'I'm not staying for the next case.'

She sighed and dug in her purse, producing ten small silver coins. He thanked her and turned to pay his debts on his left, but the seat was empty.

The ushers were dragging her out. They dumped her in a chair near the doorway; as an afterthought one of them twisted a tourniquet round her wrist. Then they picked her up, one under each arm, and walked her out of the door. The spectators started to mutter; a good fight ruined by a cop-out, highly unprofessional conduct on the part of someone who was supposed to be an instructor. What sort of example was that to give the advocates of tomorrow? People started grumbling about wanting their money back, until they remembered that it had been free admission. Somehow, this seemed to make them feel more cheated than ever.

Back in his usual seat, out of the way and beside the window, Loredan poured himself a cup of strong wine and drank it down in one. His knuckles were sore, he'd done something to his right wrist and he ached all over. Damn waste of time, he said to himself, but at least it's over. It'll be good not to have that hanging over me any more.

There was always the possibility that she'd come after him again; but with only a thumb left on her right hand she wasn't going to be fencing any more, and from what he'd gathered from Alexius of her twisted motivation, killing him illegally wasn't an option as far as she was concerned. As for the Prefect and the Lord Lieutenant, he sincerely hoped that that was the end of it. He understood enough about politics to know that a not proven verdict ought to be an acceptable second best for both factions. It meant that the Prefect was neither convicted nor exonerated; that the Lord Lieutenant's people hadn't made their case, but hadn't lost face either. Both sides would want to see the issue quietly forgotten about, and him with it. Which suited him perfectly. It'd be interesting to see what effect the result would have on enrollments in his school. It could go either way, or it could have no effect at all.

A pity Athli wasn't here; it had always helped to have her to talk to after a case, someone to drink with who could be relied on not to say the wrong thing. As it was, he suspected, he'd stay here drinking until he felt ill enough to want to go home. He considered going to see Alexius - he'd certainly be interested in the outcome of this particular fight, and the Patriarch would probably quietly regulate the booze supply so that he had enough to get himself straight without getting sordidly drunk. But it didn't seem appropriate somehow, to go making social calls so soon after cutting someone's fingers off. For the rest of the day at least, he wasn't really a fit person for the head of the Order to associate with, and the news of his continued existence would surely keep till tomorrow.

So much for the clan and their much-vaunted silver solder. He poured some more wine - half a cup this time, for there was no need for him to get drunk if he didn't want to. Finish the jug, then get something to eat and go home, spend the rest of the day lying on his bed staring at the ceiling feeling bored and depressed. The perfect ending to a perfect day.

He was three-quarters of the way down the jug and making up his mind to have another when a shadow fell across him. He looked up, and recognised one of the clerks from the Prefect's Office, a short, fat young man whose name began with a B.

'There you are,' said the clerk. 'I've been looking for you everywhere.'

'Sit down,' Loredan grunted. 'Or get yourself a cup and join me.'

The clerk frowned. 'I haven't got time for that,' he said, 'and neither have you. You're to report to the Prefect at his office immediately.'

'Really?' Loredan leant back against the arm of the settle. 'Why would I want to do a thing like that?'

'Because I'm telling you to,' the clerk replied. 'And because you're still on the reserve duty list, which means you're obliged to obey the orders of your commanding officer.'

Loredan scowled. 'So sue me,' he said. 'I'm sorry, but I'm really not in the mood. And besides, why the hell would he want to see me? I'd have thought he'd have wanted me to disappear from sight.'

The clerk sighed and sat down, having first wiped spilt wine off the bench with his sleeve. 'On the contrary,' he said. 'I'll be frank with you, the Prefect's hoping to make good some of the political damage you've caused to this administration by treating today's result as a vindication. He feels that by reinstating you as Deputy Lord Lieutenant, he'll be making it clear to the city that his original assessment of you was correct, and-'

Loredan stood up. 'Tell the Prefect from me,' he said, 'thanks but no thanks. It's extremely kind of him, but I've already got a job and I don't want another one. Goodbye.'

