My own position was ambiguous. Komes Nikos had said the eparch required me to remain close at hand; beyond this, I was given nothing to do. True, I served as Harald's interpreter, but no other duties were forthcoming. It seemed to me that Nikos simply wanted me close so that he could keep an eye on me, though why he should concern himself in this way, I could not say.

Aside from the tedium, the situation suited me. I had not forgotten Justin's warning to stay far away from Nikos; on the other hand, he was possibly the only person who knew what had transpired with my brother monks during their sojourn in Constantinople and, what is more, why they left without completing the pilgrimage-that is to say, without seeing the emperor. It seemed a mystery to me, and I reckoned my best chance of solving it lay in remaining close to Nikos. Toward this end, I began searching for ways to worm myself into the proceedings.

As it happened, this was not as difficult as I first imagined. As Harald's interpreter, I was very often present when orders were given and instructions conveyed. Consequently, I chanced to see the eparch from time to time, and I never let pass an opportunity to ingratiate myself to him-not in any overt way, mind, but subtly and with some wit, so that Nikos might not find any reason to suspect me.

A word here or there, a greeting perhaps-these were my tools. Thinking that the eparch might be a devout man, I contrived to sing a verse or two of a psalm in his presence, once when it might seem as if I did not know he was nearby. Another time I contrived to be praying in the courtyard, in Latin, when he passed by. Although he said nothing, he stopped and listened for a while before continuing on his way.

Gradually, I came to his notice. I knew my work was succeeding when once I entered a room he also occupied, and his eyes shifted in my direction. A tiny gesture, indeed, but I never failed to reward his notice with a smile, or a reverent bow of my head, such as I might give any esteemed superior. It does me no credit, I fear, to say that I achieved my aim without seeming to have done anything at all. Indeed, I succeeded far better than I could have hoped.

One day, walking down the corridor to my own room, I passed the open doorway leading to the courtyard. The eparch was there and called me to him, saying, "Brother, come here."

I went to him, dutifully, as if this were my habitual function. "I call you brother," he said, "because you are, or were, a priest. Well? Am I wrong?"

"By no means, eparch," I replied respectfully.

He allowed himself a satisfied smile. "I thought so. I am rarely wrong about men. I have heard you praying, you know, and singing; you have a fine voice. I enjoy hearing you."

"You flatter me, eparch."

"What are you called?" he asked.

"My name is Aidan," I told him simply.

"Where were you born, if I may be so bold?"

I noted his fatherly tone, and told him I was born in Eire and was, for the most part, raised by monks at the monastery at Kells. "Do you know Eire?" I asked.

"Alas, no," he said. "It has not been my privilege to have travelled so far as that."

We talked awhile of these and other things, and he dismissed me to my duties. But from that day, Nicephorus began including me in various ways-slowly at first, to see how I took to the work, but with greater frequency when he saw that I enjoyed the proceedings. Very soon, I found myself acting as Nicephorus's personal servant. Indeed, the eparch took pity on my shabby appearance and bought me some new clothes: a grey cloak, breecs, and a long mantle of pale green and a siarc to go with it-plain, but all finely made and handsome for that. "The eparch would not have you mistaken for a beggar," said the servant who brought me the clothes.

Harald, already unhappy with our enforced separation, did not like this, and told me so. "It is not right. I will speak to the jarl eparch, and tell him he must get his own slave, or pay me for the use of mine."

"You must do that, of course, Jarl Harald," I agreed. "However, there might be some value in sitting so close to the eparch's chair."

He regarded me with a suspicious glare. "What do you mean?"

"The eparch is a man of authority; he has great power and influence with the emperor. A well-placed slave might learn much to his master's advantage while serving such a man," I argued.

The suggestion appealed to Harald, as it placed him at the heart of events once more. He had, by his own admission, begun finding guard duty slightly tedious, and had recently been thinking how he might make more of his position. Insofar as serving the eparch allowed me to report to the jarl items of interest he might not otherwise have learned, Harald was more than happy that my service should continue.

Nikos, however, took a rather different view. The inflection of his voice, the guarded glance of his eye, the trifling slight-indeed, in every one of a hundred tiny ways, the komes gave me to know that he thought the situation improper and unacceptable. But, since the eparch could do as he pleased, I remained privy to many of the ensuing deliberations.

In this way, I came to know the eparch very well, and to respect his deep knowledge and even deeper sagacity. Sure, I have met many intelligent men, but never one so widely read on so many diverse subjects; his learning admitted no impediment. I also found him to be an astute judge of men, as he had said-a fact which no one else seemed to appreciate.

More and more often, I found myself standing behind the eparch's chair when he met with this official delegation, or that group of merchants. Harald, as I say, tolerated my attendance at these preliminary councils, so long as I conveyed to him afterwards something to his benefit. He questioned me closely whenever we were alone, more often than not asking exceptionally perceptive questions about the various matters discussed-always paying special attention to travel routes and borders, the strength of various local tribes, and so forth.

But, I race ahead of myself. The caliph's envoy did not arrive in the city until twenty days later, and we did not meet him for seven days after that. All of which gave me a long, unobstructed view of friend Nikos; and what I saw confirmed what Justin had said of the seemingly loyal, devoted courtier: here was a ruthless and dangerous man.

The Amir J'Amal Sadiq arrived twenty days after our own landing, as I say; he approached the city on horseback, leading a retinue of noblemen, slaves, and other servants numbering well into the hundreds, along with herds of sheep, cattle, and horses. Receiving word of his approach, Nikos dispatched the imperial bodyguard to the city gate to escort the Arabs into the city.

The amir advanced at the head of his company directly to the shadow of the gate, then stopped. His was the first Arabian face I had ever seen, and it seemed to me the visage of a bird of prey: sharp featured, lordly, proud. His skin was dark brown; his eyes, hair, and beard were deepest black. He wore white: from the top of his head, wrapped in a long winding cloth called a turban, to the soles of his feet, encased in fine white leather boots. The brightness of his snow-white clothing against the darkness of his skin and hair made for a striking appearance.

The envoy did not enter the city that first day; instead, he sent a messenger to beg of the magister permission to occupy the flat land at the river's edge below the city's eastern rampart, for the Arabs would not stay within the city, but insisted on erecting their tents outside the walls. Tents, yes, but not crude skin structures stretched with rope over poles; they were as far from that as mud huts from a palace. The tents of the amir were made of cloth woven of a multitude of colours, and most had multiple rooms within.