lit by a spark of amusement which she did not understand. "And if I were free to choose, my lady? What then?" Hope, that feeble, battered bird, savaged by abuse and betrayal, staggered to its feet and began to sing. She quashed it ruthlessly. "You aren't. You can't. Do not cheapen yourself in my eyes by pretending you can lie with me without breaking your vows to your wife."