'You seem to think you have a choice,' the clerk said. 'If you fail to report to the Prefect's Office forthwith, I shall have no alternative but to authorise your arrest as a deserter.' He grinned. 'Desertion's an offence for which you can be executed without trial in time of war. If, as you seem to believe, the Prefect wants to get rid of you, it'd be the most efficient way.'

Loredan sighed, and sat down again. 'At least can't it wait till tomorrow?' he groaned. 'I'm in no fit state to be respectful to my betters. Who knows, by this time tomorrow I might just be sufficiently bored and depressed to go along with this ludicrous charade.'

'You have your orders, Colonel,' the clerk said. 'Finish your drink if you must, and then I'll walk with you just in case you can't remember the way.'

Oh, well, Loredan said to himself. It's not as if I had anything else to do.

'After you,' he said politely.

By the time he reached home, Alexius was exhausted. The last flight of steps leading up from the great hall to the door of his chambers, represented an effort he nearly couldn't bring himself to face. The pains in his chest and arm had subsided completely and his head wasn't hurting, but he felt as if he'd just spent the last forty-eight hours down at the docks shifting sacks of grain. Something to eat, something to drink, followed by sleep.

He had kicked off his boots and was just about to lie down when the pageboy came in.

'Someone to see you,' he said. 'Another foreigner.'

Alexius swore under his breath. 'Name?' he sighed.

The pageboy looked perplexed. 'Well,' he said, 'he said his name was Loredan, but it isn't the Colonel. And, like I said, he's foreign.'

'Ah. In that case, you'd better show him up.'

And, shortly afterwards, Gorgas Loredan entered the room.

'It's all right,' he said, as Alexius waved him to a chair. 'I haven't come for my winnings. Actually, if I've understood the rules correctly, a not proven verdict makes all bets void, so we're square.'

Alexius thought of the fat woman who'd sat on his right, but didn't say anything. Gorgas stretched out in the chair, feet crossed, hands behind his head. There was, undoubtedly, a resemblance. Mostly it was in the eyes and the jaw; but fundamentally it was more a similar way of taking up space in the room rather than any markedly shared physical characteristic.

'What can I do for you?' Alexius asked mildly.

Gorgas smiled. 'How are you feeling, by the way?' he asked. 'I was afraid you were having a heart attack, back there in the courthouse.'

'Much better, thank you,' Alexius replied. 'A little tired, but that's about all. Now then, how can I help?'

'I'd like to see my brother,' Gorgas said, 'but I don't know where he lives. Since you're the nearest he's got to a friend in the city, I thought I'd come and ask you. I'm not putting you out, am I?' he added. 'If it's terribly inconvenient, I can come back later.'

Alexius shook his head. 'Not at all,' he said. 'No time like the present, and I've nothing particularly urgent to be getting on with. You'll excuse me if I don't get up, though.'

Gorgas inclined his head. 'Of course,' he said. 'But if you could let me have his address...'

Alexius wondered what to do for the best. To refuse would be embarrassing, possibly worse if Gorgas had a short temper. On the other hand, from what little he'd been able to gather, the two brothers hadn't been on speaking terms for a long time. If this was an attempt to restore diplomatic relations, he'd quite possibly be doing Loredan no good at all if he prevented Gorgas from seeing him.

Admit it, you're just curious. Curious was putting it mildly; he'd already been certain before the healing miracle in the lawcourts that Gorgas Loredan was somehow deeply involved in some aspect of the mystery he'd found himself in that night he'd tried to lay the curse. So far, he'd apparently managed to keep the disastrous consequences from hurting anybody but himself and the girl. For all he knew, Gorgas wanted his brother's address so that he could go there and kill him.

'Actually,' he said, 'I don't know where he is at the moment. For a while he was lodging at the second-city gatehouse, but he's moved out again.' There; managed that without telling an outright lie. Will that do, I wonder?

