The Balance Ch. 19-21

"What did you do to me?" His voice was a wondering gasp.

"I? I did nothing. However, the Deity decided that you were worthy of a measure of His grace. I asked Him to heal you. And He has."

"And the price?" Paul's voice was steady, but his hands trembled. "Was this all a game to find out how my loyalty may be bought?"

"No. There is no price. Even if I had known before we met that you had been...damaged...I would not have dared to try to bargain in such a fashion. The Deity does not always grant what we ask. I know that, to my sorrow." Her eyes grew dark. "If I had tried to convince you to throw over your faith for mine, with your healing being the price, and I failed? What would you have thought of me? I would have been just another jumped-up hedge-witch, and nothing I could have said or done from that point forward would have kept me from your contempt."

She touched his arm. "No, little brother. This is a gift, freely given. Take it with my blessing," she looked at the sun outside the window. "And now, I think it is time I go. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

Chapter 20

More than a week later they gathered in the royal apartments.

The king spoke first. "All right. We are all here again. Abiron, we will start with you. What progress are we making?" Benedictos' face was lined with weariness. The strain of showing a confident public image was beginning to effect him.

Abiron paused before answering. He had spoken with his wife about Angela, and she to him about Paul. But they had decided to think on the matters before they discussed them with others.

"Regarding our test of faith, I have little enough to report. Her mind is like steel. I do not know if I can convince her in words to change her faith. However, I now know the circumstances of her assignment to this embassy, and quite a bit about her past," In short, terse sentences he described what Angela had told him. When he had finished, he examined the faces around him. The king was grim, The prince and princess looked horrified, and Cassieopeia's eyes shone with unshed tears.

"Poor child," she whispered.

Abiron looked at Ariana. Her look surprised him. Unlike the others, she did not look surprised by the revelation of Angela's past. Rather, she wore a look of grim satisfaction, as if a theory long-held had been proven correct.

"Mother?" he asked. "Do you know something about this that you are not telling us?"

"Only that the Gods work in mysterious ways," Ariana said, with a grimace which was half-amused, half-disgusted. "I wonder how many celestial strings the Deity had to pull to get these two assigned to this embassy, and without their God being aware that he was being manipulated." Speaking quickly, she told Paul's story, including how she had healed his scars.

When she was done, silence filled the room.

Prince Alan spoke, "They are the locks. We have the keys. Angela's fury at being condemned to a life of imprisonment for an act we would not even call an error. The physical and spiritual abuse heaped on Paul for an act every boy in this kingdom performs before he reaches fifteen years of age. How can we turn the key and unlock the door? All we need is one of them. We know that Angela, at least, despises the circumstances of her captivity. Do you think she would turn on them, Abiron?"

Abiron replied slowly, "I think that would depend on the circumstances. Know this. She has been cut off from her family. As she sees it, she has no choice but to play the cards she has. If she denies the Deity, her future is somewhat less bleak. We may gain her if she thought she had a way out of the trap.

"But we cannot offer it to her by voice, word, or deed. She is intelligent and suspicious of us. Of everyone, really. She would think we are offering her a bribe. If we caught her in the wrong mood, she may take the offer to Lambert as proof of our perfidy. No," he continued, "she would have to know the offer is there without words. And the only way to do that is to show her what we are like as a people.

"However, in the right circumstances, she may come to our side. She has been deeply wounded. If she thought herself safe, she would condemn them and damn the consequences."

The queen nodded, "I have known her longer than you have, child, but I think you are right. Despite her anger, she has a bright core that wishes to do right. What do you say of Paul, Ariana?"

"I think that faith can be a terrible thing sometimes." Ariana's voice was dark with exasperation. "I cannot understand him! This is a man of twenty-three years! I was naked in the bathing pool with him! And he did not make one move towards me!

"I must be getting old."

Cassieopeia giggled, the king guffawed outright, and even the princess smiled.

"What is the matter, Ariana? Do you think that your beauty is dimming because one priest's faith was not overthrown by your body?

