“My lord!” he called. “I bring a message from Varingia.”
The voice sounded strangely familiar. For an instant Alain saw a stranger, a young man with broad shoulders and a light brown beard. Then he recognized him. “Julien?”
The young man blushed and stammered. “M-my lord Alain!” He said it awkwardly, as though he had practiced words he’d known would be difficult to say.
“I didn’t think to see you here,” said Alain stupidly.
“I’m a man-at-arms serving the duchess of Varingia.”
A man-at-arms. He had a horse, a leather coat, a helm slung over his shoulder, a shield bearing the stallion of Varingia hanging from his saddle, and a spear. Bel would never have outfitted Alain so; Henri had promised his foster son to the church. Then he laughed suddenly. How could he possibly be so foolish as to envy Julien, or begrudge him his good fortune?
He clapped Julien on the shoulder. “Well met, cousin.” He was a count’s heir now; he could afford to be magnanimous—and ought to be. “How are Bel and Henri? How does everyone fare?”
Julien was still flushed and clearly uncomfortable, but after they left the horses at the stable he gave a halting account of the family: Bel and Henri were still strong; Stancy’s youngest had died of a fever, but she was pregnant again; Agnes’ betrothed had come to live with them, although they wouldn’t marry for two years yet; he himself had his eye on a young woman but he had to have Duchess Yolande’s permission to marry.
They walked to the hall where the evening’s supper had just commenced. The servingman had gone ahead, and a steward came forward to show Julien to a seat.
“Not ale and porridge!” said Alain at the sight of the humble meal set before Julien. “Bring something from the count’s table!” God Above! He would not have Julien reporting to Aunt Bel that Alain had treated him like a common servant, and fed him no better than this! He lingered long enough to see that Julien was brought wine, fowl, and other savories from the kitchen such as usually were reserved for the count’s table. The he took his place beside his father, let a servant wash his hands and face, and gratefully gulped down a cupful of wine.
“Who is that,” asked Lavastine, “to whom you show such marked favor?”
“My cousin Julien—not my cousin, I mean. He’s the eldest son of Bella of Osna village, the woman who fostered me. He always treated me as a cousin.”
“Why is he here?”
The shock of seeing Julien had driven everything else out of his head. “He serves the duchess of Varingia. He’s come on her business. I don’t know what it is.”
Tallia tugged on his sleeve and when he leaned toward her, whispered in his ear. “You were taken by a fit. You shouldn’t have touched the frog! I begged your father to let the deacon sprinkle holy water on you and exorcise you with prayer, but he refused!”
“My father knows what he is about.” It wasn’t right that Tallia criticize his father, when she understood nothing of the matter: That Lavastine deliberately kept churchfolk away from Alain when he was struck by visions. With a flash of irritation, Alain turned away from her and picked up the wine cup again, sipping at it to stop himself from saying something rash.
As soon as Julien cleared his platter, Lavastine called him forward to deliver his message.
Julien acquitted himself well enough. Alain had no cause to feel embarrassment at the association, and why should he? Bel had made sure that all of those under her charge were raised with good manners. “My lord count. My lord. My lady.” He nodded to Lavastine, Alain, and Tallia, in turn. “I ride at the bidding of Yolande, Duchess of Varingia. She bids you greeting, Count Lavastine, and sends greetings to her Cousin, Tallia of Varre. Within a fortnight she will pass this way to offer these greetings in person and to bring gifts in honor of the wedding of Lady Tallia and Lord Alain. It is her devout wish to celebrate Matthiasmass with her cousin, so that they may pray for peace.”
Cousin. Julien was his cousin no longer. He truly understood it now as Lavastine told Julien that in the morning he would ride back to his mistress and let her know that all would be ready for her arrival. Julien did not hesitate as he returned to the lower end of the hall, where men-at-arms and servingwomen gathered cheerfully around him to hear news of far-off regions. It was not a place Alain belonged any longer. He would only be in their way, should he try to speak to Julien again.
“So it begins,” said Lavastine softly. He wore his thinnest smile. “Now the jackals will gather round, because we have the prize.”