'Oh,' Gorgas replied, 'you surprise me. I was sure you'd know.'

Alexius could see his almost-lie reflected in Gorgas' eyes. Damn, he doesn't believe me. Nevertheless; he knew he'd reached his decision, and now he'd stick to it. 'I'm terribly sorry,' he said. 'If it's any help to you, I could always try and pass a message to him. I met him when we were both on the Security Council, you see; I can see if any of the other members are still in touch with him, though I must say I think it's fairly unlikely.'

'I see. Well, that's a nuisance. I'd have liked to talk to him before I leave, you see. It's been a long time - the truth is, we haven't spoken to each other for a good few years.' Gorgas Loredan yawned, covered his mouth with the back of his large, flat hand. 'I did something he's never forgiven me for, you see. I've wanted to try and put things right ever since, but I haven't had the chance till now.' His eyes were bright and steady, watching the Patriarch as if they were two advocates in a court of law. 'Perhaps if I told you about it, you'd understand why I'm so keen to see him, and that might just jog your memory.'

Alexius nodded, embarrassed that his lie had been so transparent. 'If you think it would help,' he said.

'It's not a very pleasant story,' Gorgas went on, 'and I'm afraid I'm very much the villain of the piece. I shall have to take the risk of you not wanting to help me after you've heard it.'

Alexius could feel his fingernails digging into his left palm, and wondered what was making him feel so tense. As if he didn't know. 'Your brother is indeed my friend,' he said slowly. 'In fact, I value his friendship a great deal. I would very much like to help him. If, as you say, your intention is to put right something that's been troubling him for many years, then I'll help you. If I decide it would be better if you stayed out of his life, I won't.'

'Fair enough,' said Gorgas equably. He leant forward, straightening his back and resting his fists on his knees. Alexius noticed the breadth of his shoulders and the thickness of his wrists. Bardas' big brother, in every sense of the word. But although there was undoubtedly a strong sense of menace about Gorgas Loredan - almost, at the risk of being melodramatic about it, a fierce vitality that smacked of evil - Alexius couldn't detect any malice at all directed towards Bardas, or himself. If he'd had to make a judgement then and there, he'd have to conclude that this strange, unpleasantly fascinating big man was sincerely fond of the brother he hadn't seen for so long; certainly genuinely concerned for and interested in his wellbeing. Well, why not? Even evil men sometimes love their brothers.

And whatever it was he could feel in the displacement - no, the gash - that this man made in the even flow of the principle, it wasn't evil in the sense of a purely negative, destructive force. Gorgas Loredan wasn't a nice man, he felt sure; but there was more to it than that. There was an ambivalence about him that made Alexius think of a weapon; an instrument solely intended for doing harm and damage, but equally capable of fulfilling its function for good or for evil, depending on who happened to pick it up. And then he realised, quite intuitively: this man isn't entirely his own master, although maybe he doesn't know that.

'Has Bardas told you anything about his family?' Gorgas asked.

'A little,' Alexius replied. 'I know your father was a tenant farmer.'

Gorgas nodded. 'In the Mesoge,' he said. 'Strictly speaking our farm counted as a manor because of its size, but in reality it was mostly mountain and forest; only a quarter of it was fit for anything. There were four of us, three brothers and a sister. Our mother died when I was eight; some sort of kidney infection, I think. Our sister's the eldest; she's a year older than me, and I'm two years older than Bardas; Clefas came next, a year after Bardas, and finally Zonaras.' He paused and smiled. 'Have you got that, or shall I go through it again? It isn't actually all that important.'

'Go on, please.'

Gorgas inclined his head. 'Like most of the farms in the Mesoge, it was owned by one of the old city houses; our landlords were the Ferian family. I expect you know of them. I believe they've declined rather a lot over the last few years, but back when we were children they were still a force to be reckoned with.'

