Sabella did not offer Constance her hands, the sign of kinship and safekeeping. Instead, she took a step back and signed to her soldiers. They swarmed forward to form a ring around the two women and their retinues. Antonia dismounted and came to stand beside Sabella. Tallia stared somberly at Constance, as if the young biscop were an apparition. Agius sank to one knee, head bowed, still holding the halter of Constance’s white mule.
“You are now come to rest in my hands, Constance,” said Sabella in the flat voice that disguised her emotions, if indeed she had any. “You are my hostage for Henry’s good behavior and for his agreement to give precedence to my rightful claim.”
Like a deer, startled by the sudden appearance of the hunter, Biscop Constance threw up her head, eyes wide, looking as if she were about to bolt. But of course she was surrounded. She drew her hands back and folded them in front of her. This gesture allowed her to regain her composure.
“I have been betrayed,” she said in a loud, firm voice. She turned to gaze directly at Agius, who rose slowly to face her, his complexion white. “You promised me safe escort, Agius. Cousin.” The word, said with emphasis and anger, was a weapon, meant to wound.
Agius said nothing.
“He gave you safe escort,” interposed Antonia. “He escorted you safely into your city, where we broke our fast. Then we came here, but he had already discharged the obligation. He did not promise you safe passage for a second time.”
Constance did not even glance toward Antonia. “You have deceived me, Agius. I will not forget it.”
“Nor should you,” he replied, his voice rough. But he looked beyond Constance to Sabella. Alain was suddenly struck by the age of the two women: Sabella was old enough to be Constance’s mother; as indeed she would have been, might have been, had she proven herself fertile on her heir’s progress so many years ago, the progress that had resulted in her being passed over for the throne. Tallia, the late fruit of her marriage, looked like a frail reed out of which to create the staff that would grant her the authority of a sovereign queen.
“And so, Lady Sabella,” said Agius harshly, “my part in this is finished. Release my niece and let us ride free, as you promised.”
“As I promised, I will free your niece into the custody of the biscop of Autun, whom I now restore to the seat taken unlawfully from her by the decree of my brother Henry and with the connivance of my sister Constance.” She gestured. An old, frail woman tottered forward, wearing biscop’s vestments marked with the badge of the city of Autun.
“You will go against Henry’s wishes?” Constance demanded. “I am the biscop of Autun.”
“And by what right did Henry remove this woman from her see?” Sabella’s tone was mild but unyielding. “Helvissa was given the biscop’s crosier by the authority of the skopos herself twenty years ago. Henry’s worldly authority does not outrank the spiritual authority of the skopos in these matters. I merely restore Biscop Helvissa to her rightful place.”
But looking at the old woman, whose hands shook with palsy, Alain could not imagine she would be anything except a pawn in Sabella’s plans.
“She is Mother to a convent now,” Constance said, “not biscop. I was invested—”
“You were invested as a deacon in the church, sister. Your election to biscop can, I think, be treated as invalid. It is as a deacon you will remain in my custody.”
Constance gasped. Looking furious, she shut her mouth tight.
A servingwoman came forward with the little girl, Agius’ niece. The child had the expression of a cornered animal, gone still while waiting for the deathblow. She saw her uncle and leaned toward him as rushes lean in a stiff breeze, but she made no move to run to him. It was as if a leash held her to her captors. Tears trailed down her cheeks, yet she made no sound though her chin trembled. A slender gold torque gleamed at her neck.
“The child will return with the biscop to the city of Autun,” said Sabella, sounding satisfied with herself and the fruition of her plan. “But you may not leave me, Frater Agius. I may still have need of you.”
“Then my niece remains in your custody.” His voice was quiet, too quiet, perhaps. Alain had never heard him so subdued. Agius glanced toward the girl, then tore his gaze away from her. The child hiccuped down a sob in response.
Constance knelt abruptly, extending her hands. “Come, child,” she said, more order than request. The child looked to her uncle, got his bare nod, and took hesitant steps forward until Constance’s hands rested lightly on her shoulders. “This is Ermengard, daughter of Duchess Liutgard and her husband Frederic of Avaria. She is destined for the church.” Only then did Constance look back up at Sabella. “Even our quarrels must not stand in the way of Our Lady’s and Lord’s will. Let one of my clerics escort her to Autun and put her into the care of my chatelaine, a woman of good birth and education.”