"Dearest friend," the queen continued, "you outshine us all. But we are getting off the subject. What of Paul?"

"He has his faith to sustain him. He knows that he has been sorely abused, but he does not yet equate the acts of his superiors with what his god demands. In his eyes, men are fallible, his god is not, and he puts his faith in his god. Even when a miracle is performed on him.

"However," Ariana continued, "I may have made some progress. I asked the Deity to heal both his body and his soul. Understand that he has always seen physical desire as a manifestation of sin. And the marks that were put on his body were proof of his sinful nature. But the marks no longer exist. And while I am no Healer, blessed by the Deity to make whole a broken mind, I think that I have eased him enough to make him less...shy...around women. He may find himself responding to them in unexpected ways."

"Yes, but how soon?" asked Princess Hannah. "We have less than a week left. It is well and good to say that this person resents the Church, and that another was mistreated, and we have done some things that will give them happy-good feelings," she said mockingly, waving her hands in the air, "but we must win! To lose this is to lose all, and to bow our necks to those who we know bear us no good will."

"Truly said, Princess," said Abiron. "Mother, we have laid the groundwork. Now we must focus on the endgame. I have a proposal. We have been too long in the castle. With their majesties' permission, I would ask that we be allowed to go into the town tomorrow."

"For what purpose, Abiron?" asked the king.

"Although we may wish that these two had chosen a different god to worship, I think that they both have a strong sense of justice. Especially Angela, who has been used so cruelly. If we let them see the people who will be most directly affected by the changes that the Church would bring, that may bear more weight than thinking about them in the abstract."

"I think it an excellent idea," the queen said decisively. She traded a look at the king, who nodded. "If you want to go into the town tomorrow, no one will stop you. You will have to take a guard, of course," she continued as Ariana snorted. "But that is the only restriction we will make."

*******

The next day...

Angela could tell that Abiron was restless. Usually when they spoke together his attention was completely focused on her. Even when he was animated by argument, there was a core of calm about him, as if he was a deep pool with his surface only momentarily ruffled by a strong breeze.

Today, however, he could not keep still. He roamed from couch to chair to window, his hands fidgeting. His wit, usually so sharp, strayed, and their argument turned dull and desultory, as if it was a chore rather than a matter of utmost urgency.

"Do I bore you, Abiron? Is the need of Heklos so small that you cannot concentrate on me? If so, say so and have done. I would not be the cause of your distress."

"Not bored, Angela. Simply tired of the same apartments and the same arguments, endlessly repeated. You are not familiar enough with my faith to give an argument against the existence of the Deity more convincing than "because my God says so", and I am beginning to despair of denting your faith. What say you to a walk outside these walls? I grew up where I could walk for five miles in any direction I chose, and I swear, my rooms are getting smaller with every day I spend in this castle."

Angela's spirit leaped at the chance. She had few enough opportunities to roam free over the last several years. An expedition, even if one as small as a trip into the town surrounding the castle, was a jewel beyond price.

She tried to keep the eagerness out of her voice, "We are bid to spend time contesting against each other."

"But no one said it had to be here. Come, Sister. I have received permission of the king and queen. We must take a guard, but other than that, we are free to roam where we will.

"However, I must ask that you wear other clothing than that which you now have on, " he dropped his head, embarrassed. "Some of our folk are not well-disposed toward your sect. It may be better if they did not recognize you."

Little though she liked it, Angela saw the wisdom of this request. Besides, she thought, it would be good to walk in public as just another faceless woman. For all of her life she had been marked. First as a daughter of the Saxon nobility. Then as a nun, however unwilling. Lastly, as a member of this embassy. When, she thought, had anyone ever judged her by what she was, rather than whose daughter she was or what clothes she wore?

Retiring to her bedchamber, she quickly changed into a heavy gown of light gray wool, with a darker gray cloak over all, and leather boots on her feet. The weather was sunny, but the chill, as they drew closer to midwinter, was fierce. Returning to her sitting room, she found Abiron. He had not returned to his rooms to change, but rather had donned a long leather coat, belted at the middle. To her surprise, the belt held a long dagger in a scabbard. She looked at it, then at his face, her eyes questioning.

