The Balance Ch. 13-18

Abiron's words were passionate. He thought, in his mind's eye, that Angela was just a little bit more receptive to him today. The look of faintly amused scorn when he was telling her the Foundation Myth the day before was missing. Today, she was actively engaged in the debate, taking it on its own merits. Her eyes were lively with intelligence and the thrill of matching wits. I have an opportunity here, he thought.

"Can you not see how cruelly your religion treats women? If there was any justice in this world, you would be the one leading this embassy, not Bishop Lambert. I have spent only a few hours with you, but I can see how your mind far outstrips his." Rain beat on the panes of the windows of the small salon in which they were sitting. He fell to his knees on the polished wood floor, mistaking how her face changed as his words flowed out.

"Eve, Lot's wife, the women who are raped in the Israelites' wars or sold into slavery. The casual way even faithful women are treated as no better than belongings for barter or trade. The plagues visited upon the Egyptians, when an all-powerful being could have saved the Israelites without death or pain. This is cruelty and malice, and no just god would condone it. Angela, there is a better way for you, for all of us..."

"Do not think to teach me of cruelty,"

Angela's voice was hoarse and ragged. Her face was suffused in rage. Rage, Abiron realized, that was not directed at him, but at a world which she had no way of escaping.

Or thought she had no way of escaping.

With an empathic flash, Abiron reached up and took up her right hand from where it lay clenched at her side. It was cold and shaking.

"Tell me," he said.

And she did.

####

"I am one-and-twenty years old. At one time, four years ago, I was known as Lady Angela Lyons, and I was the second daughter of Baron Robert Lyons. My father held land of the king in Suffolk, and I was as happy as a maid could be.

"Then one summer afternoon, I went riding with my lady-in-waiting and a guard. Her horse threw a shoe and got a stone in its hoof, so I sent her back with the guard to my father's keep, and I followed along more slowly, since the day was fair and I saw no danger.

"And on the road I met another man. Oh, Abiron," and here her smile was as bitter as gall, "he was even more lovely than you, to my eyes then. A farmer with his own land, and with a ready eye for beauty. We spoke for a while, of small things, as men and women will do who find each other pleasing to the eye. He invited me for a walk in the meadow, and I thought no ill would come of it. He gave a flower to me, and held my hand, and asked my leave for a kiss, and I gave it to him gladly, for my blood was hot and I was young and foolish

.

"And then we did what men and women should only do within the bonds of matrimony. And it was there that my father and eldest brother found us, naked and as innocent as the first dawn.

"My father, who had never denied me anything, killed him for ruining me, there in the meadow, while I wept and screamed for his life to be spared. He was a good man who had never brought pain to another, but my father slaughtered him like he was a head of beef and stained the flowers of the meadow with his blood. I spent one last night in the house of my fathers, and was then sent in disgrace to the convent. No one from my family said a word for me, or raised the slightest objection to my fathers' will. A whole life cast aside for an hours' play and a moments' pleasure.

"And now I have a chance to gain a little of my life back. If our mission succeeds, I will be moved to another convent, one with fewer restrictions and more freedom. In time, perhaps, I will be allowed back into the world. I will never be free from religious orders, but I may have a chance to shape my own life as I may."

As she told her story, Angela's blue eyes were as cold and dry a winters' sky. Abiron paused, then squeezed her hand.

"I grieve for you, Sister. And I grieve even more for what will happen to you, if you take many more steps down this path."

"What now? Are you a seer or prophet, as well as a priest?"

Abiron considered the question carefully.

"That trait has not appeared in our line often, but it is not unheard of. It is said that my many-times ancestress had the luck when she was an advisor for the king. But Angela, I need no god-given sight to show me the road you are on.

