'Most certainly, gracious lady.' He reached for the coin eagerly.

She snatched it back. 'I beg your pardon?'

A sly smile appeared on his face. 'Is someone speaking? I see no one here.'

She let the coin slip through her fingers. 'Excuse me, I think you must have dropped something.'

'How clumsy of me,' replied Philippianous, bending to retrieve the coin. When he straightened, the two women were already hurrying away.

Cait and Alethea moved quickly towards the ship Persephone at the end of the wharf, ignoring the shouted pleas and propositions their presence provoked. Once aboard, they were met by Haemur. 'Thank God you are safe,' he said, hurrying from his place at the stern. 'It grew dark, and when you did not return, I feared something ill had befallen you.'

Cait thanked the pilot for his concern, and said, 'We are perfectly well, as you see. But now, I want you to wake Otti and Olvir, and move the ship away from the wharf and into the bay.'

'Now?' Haemur thrust out his hands. 'But, my lady, it is too dark. We cannot -'

'Enough, Haemur.' Cait stopped him with an upraised hand. 'I would not insist if it was not important.'

With that, she went to the brass lamp hanging from a hook on the mast, lit a candle from the basket on the deck, and proceeded to her quarters below, leaving an unhappy pilot staring after her.

'I am sorry, Haemur,' Alethea offered sympathetically. 'You had best do as she says, or there will be the devil to pay.'

'Very well,' replied the seaman. He hurried off to rouse his crew, and Alethea joined her sister in their quarters.

'You could try to be a little more -' she began, and then stopped as she saw Cait bring out the folded parchment from beneath her girdle. 'Where did you get that?' she asked, then guessed. 'You stole it!'

'Hush!' Cait snapped. Opening the letter, she sat down on the edge of the box bed to read it.

Alethea watched her sister for a moment; then, indignation overcome by curiosity, she joined her on the bed. 'What is it? What does it say?'

Cait ignored her and continued to read silently to herself. When she finished, she looked up from the page. Thea, do you know what this is?'

'How can I? You tell me nothing.'

Cait made no reply. She was reading the document again.

'Well?' demanded Thea after a moment. 'What does it say?'

'They have found a very great treasure -'

'Who?'

'The greatest treasure in the world-that is what he says.'

'Who says? Who wrote it?'

'A cleric called Bertrano. He calls it the Rosa Mystica.'

'The Mystic Rose?' mused Thea, none the wiser. 'What does that mean?'

Cait shook her head, scanning the document again. 'He says only that it is beyond price-see?' She pointed to the letters in the tight Latin uncials of the scriptorium, and read out the words: '… that which is beyond all price, the treasure of the ages, our very real and manifest hope for this present age and the kingdom to come, the Mystic Rose.'

Thea shrugged.

'Obviously, it is a name employed to conceal the true nature of the treasure.'

'And this letter tells where to find it?'

'It does – I think.' She pointed to the portion of the document written in a different language. 'I cannot read the rest, but I think it must tell where the treasure is to be found.'

The younger woman regarded her sister suspiciously. 'Why did we go to the palace tonight? And do not say it was to steal this letter, because you did not even know it was there.'

Cait stood and began folding the letter carefully.

'You are going to have to tell me sooner or later,' Thea pointed out. 'You might as well tell me now.'

'We must hide this where no one can find it.'

'Cait,' said Alethea, adopting a disagreeable whine, 'tell me-why did we go to the palace?'

Cait sat down again. Placing the parchment square on her knees, she held it in both hands as if she was afraid it might unfold itself and fly away. 'Listen carefully. I will say this but once. We went there to confront Father's murderer and hold him to justice.' She gazed steadily at Alethea and added, 'I was going to kill him.'

Alethea gaped in amazement at her sister's audacity. 'The knife… It is true-you were going to stab him…' Her voice trailed off as the full impact of her sister's ruthlessness broke upon her. 'Oh, Cait -'

'Renaud de Bracineaux murdered our father,' she continued. 'Papa named him before he died. The magistrate refused to accept the word of a woman; he refused to do anything-so I had to do it myself.'

'Oh, Cait,' Thea whispered, her voice made small by the magnitude of her sister's cold-blooded confession. 'God help us.'

Caitriona gazed down at the document she held in her lap. 'I think,' she said, 'he already has.'

'Is that the one?' demanded Renaud de Bracineaux, squinting at the rank of hire chairs across the square.

'It is, my lord commander,' answered the porter of Blachernae Palace. 'He comes to the palace sometimes.'

'Bring him here.' The commander sat on his horse in the middle of the street, sweating in the bright sunlight. His head hurt from last night's wine, and he felt bilious from too much rich food. Baron Felix d'Anjou, he thought-and not for the first time-was a profligate toad and his usefulness was swiftly coming to an end.

Also, the sooner he had his hand on the thieving bitch who had stolen his letter, the better he would feel.

He had not discovered the theft until this morning when he rose and went to wash himself. Passing the table, he had noticed the square of parchment was missing. He had summoned Gislebert at once. 'The letter,' he said pointing to the table. 'What happened to it?'

'I thought you put it away.'

'If I had put it away, would I be asking you what happened to it? Think, man!'

'That serving girl last night -' Gislebert began.

'Oh, very good, sergeant,' roared the commander, pushing Gislebert towards the door. 'Instead of standing like a lump of ripe cheese, go and find her.'

Gislebert had scurried off and returned a short while later with word that although no one knew the servant in question, the porter had seen two women arrive in a hired chair. 'He says the chair came from Tzimisces Square-not far from here,' the sergeant reported. 'He has seen it before.'

'Have horses readied,' barked de Bracineaux. 'We are going to get that letter back.'

'What of the porter?' asked Gislebert. 'He is waiting outside.'

'Bring him with us."

Now he sat sweltering in the saddle, and watched the porcine gateman waddle across the square, leading a slender young Greek with the air of a jovial pirate. These people, these Greeks-a supremely deceitful race, thought De Bracineaux darkly, natural-born thieves and cut-throats each and every one. The easy, carefree grace of the young man-the insufferable indifference of his long, loping stride, and the subtle expression of superiority on his swarthy features filled the commander with a rank and bitter loathing. It seems, he decided, an example is in order here.

The thought made him feel better. Perhaps all was not lost. After all, the thief could not possibly know what it was she had taken, could not possibly imagine its unrivalled importance, its inestimable value. It had been the rash act of an ignorant and opportunistic slut, and she would pay for her impudence-he would see to that. First, however, he would teach the sly young Greek a lesson he would never forget.

'Do you recognize him?' grunted the sergeant as the porter trundled nearer.

'I have seen him before. He is the one.'

'Greetings, my lord, a splendid day for a ride in a chair. Where would you like to go?'

'Shut up, you,' said Gislebert sharply. 'You will speak when spoken to – understand?'