My companion raised the corner of his mouth in a grim smile. "We have had Popes and Patriarchs that would make poor dim-witted Michael seem a saint by comparison. It is said that Phocus kept two Abyssinian boys as lovers, and tortured heretics for the amusement of his dinner guests. Theophilus, they say, killed two brothers and a son to get the throne. Basil has his son Leo locked in prison this very moment."

Lifting the bowl to his mouth, Justin spooned down the broth. I gaped in disbelief. "You are not eating, Aidan," he observed over the top of the bowl. "Do you not like the soup?"

"It is not for lack of an appetite that I refrain," I retorted sharply. "I am aghast at the callous way in which you defame the Holy Emperor. I am appalled at the facile way in which you repeat vilest slander. Even if the smallest crumb of what you say is true, it should move us to pray pardon and forgiveness for our fallen sovereign, rather than to repeat malicious gossip."

Justin lowered the bowl. "I have upset you. My words were ill-chosen. Forgive me, brother, it is the way we speak here. On my life, I meant no offence. I am sorry."

His contrition softened my anger, and I relented. "Perhaps I have over-stated my objection. I am a stranger here, after all. If I speak when I should listen it is for you to forgive me."

"No, you are right to remind me of my misplaced charity," replied Justin, setting aside the bowl. Retrieving the cups, he handed one to me. "Now, for the sake of this fine meal, let us put all such unpleasantness behind us and drink a health." Handing my cup to me, he said, "Let us drink to our new friendship." He raised his cup, and I raised mine. "To the friendship of Christian men!" he said.

"To Christian friendship," I said, tipping the cup to my lips.

We ate in silence for a time, sipping our wine, and dipping bread in the golden broth. I began to feel genuinely revived. Justin was just refilling our cups yet again when the owner's wife came to the table with a wooden platter bearing a roast chicken-for each of us! The platter covered the whole of the table, forcing Justin to put the cups and jar on the floor. She lay the platter before us and stood, admiring her handiwork before urging us to eat and enjoy.

"Now," said Justin lightly, "let us pay our respects to these neglected birds. It would be a sin to let this food go cold." Pulling his knife from his belt, Justin began cutting into the chicken before him, indicating that I should do the same. When I hesitated, he said, "Have you no knife?" Before I could reply, he said, "Of course not. Here, take mine." He offered his to me. "Forgive me, Aidan, I keep forgetting you are a slave."

The birds were stuffed with almonds and sweetmeat spiced with cumin and honey, and surrounded with small, leaf-wrapped parcels containing minted lambsmeat, lentils, and barley. Every mouthful, every morsel, was a revelation of wonder. Each bite was a delicacy which I, shameful to say, gobbled greedily, immersing myself in the exotic flavours. Remember, I had never tasted lemons before, and I discerned their splendid tang and aroma in most of the dishes, even the soup. I had never eaten vine leaves, nor aniseed, nor olives, nor half of the spices used in that meal.

It is my belief that I have never tasted food so sumptuous and fine, and to eat in the company of another Christian was a blessing to me. I recalled the meals at the abbey table, and rebuked myself for all the times I had felt less than charitable towards any of my brothers, especially Diarmot.

The memory put me in mind of Eire, and I felt a pang of regret for my brother monks in Kells. I missed my friends and the steady, slow-revolving wheel of the daily round. I missed hearing the psalms and prayers, and the gospel reading at the eventide meal. I missed Abbot Fraoch, and Ruadh, and Cellach; I missed the scriptorium, and the feel of a pen in my hand. And, God bless him, I missed Dugal.

Ah, mo croi, I thought, what has become of you?

"I have not eaten so well, nor in such good company since I left Kells," I told Justin when we had taken the edge from our hunger.

"I have been wondering about this," he said, "How did a priest of Ierne come to be a slave to wild barbarians?"

Thus, while picking out choice morsels from the platter before us, I told him of my sojourn among the Sea Wolves of Skania. I told him about the abbey, and my work there, and about being chosen for the pilgrimage, and the book we had made for the emperor, the cover of which he had seen this very day. "That was crafted by the brothers of Hy," I said. "The barbarians destroyed the book."

"Do you belong to a sect?"

"I am of the Cele De. The words mean Servants of God," I told him, and explained that ours was a small community of monks who lived simply, prayed continually, worked to support ourselves and maintain the abbey, and served the people of the region in various ways.

Justin attended carefully to all I said, asking questions now and then, but mostly contenting himself to listen. The wine loosened my tongue, and I talked-far more than I would have thought possible-through all that remained of the meal and on and on. When it came time to leave, Justin paid the taberna man, who bade us good night and farewell, sending us on our way with small sweet cakes to eat as we made our way home.

"But you still have not said how you came to be Harald's slave," Justin said as we started down the Mese once again. "This is a story I wish to hear."

So, as we walked the near-empty street I told him about the work of the three monasteries, making the book and its silver cover, and the unhappy pilgrimage to Constantinople. I ended saying, "I have been fortunate. At least I have arrived. I have no idea what has happened to the others. I fear the worst."

"As to that," replied Justin, "I have friends among the scholarii on the gates. I will speak to them. There is little that passes in or out of the city that the gate guards do not know. One of my cohorts may have heard something about your brothers." Turning, he lifted a hand to the Magnaura Gate standing before us. "We have come to the end of our way. Come, let us find a boat for you."

Justin spoke briefly to the guard on the gate, and the man let us through the night door. There were still a few small craft waiting at the bottom of the steps, and Justin bargained with the boatman and paid him. "He will take you to the ship. Good night, Aidan," he said, helping me into the boat.

"Thank you, Justin," I replied. "Thank you for all you have done for me this day. I will pray God rewards your kindness a thousand times over."

"Please, say no more," he answered. "I have my reward: the emperor favours me with his gold, I have bread and wine with a brother…it is a good day for me." Raising his hand in farewell, he said, "Remember, I will seek word of your friends. I should learn something in a day or two. Come see me when you can."

"How will I find you again?" I called as the boat pushed away from the quay.

"I am always at the gate," he said. "Farewell, my friend. God keep you."

"And you. Farewell, Justin."