"Now, as I see you, you are like a rosebush. You are putting out sweet blooms, but your branches have thorns. In time, the blooms will grow smaller, the thorns larger. Stunted and trapped, you will turn inward on yourself, the walls of your garden growing ever smaller, until you have scraped yourself raw in your desperation to escape." His face was sad. "I do not think I would care to know you when that time comes." He rose to his feet, knowing that to push the issue any further today would only draw her anger down upon him. "Please allow me to escort you back to your rooms."

Chapter 18

That man.

That damned man.

That damned clever, kind, impossible man.

Angela fumed in the small suite which had been set aside for her use when their embassy had first arrived in the palace. It would obviously not do for her to be quartered with the others, and it was just as obvious that she should not be placed with other ladies of her rank.

What rank? She snarled to herself. You don't have a rank anymore.

Pacing from tiny sitting room to tinier bedroom and back, she worked herself into a state of bottled-up fury, exacerbated by the stifling clothes she was wearing. With a muffled curse, she started peeling them off. The nun's habit was pulled over her head, and it was all she could do to keep from throwing the hot, clinging garment into the fireplace. She sighed with relief as the cool air rushed through her thin undergarments and soothed her heated flesh.

She sat on the narrow bed and closed her eyes, wondering why Abiron had disturbed her so. She had schooled herself to be cold to the presence of others, but something about him...

Damn him! How DARE he pity me?

She got up again, striding out the door of the bedroom, into the sitting room again...

"Ooff!"

Reeling back in shock, Angela looked at the stunned form on the ground, knocked there by her all-but-headlong charge through the door. It was one of her maids, she saw, the quiet one with the dark hair and the shy eyes. She huddled on the floor, skirt scuffed and feet bare.

"Are you well?" she asked, feeling that for the time being, at least, here was one even worse off than herself.

"Oh, my lady, I am so sorry," whispered the voice from the ground, "please excuse my clumsiness."

"Only if you excuse my charging like a bull through the door," Angela replied, surprising herself with the gentleness in her voice. "Here, let me help you up." She aided the girl to her feet and led her to her bed, sitting her down beside her.

"I hope you will forgive me. I was in a foul humor and thought to walk off some of my mood, but it seems that I only succeeded in ruining your skirt," she looked at the maid. She was an attractive little creature, she thought, even with her hair mussed and her face red from receiving the force of Angela's shoulder as she hurtled through the doorway. Her hair was dark like her eyes, which were intelligent enough, and her face was clear and her limbs smooth. A shopkeepers' daughter, she thought, come to the palace to try to catch the eye of someone a little higher than a shopkeepers' son. A shame she is so shy. She hasn't said six words to me until today.

"A foul humor? What has upset you, my lady? I hope my service here has not been wanting,"

"I am no lady. Call me Angela," even when she corrected to deny the hated title, her voice had lost some of its asperity. "I met with High Priest Abiron this morning, and I was a little out of sorts when I returned."

"I heard you were to meet with him. I was not able to attend the assembly, but I have heard the tale. Tell me, what is he like?" Some of the shyness had left her voice, and she strained closer to hear the answer.

"He is a man. Taller than some, fairer than most," Angela said, trying to keep her voice level, "he is well-spoken, as far as it goes, and he..and he...he makes me so damn angry!! He never raised his voice. He never mocked me. He never said 'I was just a woman!'. He is kind and treats me as an equal. Why does that make me so angry?!?" she wailed, angry and hurt and terribly confused.

"Maybe," the young maid said, "because he is not what you expected? Because you had thought he would be cruel and he was not? It is hard to learn to accept a gentle heart when all you have known are blows." She rose up and opened the shutters, and cool air came into the room. She sat down beside Angela again. Her waist, Angela noted idly, was very slender, and her bust high and firm.

"Tell me," she said, "Is the high priest indeed so very well made? Does he have a beard?"

"No, no beard. His cheek is as smooth as a babe. His hair is dark as his eyes, and thick and fine. His arms look strong, and his hands have seen rough labor."

"Mmmm," said the maid dreamily, "Kind. And strong. I wish he served in the temple here. I would be happy to make him my first."