'I've heard of them,' Alexius said.

'Well,' Gorgas took a deep breath, as if preparing for an effort. 'About eighteen years ago, when we were all still living on the farm, the landlord's son and a cousin of his came out for a holiday in the country. The story was that they were interested in buying racehorses, but I think it was more the case that they'd made the city a bit too warm for their own good and had to get away for a while, the way the sons of the nobility do from time to time. They soon got through their money, so they were reducing to billeting themselves on the tenants; not much fun for them, and even less for us. They were bored stiff inside a week; nothing to do all day but mope around the farmhouse with the goats, or go for long walks. They drank a lot and chivvied a few of the local girls, but they found them all a bit unappetising and stopped bothering after a bit.

'Except,' Gorgas said, frowning a little, 'for my sister. They liked her all right; she wasn't a great beauty or anything like that, but she was lively and had a sharp sense of humour, which made her a bit more like what they were used to at home. It didn't help that she thoroughly loathed and despised her husband - he was a pleasant enough man, but a peasant from his boots upwards, and they couldn't have children, which upset her. Anyway, these city boys took to hanging around her all the time. Gallas, her husband, didn't seem to mind too much; it was obvious nothing much was happening and anyway, you'd have to have run off Gallas' pigs or set fire to his beard before he'd lose his temper, or even notice. Our father and Bardas didn't like it at all, though. And I-' Gorgas turned his head away a little. 'I wanted more than anything else to get out of the Mesoge and go to the city. When those two young fools showed up, I suddenly saw a chance.'

He sat silently for a while, not moving; then, abruptly, he resumed his story. 'It was quite obvious our sister had the same idea,' he said, 'because as soon as she realised the two boys were interested in her, she started stringing them along, but without ever actually coming across; the message being, she was only too happy to play any games they liked, but only if they took her back to the city with them. Unfortunately, the two lads were too thick to see what she was doing; as far as they were concerned, she was leading them on and then mucking them about. They didn't like that; too complicated for their simple minds, and not really worth the effort. They made it clear that unless she did the right thing by them, they'd move on to the next farm up the valley. Our sister wasn't going to give in unless she got what she wanted; adultery for its own sake was never one of her vices. And all I could see was my chance of getting out of agriculture slipping away from me, unless I could sort something out quickly.

'It was the day when they announced they were leaving. Father made it perfectly obvious that he'd be delighted to see them go; likewise Bardas and Clefas, and our brother-in-law Gallas, who for once displayed a vestigial trace of backbone. Our sister flounced off looking enigmatic, and the two lads were sitting out on the porch waiting for their horses to be saddled up. As far as I was concerned, it was then or never. So I went up to them and started commiserating - obliquely, of course - about my sister's treatment of them.

'They said, plenty more where that came from, or words to that effect. I said they were quitting too easily; they'd got the signals all wrong, I told them, it was no good waiting for her to surrender gracefully like a good little pleasant girl, they had to go out and take what they wanted. I gave them the impression that that was how she always did business, and she'd been waiting for them to make their move and was just as puzzled as they were.

'They believed me, of course, and said that was a different kettle of fish entirely, and why hadn't I said anything before? Then they asked if I had any idea where she might have gone off to. Now, I knew she'd gone down to the river to do her washing, so I tried telling them how to find the place. They said they couldn't make sense of my directions, so why didn't I show them the way? That was fine by me, so off we went; me thinking that this was it, that I'd finally earned my passage out.

'There she was, just as I'd guessed. At first they tried to be nice; but when my sister realised that there was nothing in it for her she started getting stroppy, calling them names, and then when the Ferian boy tried to grab hold of her, she slugged him quite hard across the face with a stone and drew blood. That made them both lose their temper, and they stopped being nice after that.

