"I do wonder at your words," Brynach confessed, not without compassion. "It is unlike you-unlike the man I once knew."

"I am not the man I was! That man is long since dead. But what of that? He deserved no better fate than all the rest who died along the way."

"How can you speak so, brother?" the elder monk chided gently. "God has guided and protected you through all things to now. He has showered his favour upon you. Even now he holds you in the palm of his loving hand."

I turned my face away. "Speak to Cadoc and the others of God's protection," I muttered. "Do not speak to me. Sure, I know full well how God cares for those who trust him."

My bitterness stung them, and they stared at one another in dismay. After a moment, Ddewi plucked up his courage. "Are you saying these things because you killed Nikos and now you fear to stand before the emperor once more?"

So, that was on their minds. Why not? They did not know what I knew. "Listen to me," I said sharply, "and heed me well. Put away any notion that you will receive favour from the emperor's hand. Do not be deceived: he is no God-fearing man. Nikos was acting on behalf of Leo from the beginning. What Nikos did, he did for Leo, as much as for his own insatiable ambition."

"But, Aidan," objected Dugal, "you said Leo told the truth when he said Nikos did not kill the emperor."

A great weariness drew over me. They still did not comprehend the enormity of the evil allowed to flourish in Byzantium's holy palaces. I shook my head in despair. "Think, Dugal. All of you, think! Think what it means. Leo said that Nikos did not kill his father-and that was the truth." Dugal and the others gaped at me, baffled and hurt.

"Do you still not see it?" I said, my voice lashing at their ignorance. "Emperor Basil was not Leo's father." I let this sink in for a moment, before proceeding, "This is the way of it: Michael seduced and bedded many noblewomen of his court; one of them was Basil's wife. Basil knew this; indeed, he even encouraged it because it gave him a hold over the emperor. When a son was born of the adulterous union, he used the occasion to advance himself."

"Leo is Michael's son?" wondered Brynach in amazement.

"Yes, and in exchange for keeping the boy as his own, Basil was raised to the purple and made co-sovereign. When Michael's profligacy no longer served him, Basil arranged the old emperor's murder-some say he even did the deed himself-and then claimed the throne outright. Years pass, and the unloved boy grows up determined to avenge his true father's death. To this end, Nikos was employed by Leo; to this end the wicked scheme was laid-long before we ever thought to come to Byzantium."

I could see them struggling against this hard truth.

"We should tell someone," suggested Dugal weakly. "The emperor should be made to answer for his crimes."

I did not allow them the luxury of false hope. "The emperor is sovereign of the church, and judge over all, answerable only to God himself. Who do you propose to tell? God? I tell you He already knows, and does nothing."

"We could tell the Patriarch of Constantinople," suggested Brynach, more out of desperation than hope.

"The patriarch," I said savagely, "the same who owes his appointment and continued survival to the emperor-do you think he would listen? Even if he did, the only one who could prove the truth of our accusations was Nikos, and I silenced him forever." My voice became mocking. "I killed Nikos, yet his master and protector-the very same whose commands Nikos obeyed and for whom he died-shed not a tear. It seems our Holy Emperor was only too happy to heap all the blame for the hardship and havoc his schemes have wreaked onto Nikos's bloodied head. The deaths of monks and Danes and Arabs, the murder of the eparch and the governor, and who knows how many of his own subjects-all this will now be buried with Nikos and his name.

"Oh, it was a very great service I performed for the emperor. And out of his considerable gratitude, the Wise Basileus has allowed me to keep my life."

The others stared at me, stunned.

"There can be no justice here," I concluded, grim with the hopelessness of it. "Basil was never the rightful emperor; Leo, as Michael's bastard, has a valid claim to the throne, but he, like the man who raised him, is a schemer and murderer."

The water trickling in the fountain grew loud in the silence that followed. I saw that the moon had risen and poured soft light into the many-shadowed courtyard.

"I know now what Nikos meant," Brynach said, "when he called Basil usurper." Looking at me, he asked, "What did he mean when he called you a fallen priest?"

I made no reply.

"Aidan," he said gently, "are you still one of us?"

I could not bear the hurt and sadness in their eyes any more, so I looked away when I answered. "No," I said softly. "I ceased being a priest long ago."

After a moment, Brynach said, "No one is ever far from the reach of God's swift sure hand. I will pray for you, brother."

"If you like," I replied. Brynach accepted this and did not press me further. A wave of laughter from the banqueting room washed across the courtyard just then. "You should go and enjoy the feast," I told them. "Rejoice with those who rejoice."

"Will you be joining us, Dana?" asked Dugal.

"Perhaps," I allowed. "In a little while."

They departed, leaving me to myself once more. It was only after they had gone, that I became aware of Kazimain, standing across the courtyard in the shadow of a column. She was watching me, waiting. I rose at once, but before I could go to her, she strode towards me purposefully, her jaw set, her lips firm. I had seen the look before.

"You were speaking to your kinsmen," she said, lifting her veil. "I did not wish to intrude." Glancing down, she folded her hands before her as she ordered the words she had prepared.

"You are never an intrusion, my love," I said lightly.

"Aidan, please, it is hard for me to say this." She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice had taken on a determined tone. "I shall not marry you," she said simply.

"What?"

"We will not be married, Aidan."

"Why?" I said, astonished by the abruptness of her announcement. She lowered her eyes to her folded hands. "Why are you saying this, Kazimain? Nothing has changed between us."

She shook her head slowly. "No, my love, you have changed."

Unable to answer, I merely stared at her, a cold familiar numbness spreading outward from my heart.

She raised her head and looked at me, her dark eyes grave and serious. "I am sorry, Aidan."

"Kazimain, tell me, how have I changed?"

"Need you ask?"

"I do ask," I insisted, though in my heart I knew she was right. Without knowing precisely why, I felt like a thief caught in the act of robbery, or a liar discovered in his falsehood.

"I have observed you these last many days. It is clear to me that you are no longer a man of faith."

"I am no longer a Christian, it is true," I told her, "so the difference in our beliefs need not pose any difficulty to our marriage. I love you, Kazimain."

"But it is not love we are talking about," she said gently, "it is belief. I see that you are no longer a Christian, not because you renounced your faith in the Christ, but because you have abandoned God. Having forsaken God, you no longer believe in anything. Aidan, it is forbidden for a woman of Islam to marry an infidel. To do so is death."

There was nothing but pity in her eyes as she said this; nevertheless, I felt the last small square of solid ground crumbling away beneath my feet. "But in Samarra-"

"In Samarra it was different," she said sharply; "you were different. I knew you were disappointed, but when I saw you in the mosq I thought you were a man who yet put his trust in God. I know now that you believe in nothing higher than yourself." Lowering her head, she added, half to herself, "I hoped for what cannot be."