“As long as you stay here, you can be used against me,” Léna said. “In much the same way that I can be used to bind you. Do you not see how Orsini has kept you here? You fear you cannot leave because of your missing sisters, but what have you done to rescue them? Can you do anything? How does this inaction serve them, or you, or me?”
“But I’m their prisoner here, I can’t just leave,” Ocyrhoe said. “And I have nowhere to go outside the city, I have no experience in the wilderness, I don’t know how to get food, I’ll have nowhere to sleep...” A terrifying vulnerability brought her to the brink of panic and made it hard for her to think straight enough even to form words. “What do I do? How can I survive, let alone as a Binder? Is there someone you can send me to? Is there someplace I should go to? Will Frederick take me back with him to some other city where they still have Binders who can teach me? What about—”
“Calm yourself!” Léna said, raising her voice.
Ocyrhoe pressed her lips shut and looked up at her with frightened eyes.
“Thank you.” The elder Binder crossed the room with the energy of a captive tiger running out of patience with its captors. “I cannot answer any of those questions. You may certainly go back to Frederick’s camp, since it is easy to find, but I would not suggest you stay there long.”
“Can’t you come back with me?” Ocyrhoe nearly begged. “Isn’t he expecting you? Aren’t you bound to serve him?”
“Not constantly,” Léna retorted. “I am not his Binder, I am a Binder who works with him. I have, in fact, worked with the Church too. The previous Pope, Gregory IX, found me useful from time to time. If I do not return to Frederick’s camp by the time they return to Germany, he will simply leave without me. He knows I will wend my way back toward his court as opportunity arises.”
“Well then...” Ocyrhoe was trying very hard not to sound like a frightened child, but that was difficult as she felt, at that moment, exactly like a frightened child. “Could you not go back to the camp with me, just long enough to ask him to take me with him, and then you could come back here to face off with the Bear?”
Léna looked at her. Just looked. Said nothing. Did not send her any mental images or feelings. Ocyrhoe met the gaze, hoping at first that something promising would come of it. Nothing did. Ocyrhoe was left with her own fear and longing, and she understood what Léna was telling her: “It is up to me alone to find my place in the world now,” she said, very much hating this truth.
Léna’s expression softened. “You have been learning how to do that for awhile now, and you have done very well.”
“I have had my city to protect me. Outside those walls I will be as exposed as a black fly on a white wall.”
Léna gave her a sympathetic smile. “Have greater faith in your ability.”
“It is a moot point anyhow, since I have no means of leaving,” Ocyrhoe pointed out. Suddenly, captivity seemed comforting.
“You will find, in your life as a Binder,” Léna assured her, “that what you need will be offered to you, in unexpected ways and times. I do not know how you will come to leave the city, but I am confident you will. And soon.”
Orsini had gone back to his palace in disgust. He had made it very clear what he thought of Fieschi’s comportment during the recent events. It had taken every atom of restraint Fieschi had to remain composed throughout the diatribe.
The entire Vatican compound was in hysterics over the absence of the unanointed Pope. Liberated from the Bear’s oppressive blustering, Fieschi now found himself saddled with the equally irritating presence of his fellow Cardinals. They had collected together in the round chapel where the vote had first been cast. After agreeing upon this as a meeting place, they seemed unable to agree on anything else at all.
“I’m relieved for the fellow Bendrito,” Annibaldi said.
“I would do the same thing in his position,” Capocci said in agreement. “We gave him a dreadful job, and he did not want it. He has abandoned the throne of Saint Peter.”
Fieschi regarded Capocci warily, trying to ascertain the bearded Cardinal’s mind-set. His allegiances can be as tangled as his beard, he thought.
“Perhaps, the word you mean to use is abdicated,” Colonna provided.
Capocci shrugged, idly chewing on a strand of his beard, as if he couldn’t be bothered with the minutia of language.
“Regardless,” Bonaventura added, sensing an opportunity, “we should thank him for having made such a difficult decision so quickly and with such firmness of purpose.”
“We are without a Pope once again?” de Segni asked, sounding weary.
“Must we go through another round of voting?” Gil Torres nearly wailed.