There were also chairs for hire lined up alongside a wall beneath the overhanging boughs of a huge sycamore tree. The bearers were huddled around a small fire in the street, resting after their day's work, talking and laughing as they passed a jar around.

Alethea took one glance at the row of chairs and instantly felt the strain of having walked so far. She stopped in mid-step. 'Could we?' she said, tugging on Cait's sleeve. 'I am just exhausted.'

Cait moved on, inclined to ignore her sister's entreaty.

'Oh, Cait, please? We have been walking all day. My feet are sore.'

Caitriona hesitated. She turned back and looked at the chairs. Her vacillation was all that one of the more enterprising chair owners needed. Leaping to his feet, he hurried to where the two young women were standing. 'My friends!' he called. 'You wish to hire a chair. Mine is best,' Dark and thin, he smiled at them as he spoke in rough, rustic Greek. 'I am Philippianous. Come with me, I will show you now.'

'Very well,' said Cait, when she had examined the chair and found it satisfactory. 'How much?'

'Where you wish to go?' asked the eager Philippianous. 'You tell me that, I tell you how much.'

'Blachernae Palace.'

At this, the young man's eyes grew wide. 'You have business there tonight perhaps.'

'Yes,' said Cait. 'How much?'

'Thirty denarii,' he said, growing sly.

'Ten.'

'My lady,' complained Philippianous, 'it is getting dark. We are tired and have nothing to eat Twenty-five denarii. It is a good price.'

'Fifteen denarii-for both of us -'

'Ten apiece,' countered the chair owner.

'Very well,' relented Cait. Slipping a small leather purse from beneath her girdle, she began counting small silver coins into her hand. 'Ten apiece-to take us there and return.'

'My lady,' whined Philippianous. 'We are poor and hungry. We have had nothing to eat all day. We cannot work all night with nothing to eat.'

'Then take your rest,' replied Cait, regarding the group of bearers who were listening to the negotiation with undisguised interest. 'I am certain one of your friends would be more than happy to oblige.'

'Cait, please!' whispered Alethea, embarrassed that her sister should haggle like a fishwife over such a trivial matter.

Sensing victory, the bearer pointed to his chair. 'It is a nice chair. Very comfortable. We will take good care of you.'

'If you do well,' Cait promised, 'I will give you extra for a meal. But you must take us to the palace first.'

'Done!' The chair owner spun on his heel and clapped his hands. He called to his labourers, who rose from among the men gathered around the fire. One of them took a last gulp from the jar before passing it along, and then he and his three companions shuffled to a wide red-painted chair with a green cushion on its wooden bench seat.

Alethea nudged her sister in the ribs, and pointed at a green chair. It was newer, slightly larger, the pole rings were shiny brass, and the cushion was yellow satin. Cait nodded. 'Wait,' she said, and pointed to the green chair. 'That one.'

'My sister/ complained the owner. 'That one is very special-for the empress herself, eh?'

'If the empress wishes to hire it, we will gladly give it to her,' replied Cait, stepping into the chair. She held out the little stack of coins.

Philippianous sighed, but gave his men the nod to go ahead. Taking up two long brass-tipped wooden poles from among those leaning against the wall, they slipped them through the rings, lifted the chair, and started off. 'Enjoy your journey, my friends.'

'You come, too. I will give you an extra ten to announce us at the palace/ Cait said, adding a few more coins to the stack in her hand.

'Philippianous is at your service, empress/ said the chair owner, accepting his payment with a polite bow. The bearers moved out, and the owner ran on ahead, leading the way and clearing idlers from the path.

Alethea was instantly ecstatic. 'This is wonderful! Cait, we should travel like this everywhere,' she said, almost hugging herself.

Cait made no reply. She turned her eyes to the slowly darkening street ahead, and thought about what had been accomplished this day, and what was still to come.

'Why did you not say we were going to the palace?' asked Alethea brightly.

'Some surprises are best kept secret,' Caitriona replied.

Alethea snuggled closer, enjoying the mysteriousness of it. 'Is the royal family there?'

'No,' replied Cait. 'I have to see someone.'

'Who?'

'A man called Renaud de Bracineaux.'

It is to do with Papa's death?'

'Yes.'

Cait turned once more to her meditation on the day's events. As soon as the ship had been secured in its new berth in Bucoleon Harbour they returned to the church where Duncan was lying on his bier in the sanctuary, waiting for burial. She allowed Haemur to accompany them – more for Haemur's sake than for her own. The old sea captain had liked and admired her father very much, and it would have been a needless cruelty to have denied him the consolation of attending the burial.

So, leaving Olvir and Otti to look after the vessel, they had proceeded to the church where they were received by the abbot himself and conducted into the darkened sanctuary where burned but two tall candles, one either end of the shroud-wrapped corpse. Upon entering the chapel, Alethea had begun to cry. Once they were seated, the cleric had read a simple service for the dead, at the conclusion of which the body of their father had been taken up by the brothers and carried to a small burial ground in a portion of the garden outside the monastery scriptorium where a fresh grave had been dug in the dry, rocky earth.

After a lengthy prayer in Greek, Cait said another in Gaelic, whereupon Alethea, weeping uncontrollably now, had placed on the body a handful of summer flowers and foliage wrapped in a length of white silk. The monks lowered the body into the hole and, while the abbot read a passage from the holy scripture, the brothers slowly filled in the grave. Haemur stood with bowed head and folded hands, and both Caitriona and Alethea knelt as the monks heaped the dirt high over the bundled corpse, tamped it down, and then planted a new-made wooden cross in the mound.

The service concluded, the abbot led the little funeral party to the refectory where they were given some wine and honey cakes with raisins to refresh themselves. Afterwards, Cait delivered the monetary gift they had agreed upon – together with an additional sum for the grave to be continually maintained-whereupon the chapter's infirmarer was summoned. A stoop-shouldered man of middle age with sad dark eyes, the infirmarer presented the women with a small box made of lead; a chi-rho had been embossed in the soft metal, and the container sealed with solder.

(I thank you, brother,' Cait said, accepting the small casket from his hand. She then thanked the abbot for his care and kindness, and the three were conducted by the porter through the gates of the monastery and out into the light of a hot summer day. Cait moved out into the sun-bright street in a thoughtful mood, Haemur solemn and silent beside her.

Alethea, who had dried her tears, walked along the tree-lined streets with a buoyant step. The great tide of sorrow which surged over her unexpectedly now and again had ebbed for the time being, and she felt light-headed-as if the heavier humours had been drained off, and now she might float away on the breeze. 'It was a fine funeral,' she observed, once they were through the gate. 'Do you not think so, Cait?'

'It served a purpose.'

'You could have done better, I suppose.'

Not wishing to argue with her sister, she merely said, 'Papa wished Padraig to conduct his funeral,1

'Oh,' said Alethea. She had not thought of that. 'Of course.'