"Your first what?"

"My first man," she said, with a shy smile, "All maidens can go to the temple, and choose a priest of the Deity to bring them to womanhood, if they have not a lover who they favor."

Angela stared in shock. She had been told that this place was a pit of iniquity, but she had never imagined this! "You mean that you PAY for a priest to take your virginity?"

"Of course not," the maiden said, "Who would sully the temple's honor by offering money for this service? It is given freely by the priests, or, or, or the priestesses," she said, coloring slightly. "Those who serve do so with a glad heart. I have never heard of money being exchanged or anyone being turned away. The Deity's love is available to all."

"So," said Angela, growing more confused, "the priests are forced to act as..."

"What a terrible place you must come from," said the maid softly, "where all you can imagine is someone being forced to do this, or paying for it in shame and guilt. There is no forcing. There is no money. There is no shame and there is no sin. Those who choose this path do so of their own will."

"I don't understand," said Angela, and her voice was soft and sad.

The maid pulled the pins from her hair, which flowed down her back in a soft cloud.

"Let me try to explain. Lean back," she said, "and close your eyes. Imagine you are a maid again. And you are of age, but no lover to take you over the border into womanhood."

Angela settled back against the headboard of the bed with her eyes closed. She really was very tired. And the maid's voice was gentle and soothing.

"You have decided to go to the temple. You enter, and you make your wishes known. No one mocks you. The Deity does not care if you are shy, or fat, or if you have a crooked nose," at this, Angela giggled slightly, "and He only wants you to be a woman now, and happy. So you are taken to a comfortable bedchamber, much like this one. And soon enough, the priest enters. Maybe it is Abiron himself," her voice said softly into Angela's half-dreaming mind. "Would you like for it to be him?"

Oh yes, Angela thought. Let it be him. She shifted languidly on the bed. Her body felt warm and boneless, as relaxed as a napping cat.

"Wouldn't you like to feel his kind, strong hands on your body? A few calluses on his palms from hard work, but still gentle?" Angela felt a tug on her clothes. The laces of her undergarments were being undone. The maid did not touch her body, but soon she was totally exposed. She shivered, half with the cool air, half with longing, thinking about a kind touch.

"He is slow and patient. Not rushing, not hurrying, for your own pleasure is his reward."

Angela wept, eyes closed, mourning not for an opportunity lost, but for an opportunity never-known. And with the release of grief there came desire. When the maid's warm hand cupped her breast and he delicate tongue licked the tear off her cheek, the hand found the pink bud of her nipple straining and erect, and the tongue was met by an eager, waiting mouth.

How the maid had shed her clothes without a sound Angela neither knew nor cared. Her hands reached down and grabbed the maid by the hips and pulled her on top of her. She moaned into her mouth as she ran her hands up her back, feeling the firm, taut muscles of her back meld into her shoulders, and then plunged them into the glory of her unbound hair. The maid's tongue entered her mouth, hungry as a wolf, delicate as a cat, dancing with her own. She shifted on top of her, and then Angela felt her legs open, then the long, smooth, slow stokes, as the maid's sex ground against the hard muscles of her thigh. She reached for her, hardly knowing what she reached for, but found her hands lightly pushed aside. The maid bent down to her, feathering her chest with kisses, hands stroking he vulnerable curve of her belly, and then sank lower.

Angela gasped as her thighs were gently pushed apart, and then again as a heated mouth found its way to the center of her being. She closed her eyes again, hardly daring to believe what was happening. Her hands rose, almost of their own volition, to cup her breasts. As the maid's tongue teased her, her own fingers played with her nipples, enciting pleasure which she had long denied herself.

The heat coiled within her, rose, crested, and broke. With a strangled cry she gave voice to her pleasure, uncaring of any ears which may hear. And with that cry, a grief years-old was finally given voice and given the chance for healing. Almost without pause Angela sank into sleep, unaware of the maid looking on her with love and pity.

"Sleep well, my lady."