'Well, I reckoned they could do without me, and I was making myself scarce when to my horror I saw people coming; Father and Bardas and Gallas, who'd heard screaming, and were running up with mattocks in their hands. That didn't suit me at all; the last thing I wanted was for my prospective patrons to get beaten up, or to explain exactly where they'd got their false information from. Maybe I panicked; but no, I'm being too soft on myself. I knew exactly what I was doing. I always have, all my life.

'The lads had left their horses tied up near where I was standing, and one of them had a bow and a quiver on his saddle. I grabbed these and ducked behind some rocks, and when Father and the others came running past I shot Gallas, killed him outright.

'The idea was to make them think it was an ambush by bandits and scare them off; might have worked, too - that sort of thing did happen occasionally - except that Bardas saw me and called out my name. I knew I was for it then, and there was nothing else I could do. I'd have to deal with all of them and then try and sort out a story later. So I shot Father and Bardas - I thought I'd killed them both, but I was careless - and then I went down to the river and picked off the Ferian lad. The other one - did I tell you his name? Cleras Hedin - ran for it and I was well and truly stuck then. I had to get him, but there was my sister to deal with as well. My idea was to make it look like we'd surprised the rapists at their work and there'd been a general battle, with me the only survivor. That wouldn't wash unless I polished off the lot, and now there was one halfway down the valley, and my sister standing in the river all bloody, screaming her head off at me.

'I did panic a bit then; I shot Sis, assumed I'd done the job, and then dashed off after young Hedin. There were only two arrows left by then and I missed with both of them, so in the end I had to run him down and sort him out with a lump of wood. By the time I got back, I was less than thrilled to discover that I was two corpses short; Bardas and my sister. I followed the blood back towards the house; but as soon as I came round the side of the hill I saw Clefas and Zonaras running out towards me with their own bows in their hands, and I decided to cut my losses and get out. I made it to the lads' horses, jumped up and didn't stop till I was well clear. And that's the last I ever saw of home, or any of my brothers.'

He looked up, grinning bleakly. 'I warned you, it's not a terribly nice story,' he said. 'I'm the villain of the piece, obviously enough, but none of the survivors come out of it exactly smelling of roses. Do you want me to go on?'

'You mean there's more?' Alexius said.

'Oh, yes. You're sure? Well, then. The next bit, by the way, is obviously hearsay, based on what my sister's told me since. I'm inclined to believe she's telling the truth. She's not very nice either, but I've never known her tell a deliberate lie.

'Apparently, once the dust had settled and all the bodies had been buried - actually, the Ferians were rather good about it all; they accepted the blame for the rape and set that off against the two killings, where most noble families would've had the survivors strung up without a second thought; so fair play to them - as I was saying, once everybody was buried or recovered from their wounds, Bardas started getting at our sister, saying it was all her fault for being a whore in the first place. He was upset, obviously; and since I wasn't there and the two city boys were both dead, she was the next likely candidate for a scapegoat.

'And then when it turned out she was pregnant, he really lost his cool and tried to throw her out on her ear. Well, the other two weren't having that, so Bardas flung out in a temper and went storming off to join the army. The others expected he'd be back inside a month, but apparently he was spotted by our mother's brother, Uncle Maxen, who'd been in the service all his life and had worked his way up to being General. So Bardas didn't come back after all; and that really annoyed Clefas and Zonaras, who were now having to do the work of six men just to keep the farm ticking over and pay the rent.

'They started taking it out on our sister; and Clefas always tended to make his point with the back of his hand rather than reasoned argument. She stuck it out till she was nearly due with the baby; then Clefas had a bit too much to drink one night and went for her with a knife. She didn't hang about after that; and the only place she could go was the city, where she hoped she could get something out of the dead father's people, the Hedins.' Gorgas lifted his head and looked Alexius in the eye. 'She's always been adamant that it was the Hedin lad, not young Ferian, who was the kid's father. I'm perfectly happy to take her word for it; she ought to know, after all, and, like I said, she doesn't tell lies.