"Is this necessary? I am told that the town here is safe. And we are going to have our guards with us."

"I am not taking any chances. The one thing that would doom us is if you, or any member of your group, took harm while in our care. It would be an easy thing for your superiors to claim that we led you into danger on purpose, and demand redress for our fault."

Offering her his arm, he led her out of the chamber. Their guard fell in behind them as they left the apartments set aside for the christian's embassy and wound their way through the halls to the main gate of the castle.

When they finally passed through the last arch and entered the town itself, Angela took a deep breath. For the last few days she had felt as if she were stifling, hemmed in by duty and the ever-mounting stress of a competition she had less and less appetite for. Sneaking a look at Abiron, she saw the same relief on his face. For a moment, she forgot the reason they had been thrown together, and smiled with pure pleasure.

"Where to, Sister?"

For a moment Angela simply gaped. If ever she had had a moment where she was free to choose her own path, she had long since forgotten it. And now it was offered to her in such an offhand manner that it implied that such things were a matter of course in this land. Back home, she thought darkly, even if I had a chance to step out with a man with such a small escort, he would never ask me my opinion of where we should go. He would simply decide, and tell me. And I would have to bow to his will.

Trying to keep her astonishment from her face, she asked, "Is there a market nearby? I have little money, but I would still like to see what your merchants have to offer."

Abiron conferred with the guard for a moment, then turned to her. "It seems we are in luck, Angela. I am told that today is a market day, and that one of the better places to buy and sell is only a short walk from here."

Arm in arm, they stepped out in to the bright chill day. It was little past noon, and though the streets were busy, they were not overcrowded. In places, braziers of hot coals had been set up to drive away the chill and to also cook food, which was sold on sticks or in paper cups to passers-by. In others, great swathes of cloth had been draped across the entire thoroughfare to shield the street from rain or snow, which gave areas a strange, cave-like appearance.

It suddenly occurred to Angela that she was happy. For the first time in her memory, she was free. She was with a person whose company she enjoyed. The rage which she had hidden beneath a placid exterior was, for once, in abeyance.

She looked at Abiron. He was relaxed and graceful beside her, his head overtopping hers by only the barest of margins. He looked around with every evidence of enjoyment, obviously appreciating their freedom as much as she did.

I could grow to like this man very much. The thought came unbidden into her mind.

Before she had a chance to stamp on it as heretical or to examine it more fully, she was suddenly distracted. A heavenly aroma was wafting from the shop to their right, and her stomach clenched in hunger. Almost involuntarily, she turned, pulling Abiron with her.

It was a bakery, she saw, noting the sign over the door with a stylized loaf and wheat sheaf. Inside, the heat from the ovens made a welcome change from the chill outside. But the scene was one of barely-controlled chaos. A lone man was darting to and fro, from oven to counter and back again, trying to serve those who waited in line. He was middle aged, and a face that would ordinarily be good-natured was set in a scowl of effort, damp dark hair plastered against his cheeks.

"By the Maiden's tears! Where is the girl?" he panted, handing a stack of loaves to a man at the counter. "I can't handle the counter and the oven at the same time, and I can't have the days' baking burnt!"

He took the coins the man gave her in payment and thrust them into a drawer under the counter, then turned, clearly undecided as to whether he had time to serve the next customer before he had to tend the ovens again.

Quick as a fox, Abiron stripped off his coat and hopped over the partition that separated the bakery proper from the serving area. "Which oven first, master?" he asked.

Angela gaped in surprise, as did the baker. The baker recovered first, however, and pointed to an oven near the back.

"Check on the pies in that one. If they are done, bring them to the counter. You. Girl," he said, pointing at Angela. "Get over here and wrap the pies when he brings them here."

Amused, Angela did as bidden, crouching low to go under the barrier while their bemused guard watched from the waiting area. Abiron grabbed a long wooden pole with a flat paddle on the end. He deftly slid the paddle under a pie, then walked it over to the counter. Following the baker's instructions, Angela wrapped the pies in clean cloth to keep them warm while waiting to be sold.

