Swiftly and without warning, the dagger clasped tight in her hand, she would strike. The narrow blade would enter his gut-just as his own knife had pierced her beloved father's side-and de Bracineaux's imposing bulk would crumple to the floor. As he lay dying, she would stand over him and watch the light of recognition come up in his eyes only to fade as his lifeblood spilled out in a slowly deepening crimson pool.

But perhaps this was not punishment enough. Perhaps she would force him to confess his crime and beg for his life. She could see him: stripped of his robes of office, humbled, on his knees, holding up his hands to her, beseeching, wailing, pleading for mercy-before she slit his throat like a hog at the slaughter.

She lay for a while, savouring the sweet, hot tang of revenge. Lord, she prayed, the blood of a good man cries out to be avenged. You, whose judgement against the wicked is everlasting, make me the instrument of your vengeance.

And then, as the grey dawn's light began seeping in under her door, she decided to wake Rognvald. They could be on the road by sunrise, and back in Iria and under sail by evening. With favourable weather, they could be in Bilbao in a few days, and from there it was an easy ride to Vitoria, where the archbishop had told them they would find Brother Matthias.

'What if the Templars reach this Brother Matthias first?' asked Rognvald once they were on the road again.

'I cannot see how that is possible,' replied Caitriona smugly. 'We have the letter, and we know where Matthias is to be found-de Bracineaux does not.'

'No? I wonder,' mused Rognvald. 'He must have read the letter. If he read it, then he knows enough to find the monk to lead him to the treasure.'

'Bertrano said the directions were in a secret language,' protested Cait, her confidence beginning to erode.

'Secret to us, perhaps. But not to the pope and perhaps not to the Templars.' Rognvald was silent for a time, then said, 'I think we must assume the Templars are searching for the treasure as diligently as we ourselves. They may even find it before we do.'

'They will not find it first,' declared Cait.

'Can you be so certain?'

Thanks to Rognvald, a dark cloud of doubt dogged the return to Iria, and Cait begrudged every moment spent on the trail. By the time they arrived back at the ship, she was anxious to set sail immediately. But those who had remained behind had first to be collected from the town; the knights were easy to locate-a search of the waterfront inns brought them from their cups-but Abu and Alethea were more difficult to find. By the time she spotted them, Cait's anxiety had long since boiled over into desperation.

She heard a laugh that brought her up short. It was Alethea, no mistake, and Cait glanced quickly around to see her sister strolling across the town square with Abu Sharma at her side. They were talking, and Thea was laughing and swinging a cloth parcel. The mere sight of the two of them together, and Cait's anger flared to white heat. 'What in Heaven's name are you doing?' she demanded, flying at the two young people.

Alethea, smiling, oblivious to her sister's rage, glanced at Abu and laughed again. 'Oh, Cait, you have to hear this. Tell her, Abu. Tell her about the spitting monkey you saw in Damascus.'

The young man, more mindful of the elder sister's mood, wisely declined. 'Another time, perhaps,' he said, the smile evaporating from his face.

'Oh, please, Abu,' insisted Alethea blithely. 'Tell her. You will like it, Cait. It will make you laugh.'

She glared at her sister. 'I do not want to hear it,' she replied, her voice flat with menace.

'What's wrong with you-sit on a bee?' quipped Alethea.

Cait turned on Abu. 'Leave us! Get back to the ship.'

'At once, sharifah.' He ducked his head in a hurried bow and swiftly removed himself from the vicinity.

Taking her sister's arm, Cait marched the complaining Alethea to a deserted corner of the near-empty square. 'Must you always humiliate us?'

'Me!' gasped Alethea. 'What did I do? Anyway, you are the one always causing trouble all the time.'

'He is an infidell' Cait hissed. 'Can you understand that?'

'Who?' demanded the younger woman. 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Abu!' spat Cait. 'You cannot be seen going around with him like that. It is disgraceful. I forbid you to be seen with him.'

'You forbid me!' Thea charged, her voice going shrill with indignation. 'You are not my mother and father.'

'No,' snapped Cait. 'Father is dead and your mother is a world away. Like it or not, you answer to me. I will not have you behaving like a lowborn slut.'

'Abu is friendly,' countered Thea weakly; she was beginning to wither under the lash of her sister's fury. 'I like him. He is kind to me, and he makes me laugh.'

'He is a Muhammedan!' Cait's voice was a stinging slap in her sister's face. 'He is also a servant, and I will not have you consorting with him in public.'

'Who else have I to talk to?' Thea moaned, tears starting to her eyes. 'You are always rushing about, and the knights only care about drinking and fighting.'

'They do not,' said Cait, 'and anyway what they do is none of your concern.' She took Alethea's arm and squeezed hard. 'Now you listen to me. You are a lady of a noble family, and you are to keep yourself chaste and above reproach. Abu is impertinent and brazen enough as it is without you encouraging him.'

'He is not a Muhammedan,' Alethea insisted, her lip beginning to tremble as the tears started. 'He is a Druze-which is a kind of Christian. He told me.'

'He could be the Patriarch of Constantinople for all I care,' Cait snarled. 'He is still a servant, and you are not to have anything more to do with him.' She glared hard at the sniffing, unhappy Alethea. 'Do you understand?'

Her sister nodded and pushed the tears away with the heels of her hands.

'Very well,' said Cait, softening at last. 'You have made a poor beginning, but that is no reason you cannot amend your manner and conduct. See that you do.'

They walked back to the waterfront and boarded the ship. Owing to the delay, it was well after midday when Persephone slid from her mooring and out into the river. With Gines' help, however, they reached the headlands as the sun began its downward plunge to the sea. Rather than look for a place to berth for the night, Cait ordered Haemur to sail on, and they reached deep water as the sun dipped below the horizon.

'We dare not go further, my lady,' Haemur said. 'It will be dark soon.'

'Gines says there will be a full moon tonight,' Cait countered.

'That is as may be,' allowed the pilot. 'But the waters hereabouts are dangerous. We should drop anchor in the next cove and start as soon as it is light.'

Cait hesitated. The wind was fair and the weather mild, with a good moon they could be well up the coast by morning.

'Haemur is right,' said Rognvald, who had been listening to the exchange. 'Full moon or no, it would be foolhardy to try the rocks at night. Pay the fisherman to stay on, and he can show us the fastest way to Bilbao.'

Much to Haemur's relief, Cait relented and gave orders to drop anchor for the night. With a promise of double payment, she induced Gines to stay aboard and lead them to Bilbao, and at first light next morning he and Haemur began the long and tedious process of picking their way among the great rocks and tiny islands strung out along the Galician coast like so many shards of broken crockery.

Two days later, they rounded the protruding north-western hump of the Iberian Peninsula and entered the great, sweeping expanse of the Bay of Vizcaya. Each day they watched the tiny fishing villages of the coast passing one by one in slow and stately procession, glistening white against the earthy greens and browns of the Cantabrian mountains rising behind them like a dull swathe of wrinkled cloth.