Frater Agius, too, was looking at the hounds, who snarled as the biscop walked past, well out of their reach. She did not appear to fear them, as many did. “You tend the prisoner every day, do you not, Alain?” asked Agius suddenly.
Alain bowed his head obediently. “I do, Brother.” But he was as aware of the Eika’s gaze on him as of Agius’. Staring, both of them. He threaded his fingers together and squeezed them tight, so the pressure might keep him calm.
“You might have seen things others have not.”
“Yes, Brother.”
“You will speak to me honestly, I trust.”
Heat burned his face. He shuffled his feet restlessly but could not answer, either to lie to the frater or to betray the prince. And yet, what duty had he to the Eika prince? Should his loyalty not be given first to Our Lord and Lady and second to the count?
“You will attend me tomorrow,” said Agius suddenly. “After morning service. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Brother.”
Then, mercifully, he left.
“Halane.”
Alain started guiltily and looked round quickly to make sure no one was about, but they had all left, grateful to get out of the stockade. The hounds had settled back on their haunches, waiting patiently for Alain to free them.
“You must not speak,” he said, and was aghast to hear himself saying these words. “Only when we are alone. Otherwise they will hurt you.”
“No hurt,” said the Eika. “No hurt Halane. Go free.”
“I can’t free you. I must serve the count.”
“Name man.”
“Count Lavastine is the name of your captor. Surely you know that by now.”
“Tre man look. Un, do, tre man. Name man.”
What did he want? The name of the people who had come to look at him? Did he think they were all men, males, or did he have no word to differentiate male from female? Alain could not know. But he knew that just as he could not bring himself to betray the captive and helpless prince, neither could he betray the count’s trust. What if the prince did escape and then knew by face and name Lady Sabella? If the Eika recognized the word “king,” might they not also recognize “queen” or “prince?”
“I can’t tell you their names. You must understand that, I beg you.”
The prince did not reply. He blinked once, owllike, deliberate. Alain fled. It was too much to understand.
Later that evening, as he served at the table, the talk turned to the reign of the Emperor Taillefer, he who one hundred years ago had united Salia, Varre, the westernmost duchies of Wendar, and most of the southern princedoms into a great confederation blessed and anointed by the skopos in Darre as the rebirth of the Dariyan Empire. Only then did Alain realize that the Eika prince had counted one, two, three in a bastardized form of the language spoken in Salia. He knew a bit of it, enough to communicate with those Salian merchants who beached their boats at Osna village. But how had an Eika prince come to learn it? Truly, there was more to him than met the eye.
In the morning, Biscop Antonia led a somber service to celebrate the second day of the Ekstasis. As the congregation left, Alain sidled away to kneel in the chapel. Lackling followed him, and although with signs and whispers Alain tried to make him go away, the halfwit remained stubbornly blind to the hints. Or perhaps he truly did not understand. But the boy knelt quietly, breath sucked in noisily and blown out with a slight whistling through the gaps in his teeth. Lackling had never once broken the silence of church with his grunts, his half-formed exclamations, his snorting chuckles. Alain laid a hand on Lackling’s shoulder and in this companionable way they considered the altar, dedicated to St. Lavrentius, who had died before the time of the Emperor Taillefer while bringing the Circle of Unity to the Varrish tribes that lived in this region.
They knelt there so quietly that the mice who nested beneath the altar grew bold enough to venture forth from their safe haven. Lackling held his breath; he loved the tiny creatures. Alain slowly slid a hand along the floor and one of the little brown creatures, dark eyes bright, nose twitching, anxiously darted over to investigate his fingers. Gently he lifted it up and let Lackling stroke its downy coat. Alain did not have the heart to kill them, although they were pests, not when they came so trustingly to his hands.
Suddenly the mouse scrabbled frantically up Lackling’s fingers and leaped out of the halfwit’s hands. It vanished under the altar and all rustling and scratching ceased.
“My friend.”
Even having braced himself, Alain still started when Agius spoke softly behind him. A moment later Agius knelt beside him, although the frater did not allow himself the luxury of kneeling on the pillow laid there for that purpose.