'Well, the Hedin family wasn't anything like as grand as the Ferians. Nothas Hedin started off as a goldsmith, branched out into banking, and about this time was making a comfortable living. His boys knew the Ferians through racing, I think; Nothas Hedin was a miserable old devil but when it came to horses he used to spend like there was no tomorrow, and the Ferians were the same. They weren't happy about the situation but they took my sister in and told her she could stay there till the baby was born, and then they'd ship her off somewhere overseas where she'd be looked after and nobody'd have to look at her and be reminded of all the trouble she'd caused.

'I'd reached the city myself by that time, and was making a sort of living hanging around with a bunch of other lowlifes who did naughty things for money. You couldn't really call them assassins, they weren't as grand as that. We used to beat people up in dark alleys, set fire to shops, things like that. Anyway; quite by chance I found out that my sister was in town, and my first thought was that it was time for me to move on. I hadn't worried too much about the Ferians or the Hedins catching up with me for what I'd done, because of course I wasn't calling myself Gorgas Loredan, and until Sis came to town there wasn't anybody in the city who could recognise me. By that stage, though, I'd had enough of travel and adventure to last me for a while, so I hung about and waited to see what happened. I started snooping around one of the maids from the Hedin household so as to find out the news, and what I heard was that although Sis wasn't exactly pleased with me, quite reasonably enough, she was absolutely livid with Bardas, Clefas and Zonaras, and Bardas most of all. So I plucked up my courage and went to see her.

'I think she was so taken aback at seeing me that she forgot to yell bloody murder until after I'd had a chance to be reasonable; and so, after a few mutual recriminations for form's sake, we came to a sort of state of armed truce. After all, we were the only family either of us had still got, and the fact is that we'd always had a sort of special relationship back from when we were kids. I won't say it was forgive and forget exactly; but she had the baby to think of and I was feeling pretty sick about the whole business and badly wanted someone not to hate me to death, so we agreed I'd try and make it up to her as best I could, and we'd see if we couldn't find some way to make the future a degree less crappy for both of us.

'To cut a long story short; I managed to scrape a little money together - you don't want to know how - and we set off for the Island. After a bit of soul-searching Sis left the kid with the Hedin family; they were happy to bring it up as one of theirs provided Mummy promised to go away and never come back. Sis was fairly upset about it at the time, but we agreed a baby'd really get in our way, considering the line of business we planned on going into. I'll say this for my sister, once she's decided what has to be done, she doesn't let sentiment stand in her way.

So we went to the Island and set up in the moneylending racket; did very well at it, too, after a very shaky start. As to what made us turn the corner, that's another story; one that might interest you, Patriarch, some other time, because it sort of impinges on your line of work. Anyway, after a while we found we were making a go of things, our lives were settling down and somehow or other we'd managed to show all the fuck-ups a clean pair of heels; not bad going, considering. It was then that we both decided that our - what shall we call it: our mutual non-aggression pact in the face of a common enemy, namely Life? Something like that - our understanding, if you like, had more or less outlived its usefulness and it'd be in both our interests if we divvied up and went our separate ways while we were still on speaking terms. It was a good idea, I think. When you can feel a major bust-up looming ahead of you, it's not a bad idea to get out of each other's way before the stones start to fly.

'We moved all the way out to Scona and set up a proper bank, all respectable and above board. I have to admit, she's the one with the brains in our family. I'm not doing badly myself, but she's made a real success of the business, and as far as I can see she owns virtually everything and everybody on that side of the bay. Big fish and small pond, maybe; still not too dusty for a peasant's daughter from the Mesoge. And, as I remind her from time to time, if it wasn't for me she might well still be back on Gallas' farm hoeing turnips and mucking out goats. She won't admit it, but at least she doesn't throw things at me when I say it any more.'

Alexius sat very still, like a rabbit facing a snake. The sheer presence of the man was appalling and fascinating. 'And what about the child?' he said at last. 'Your sister's son, the one she left behind?'