Between wrapping pies, Angela was free to observe Abiron. His body was much better displayed in this environment than sitting or standing in a stuffy apartment, she thought. While he was not much more than middle height, his erect carriage made him seem taller, and his movements were clean and nimble. No fumble fingered adolescent, he, she thought. There is a man who knows what to do with his hands. For the first time, she was happy of the heat of the bakery which hid her blush. Embarrassment, or something more?

With their help, the waiting customers were soon served. When the last had thanked him and left, the baker, who introduced himself as Claude, grabbed another paddle. Reversing it, he raised the narrow handle, and thumped menacingly on the ceiling.

"Helena, are you up there? Come down this instant! And give thanks that two strangers chose to help rather than laugh as the noon batch burnt black as a raven's wing!"

There was a silence from above, then something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Hushed voices sounded from overhead. More than one, thought Angela. A clatter of descending footsteps sounded, and from a staircase at the rear of the bakery two figures came into view. The first was a year or two younger than Angela, and so like in looks and bearing to their baker-friend Claude that Angela had no doubt she was his daughter. The other was a man several years her elder, with a round red face and mild blue eyes.

"Sorry, Papa. We made love earlier and we both fell asleep. And when we woke, well, it seemed like it would be a shame if we didn't make love again," she said with a mischievous smile.

Blood drained from Angela's face. She could not believe what her ears had heard. Trembling, she waited for the fury which would erupt from Claude and fall upon his daughter. She quickly looked at Helena's hands, and saw no sign of a wedding band. Was the girl mad, to declare in front of her father and other witnesses that she had been fornicating in her own home?

Claude gave a snort of laughter. "Of course you were making love. If it isn't Jason here, it is the wainwright from up the block, or the chandler two streets over. All these lonely men who depend on you for comfort and solace. You missed your calling, daughter. You should have been a priestess, and labored to bear men over the line from boyhood to manhood."

"Deity forbid! I like a man with a bit of experience, like Jason, not a fumbled-fingered stripling who will spend himself before I get my pleasure. And if I have to stay with one man once I am wed, it is best to find out which one pleases me best, isn't it, Papa?" Helena said merrily. Angela gaped. No fury? No recriminations? No casting out and weeping for his daughter's disgrace?

Claude sighed. "Of course you do, dear. So did your mother, before she settled on me, Deity hold her safe. But," he said, and his voice was stern, "That does not excuse you from your duties. If I had not had the aid of these good people here, half the days' baking would be ruined, or our customers would have found some other bakery to get their goods at. We are not the only ones in town, you know. I will have your apology."

Helena hung her head. "I'm sorry, Papa. It won't happen again." Angela thought she sounded honestly repentant.

"Very well. You have forfeited your pay for the day. And now for you two," he said with a smile, turning to Abiron and Angela. "What did you come in here for in the first place?"

"Please master, I smelled something so good, but I cannot put a name to it. It was bread, but it also smelled of sweetness..." Angela's voice faded as she sought for the right words.

"Ah! I think I know what you mean," said Claude. He reached under the counter and brought forth a loaf wrapped in cloth. Unwrapping it set loose the smell that had drawn Angela in. "I thought so," he said in response to Angela's happy nod. "Cinnamon-sugar. Pretty rare, but we have those who like it as much as you do. And you, lad? Would you like a pie to keep it company?"

Abiron smiled, "Yes, master. An apple one, if you would be so kind."

"I will." He put both items into a drawstring carry bag and handed it to them. He waved off their offer of payment.

"You saved me as much as those two things cost and more. So take them and be welcome."

After leaving the bakery, Abiron and Angela wandered around the marketplace, sharing the bread, which thy ripped from the loaf in large, sugary chunks. Angela was quiet for some time. They were at a glassblowers shop, watching well-muscled women dip iron poles into the glowing liquid and spin it into beautiful forms, before she spoke again.