Now she lay and listened to the sounds of the crewmen clumping around on deck as they set about moving the ship. She remembered the day Duncan had hired the hands-two brothers from Hordaland in West Norway. The elder, called Otti, was a large, hard-working fellow, rendered simple by a fearsome blow on the skull which, although cutting short his apprenticeship as a Viking, no doubt saved his life. The younger, called Olvir, was a dark, quiet, good-natured boy a year or so older than Alethea; since the death of their parents, he had the responsibility of keeping himself and his older sibling fed, clothed, and out of trouble.

After a time, she heard a splash, followed by the clunk of the anchor on to the deck, and soon sensed a change in the slow, rhythmical rocking of the ship. They were moving. For the briefest instant, she was tempted to go back on deck and order Haemur to sail for home… but no, not yet.

Soon, but not yet.

Cait slept for a while, but rose unsettled and unrested. She washed her face again, dressed in a clean undershift and mantle, and wrapped a handsome woven girdle around her waist; into this she tucked her father's purse, filled with silver, and a slender dagger which had once belonged to her great-grandmother, and which her grandfather Murdo had carried with him on the Great Pilgrimage. She then put on a gown of exquisite thin material-dark for mourning-and chose a long scarf which she folded over the crown of her head and wrapped around her throat so that the ends hung down her back. Then she went up on to the deck to break fast and wait for Alethea to rise and join her. But her sister was already awake. Little more than half-dressed as usual, Cait noticed sourly, she wore neither hat nor shoes, but merely a sleeveless shift which exposed her slender upper arms and shoulders. She was standing at the prow, tapping her palms on the rail in an attitude of agitation.

She whirled on her sister as Caitriona approached. 'Where is Papa? What's happened?' she demanded. 'Haemur would tell me nothing. Why are they moving the ship?'

'Thea,' said Caitriona, reaching towards her sister, 'listen -'

'Haemur said he was not to come with us,' she blurted, her face suddenly blotching with colour. 'Why would he say that?'

'Come and sit with me.' Cait put her hand to the young womans arm, and started towards the covered platform before the mast.

Alethea took two steps and then pulled away. 'No! Tell me now! Why are you doing this?' Her shout made the crewmen turn from their work to look at the two women.

'Please, Alethea, this is not seemly. Now, come and -'

'Tell me!' she demanded, crossing her arms over her breast.

'Very well,' Cait snapped, losing patience. 'Papa is not coming with us because he was attacked when we were leaving the church yesterday.'

'Papa hurt? Where is he? I must go to him.'

'No.' Cait shook her head gently. 'Papa was attacked and he was killed.'

'But where is he? If he is hurt, we must go to him.'

'You are not listening, Thea -'

'You should not have left him. You should -'

'Alethea,' she said sharply, 'Father is dead. He was attacked and killed. I was with him when he died.'

'You left me behind deliberately!' the young woman shouted, tears starting to her eyes.

Stepping close, Caitriona took hold of her sister's arm and gripped it above the elbow. 'Stop it!' When Alethea did not respond, she shook her hard. 'Listen to what you are saying! If you cannot speak sensibly, shut your mouth.'

'This is your doing!' Alethea wailed. 'And now I will never see him again!'

Cait was instantly furious. 'Do you think I brought about Father's death just to spite you?' she snapped. 'For once in your life, Thea, think!'

The dark-haired young woman's face seemed to crumple inwardly. 'He cannot be dead.' The tears spilled over her long lashes and her shoulders began to shake. 'Oh, Cait, what are we going to do?' she sobbed. 'What are we going to do?'

Thea put her face in her hands and leaned into her sister's embrace. Cait put her arms around the young woman, and felt Alethea's warm tears seeping through her mantle. 'We will mourn him,' she murmured, rubbing Alethea's smooth bare shoulder as she stared dry-eyed upon the great, looming city spread out before her on its fabled hills, 'and we will see him buried.

'Then,' she added to herself, 'we will avenge him.'

'Tell me,' whined Thea, using her most irritating tone. 'I am not taking another step until you do.'

'The less you know, the less you have to remember.'

The two young women walked together along the wide avenue as a deep, wine-coloured dusk gathered around them. The street-all but deserted when they had started out-was quickly returning to life once more as the heat of the day gave way to a velvet soft evening. Everywhere, the imperial city was shaking off its languor and reviving itself in the splendid mid-summer night.

'Tell me, Cait. I want to know.'

'If I tell you,' she replied wearily, 'will you promise to keep quiet until we get there?'

'Where? Where are we going?'

'1 am not telling you a thing until you promise.'

Along the verges, meat vendors hunched over filthy black charcoal braziers which filled the air with blue smoke and the aroma of burning olive oil and roasting spices. Day labourers and wives late from the markets jostled them as they passed, hurrying home with their suppers wrapped in oiled cloth, and large, flat round loaves of bread tucked under their arms. Gangs of young men dressed in short blue tunics caroused, laughing loudly to call attention to themselves. Several caught sight of the two unescorted women and made obscene gestures with their hands which Cait saw; Thea, however, remained blissfully unaware.

Cait moved with solemn purpose, immune to the charms and curiosities around her. To Alethea, who had not ventured into the city before, everything appeared fantastic and enchanting; she had to force herself to remember that just this day they had buried their father, and that she should, as a loving daughter, assume a mournful and sombre step like her sister. But it was difficult when every few paces some strange new marvel presented itself to her easily dazzled eyes.

They passed through a street dominated by the tall, well-made houses of the wealthy, each of which boasted elaborate, carved wooden balconies – veritable outdoor rooms which overhung the street-on which the families of spice, timber, and gold merchants, ship owners, and moneychangers gathered to eat their evening meal and watch the pageant below.

Meanwhile, the inhabitants of more humble dwellings fled the close confines of dark, stuffy rooms and gathered in the streets and deserted marketplaces to exchange the news of the day. Men stood in huddled conclaves around jugs of raw country wine and nibbled green olives, spitting the pits into the air. Old women squatted in doorways, their wrinkled faces shrewd and silent, watching all around them with small, dark eyes. Dirty-faced children, clutching bits of food snatched from the table, stood stiff-legged and stared, while hungry dogs tried to cadge morsels from their hands.

Every now and then they passed a walled garden and caught a fragrance on the air-jasmine, lemon blossom, hyacinth, or sandalwood-or heard the music of pipes and lute, played to the accompaniment of the tambour, sticks, and hand drum. Although they recognized the instruments, the melodies seemed quaint and plaintive and strange to the ear, unlike anything they had heard before.

After a time, they arrived at a crossroads which formed a common square. Here, the commerce of the day was far from concluded. Women whose companionship could be obtained for the price of a meal strolled idly along, jangling the silver bracelets on their arms as an unobtrusive means of promoting their wares. Across the square, a potter had set up his wheel beside a low wall on which he presented examples of his work, and nearby stood a man with bits of painted wood dangling from strings in his hand; by pulling the strings, the carved pieces seemed to dance-much to the delight of the spectators gathered around him.