'Daughter, actually. In fact, it's her I wanted to see Bardas about, thought I have a nasty feeling I've left it a little bit too late.' He sighed. 'I'm surprised you need to ask, actually. I'd have thought as soon as you heard the name-'

Alexius' throat became terribly dry. 'Hedin,' he said.

'They called the girl Iseutz,' Gorgas continued. 'Not the name her mother gave her, but they wanted something a bit higher class. Anyway, they brought her up with the dead boy's young brother. His name was Teofil.'

'Teofil Hedin. Iseutz Hedin.' Alexius' face crumpled in horror. 'Oh, gods, that girl-'

Gorgas nodded grimly. 'The irony is,' he said, 'she doesn't even know about Bardas and me and all the rest of it. As far as she's concerned, Bardas is the man who killed her darling uncle Teofil, the only one who ever cared for her. Grisly, isn't it? When it comes to luck, good and bad, our family strikes me as having had rather more than its fair share.'

'Oh, gods,' Alexius repeated. 'She's his niece.'

'Fortunately,' Gorgas said, 'she still is. More by luck than judgement,' he continued, shaking his head. 'It's my fault it's got this far; as soon as we found out what was going on, I raced over here, but the first I knew of this confounded fight was when I saw it posted on the courtroom door.'

Alexius wasn't quite sure what to make of any of that. He wanted to know how they'd found out, for one thing. He wanted to mention the dream he'd had during the reading of the depositions, the pains in his head, chest and arms that had come and gone away again; all manner of small points that seemed to be leading in a certain direction. He wanted to ask Gorgas if he knew two Islanders called Venart and Vetriz. He wanted to find out exactly what it was about his unnamed sister's way of doing business that might interest him because it sort of impinged on his line of work. He did none of these things.

'You said you wanted me to give Bardas a message,' he said, as neutrally as he could manage. 'What do you want me to tell him?'

'I'm not sure, really,' Gorgas confessed, scratching the side of his head. 'I suppose he ought to be told about Iseutz; who she really is, and all that. It'd have been better perhaps if he'd been told before he cut off all the fingers on her right hand; or maybe not, I don't know. Maybe if he'd known, it'd have cost him his life.' He leant forward and went on very earnestly, 'I love my brother, Patriarch. I always did. We were close; not as close as I was to my sister, but we grew up together, played together as kids. You can't help loving someone under those circumstances even if you end up hating them at the same time. If you've got a brother or a sister, maybe you understand. And I recognise that making it up to Bardas is going to be very difficult, since this whole mess is nearly all my fault; I made no bones about that from the very start, remember. I've got no illusions about myself. But I'm not an evil man, Alexius, just a man who once did some evil things. Maybe I still do, from time to time. But if there's anything I can do for my brother, I want to do it. Ideally, I'd like him to leave this city while there's still time; come back with me if he likes, or go wherever he wants. I'd gladly make sure he never wanted for money or things. I'd even try and make peace between him and my sister, though I doubt that'd ever be possible. Whatever; you've got to believe me, I certainly don't mean him any harm.'

Abruptly, he stood up. Alexius wanted to stop him leaving, but made no effort to do so. 'So what do you want me to tell him?' he repeated. 'Always supposing I can get in touch with him, which I can't guarantee.'

Gorgas licked his lips before answering. 'Tell him about the girl,' he said at last. 'He may not believe it, of course. If he does, he'll probably think I'm telling him now just to make him suffer, but there's nothing I can do about that.' He hesitated, then continued, 'Tell him I'd like there to be peace between us, if for no other reason than because he's my brother and I miss him. Tell him I love him, Patriarch Alexius. I think that more or less covers everything.'

