But he could learn no more. He tensed with the effort of disentangling himself from that instant of terror, reeling slightly on the prie-dieu as he slipped at last from his trance. Duncan felt him waver and cast him a furtive glance as he tried to remain unobtrusive.

“Alaric, are you all right?” he asked. His blue eyes said, Are you playing, or is this for real?

Morgan swallowed and shook his head, trying to regain his equilibrium, but his recent exertions, coupled with his recent fast, really had addled his wits. Given time, he could recover, he knew; but here, surrounded by men who were already predisposed to suspicion, he was altogether vulnerable. He sat back on his hunkers and groped blindly for the support of Duncan’s arm as his senses reeled again, knowing he would not be able to stay conscious much longer.

Duncan glanced at the bishops, several of whom were staring in their direction, then leaned closer to Morgan’s ear.

“They’ve noticed, Alaric. If you really need help, tell me. The bishops are—uh-oh, Cardiel has stopped the Mass. He’s coming this way.”

“Take over, then,” Morgan whispered, closing his eyes and swaying again. “I really am going to pass out.” He swallowed. “Be caref…”

His whisper trailed off in mid-syllable as he crumpled against Duncan’s shoulder and went limp. Duncan eased him to the floor and felt his forehead, then looked up to see Cardiel, Arilan, and two of the other bishops staring down at them in various attitudes of concern. He must divert their attention as quickly as he could.

“It’s the fasting; he’s not accustomed to it,” he said, bending over the unconscious man to loosen his collar. “Can someone please bring him some wine? He needs nourishment.”

A monk was dispatched to fetch the wine, and Duncan ventured a quick, clandestine probe of Morgan’s mind. Morgan really had fainted; there was no doubt about that now. His face was pale, his pulse rapid and ragged, his breathing shallow. Duncan knew he would eventually come around of his own accord, none the worse for the experience, but he dared not prolong this scene any longer than necessary. Cardiel had crouched beside him, also reaching out to touch Morgan’s wrist, Arilan and another of the bishops behind him. And several of the barons and generals and warlords nearest the chancel had left their places to stand uncertainly in the aisle, some fingering the hilts of swords and daggers suspiciously. These men must be reassured, and at once, or there would be trouble.

With a look of concern that was not entirely feigned, Duncan took Morgan’s head between his hands, thumbs massaging at the temples, at the same time silently applying the Deryni spell to banish fatigue. He felt Morgan’s stirring in his mind long before the slack body moved slightly.

Then Morgan gave a low moan and rolled his head to one side, eyelids fluttering as consciousness returned. A monk knelt with a hanaper of wine, and Duncan lifted his cousin’s head against his knee to bring the wine to his lips. Morgan’s eyes slowly opened.