Inside, it was cold and dingy, warmed only by a tiny brazier in which a few coals smoldered. There was a straw pallet and a blanket, but Joscelin knelt huddled on the floor, shivering, his arms crossed. His hands and feet were shackled, with a chain run from his ankles to an iron ring pounded into the floor. It was long enough to allow him to walk and reach the pallet; he knelt by choice.
He looked horrible. His face was wan and haggard, lips cracked, hair lank. While Selig leaned against a wall, I ran to Joscelin, kneeling before him and peering at his ravaged face.
What came out of my mouth, in D’Angeline, was, "You idiot! What are you doing?"
Joscelin raised his head, staring at me with bloodshot eyes. "I dishonored my vow," he whispered in a cracked voice. "I drew to kill."
"Blessed Elua! That’s all?" I sat back on my heels and pressed my hands to my face. Remembering Selig, I dropped them and glanced at him. "He grieves for his wrongdoing," I said in Skaldic. "He is atoning."
Waldemar Selig nodded soberly; he understood this. "Tell him to live," he said. "I have made atonement in were-gild for the lives of the men he killed. And I wish him to teach me his manner of fighting." He paused, recalling, and repeated it slowly in Caerdicci to Joscelin.
Joscelin gave a laugh that scared me, wild and half-mad. "My lord has bested me," he said to Selig in Caerdicci. "Why would you want to learn what I know?"
"You did not expect to battle me. You have given me your pledge. And you did not expect me to step inside your guard," Selig said deliberately. "Another time, it might be different."
"I cannot teach him to fight like a Cassiline," Joscelin said to me in D’Angeline, shaking his head over and over. "I have failed you, too many times. I’ve dishonored my vow. Better I should die!"
I shot a quick glance at Selig, then looked fiercely at Joscelin. "How many times do you need to discover your humanity, Joscelin? You’re not Cassiel reborn, but you’re vowed to me, and I have never needed your service more!" I shook his shoulders, quoting Delaunay’s words at him. "Do you remember this? To fail and persevere is a harder test than any you will meet on the practice-field. Keep your sword, I cannot afford its loss."
Joscelin laughed again, despairingly, then caught it with a gasp. "I can’t, Phèdre, I swear I can’t! I’ve not even a sword to keep." He gazed up at Selig from his huddled pose. "I am sorry, my lord," he said in Caerdicci. "I am not worthy to live."
I swore at him then, in D’Angeline, Skaldic and Caerdicci alike, shoving him so he lurched sideways in his chains and fell sprawling, gaping at me. "Elua curse you, Cassiline, if that’s all the courage you’ve got!" I railed at him, in what tongue I know not. "If I live through this, I swear I’m writing to the Prefect of your order, and telling him how Blessed Elua was better served by a courtesan of the Night Court than a Cassiline priest!"
What Selig thought of my diatribe, I don’t know; if I’d thought to look at him, I wouldn’t have dared, but it never crossed my mind. With scarce the strength to get upright, still Joscelin’s eyes narrowed at my harangue. "You will
"Then stop me." I stood up, hurling the last words at him. "Protect and serve, Cassiline!"
It must sound, I know, as if I had no pity for him; it wasn’t true. I was angry because I was terrified. But there are times when a curse is more bracing than an endearment. Dragging at his chains, Joscelin struggled to a kneeling position, shivering, staring at me with tears standing in his bloodshot eyes. "It’s hard, Phèdre," he said pleadingly. "Elua help me, but it’s hard!"
"I know," I whispered.
Selig stepped outside then and said something to the guard. I didn’t know what until the White Brethren thane returned scowling some minutes later, carrying a wooden bowl of broth. Selig nodded, and he shoved it at Joscelin. "You eat," Waldemar Selig said to him in his rudimentary D’Angeline. "You live."
We left him then, holding the bowl in two trembling hands. I looked back as Selig held the hide back from the door for me, catching sight of Joscelin lowering his lips to the rim of the bowl.
He would live, I thought with relief. It gave me one less reason to die.
After that, Joscelin continued to take nourishment and grew stronger, although he had developed chilblains on his hands and on his wrists where the manacles chafed. They itched and pained him mercilessly, but he used it as a reason to postpone teaching Cassiline swordplay to Waldemar Selig. Having invested somewhat in keeping his tame D’Angeline warrior-priest alive, Selig acceded to my pleas to be able to visit Joscelin once a day, rightly reckoning that once Joscelin had chosen to live, my presence would give him incentive to continue living. He had his vow.