Gorgas moved swiftly to the door, opened it and closed it behind him. When he'd gone, there was a large empty space in the room, a displacement that put Alexius in mind of the operation of the Principle and the uses it could on occasion be put to, for good or ill. He sat for a long time thinking over what he'd been told, trying to tease out of it something that would help him make sense of many things that had happened, to him and to others, over the last few months; coincidentally, since more or less the time when Temrai was known to have come to the city. He thought about Bardas Loredan lying half-dead among the bodies of his family, and remembered a dream he'd had during the emergency, in which he'd seemed to see Loredan riding through a burning camp with a torch in his hand, apparently looking for someone among the bodies of women and children; and a boy he'd somehow recognised as the young Temrai, hiding under a wagon and watching him. Behind it all there was one simple thing; he could visualise it in general terms, he could almost taste it, but it continued to elude him. He even got up and looked on a map to see where Scona was, but that didn't help particularly.

At times like this, he realised, he missed Gannadius, and he spared a thought for his absent friend, even now on the Island- On the Island, thanks to the intercession of a virtual stranger, who had seen to it that he was taken out of harm's way, along with Loredan's clerk, who had been a sort of friend and companion to him. He wondered about that, too.

All these problems, all these questions; they should have given him a headache, but they didn't. Tell him I love him, Patriarch Alexius . . . What an extraordinary thing for him to say, a man who'd killed his father and brother-in-law, tried to kill his brother and sister, in furtherance of procuring his sister's rape. He believed what Gorgas had said; no reason to assume that such a man was incapable of love, or incapable of anything. In fact, he had a shrewd idea that Gorgas was capable of pretty well anything he chose to do, one way or another. An interesting man, and no mistake.

Eventually he thought himself to sleep and had no bad dreams.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

The clan was still working hard, every man, woman and child, but more to stave off boredom than because there was much need of what they made. Bozachai, the chief smith, had undertaken to replace the traditional leather armour with coats of mail, and the metalworkers spent the day drawing thick steel wire, coiling it round mandrels and slitting the coils with a chisel to make the rings. Women and children were given the tedious job of linking the rings together; one twist of the pliers opened the split rings, which were then threaded together, each ring interlocking with two from the previous row, and twisted shut. At first Bozachai had insisted that each link be sealed by welding or brazing, but after a while it was generally agreed that it wasn't worth the effort, and they stopped bothering.

Tilchai, the chief bowyer, tried to copy the city crossbows, taking as his models a handful captured during the original cavalry raid. Where the clan's version of the weapon used a bow made of horn, wood and sinew laminated together, the city version used a steel bow, as thick as a man's thumb in the middle and tapering to fingertip-width at the ends. The experiment proved to be futile; either the steel bows snapped, or else they turned out feeble and soft, taking a set after the first few shots and failing to carry more than forty or fifty yards. Temrai tried to remember how they'd tempered the bow-steel in the arsenal, but his recollections weren't precise enough. The venture was futile anyway; the city bows were so stiff that a special wooden lever was needed to force the string back over the twin hooks of the lock, and in the time it took to do that, an archer with an ordinary bow could have loosed ten arrows and sent them straighter and further.

New problems were cropping up every day. Pasture for the herd was getting thin within safe grazing distance of the camp. A freak cold snap killed off three-quarters of the clan's bees, which meant mead was suddenly scarce, smoked meat couldn't be glazed, milk and yoghurt had to be drunk unsweetened. Saltpetre for curing meat and oak bark for tanning leather were both getting harder to find. The hunting parties had to go further afield to find deer and wildfowl, which meant more men away from the camp and more culling of the herd than was usual for the time of year. There were several minor but virulent epidemics, mostly stomach complaints; only a few died, but morale in the camp sank and didn't really recover once the outbreaks were over. The ropemakers had shaved the clan's horses until they were the next best thing to bald; but still the bowyers made bows and the carpenters made engines that were doomed to be useless for want of strings and ropes. The causeway opposite the bridgehouse had been rebuilt, in spite of naggingly accurate archery from the bridgehouse tower that had claimed the lives of over fifty men, but nobody had any idea of what to do with it.