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.