In the between-place where waking and sleeping meet, I found myself standing in darkness. The features of the room could not be seen, but it was cool and damp, and I could hear shouts and cries of men echoing, as if at a distance, along stone corridors. The room where I stood was foul with the stink of urine and excrement, and acrid smoke.

I did not know how I came to be there, nor what sort of place it was. Nor could I recall how long I had been in this room-if room it was. But I heard the cries of men all around, and it seemed to me that I was waiting, and perhaps had been waiting a long time for someone to arrive, though why…I could not say.

I became aware of some other presence in the room. I raised my eyes and saw a man standing before me. This man was of the brown-skinned race, and stood glaring at me, his arms folded across his chest, as if offended by the sight of me.

"If you please," I ventured, "why am I here? What have I done?" As I spoke these words, it came to me that I was a captive in prison.

"Silence," replied the man. His voice was command itself. Unfolding his arms, I saw that he clutched a book-roll in his hand. He thrust this at me and said, "Read it out."

Taking the scroll, I unrolled it and began to read-though the words felt strange in my mouth, and sounded odd in my ears. I read, spilling these alien words into the darkness of the room, until the brown-skinned man shouted, "Enough!"

He then snatched the book-roll from my hands, saying, "Do you understand what you have read?"

"No, lord," I replied.

"And do you not realize where you are?" he asked.

"Of that I am far from certain," I told him. "But it seems a kind of prison. Am I a captive, then?"

The brown-skinned lord laughed at me. "A prison?" he chuckled. "Does this truly appear a prison to you?"

With that, he clapped his hands and I was no longer standing in a damp, stinking room in the dark. Indeed, I was sitting on a gold-brocaded cushion in a room larger than a hall. Ranged before me were trays of food, and I wore robes of finest silk.

"Eat," directed the man. Again, it was a command, and no kindly invitation. "Take your ease."

I reached towards the nearest tray to take up some food, for I was suddenly overcome with a powerful hunger. As I stretched my hand towards the tray, I caught sight of my wrist extending from the sleeve of my robe. The flesh of my wrist was red and scarred. I pulled back my hand and looked at it, then examined the other wrist-it was scarred as well, but I had no memory of how those scars could have come there.

I heard the sound of a horse neighing. I turned from my bewildered inspection to see another brown-skinned man sitting upon a white horse. The man was dressed in robes and turban of sky blue, and held a spear in his hand. Upon seeing me, he raised the lance, levelled it, put spurs to his mount and urged it forward.

The horse leapt to the spur and charged. Before I could move, horse and rider were hurtling down upon me. I saw the horse's nostrils flaring wide. I heard the hollow beat of fast-flying hooves upon the polished marble floor, and the stinging rip of the honed spear-head slicing through the air.

I turned and tried to run, but something held me fast, and I saw that my arms were restrained by two big men with skin the colour of ebony. Gripping me tightly, they threw me to my knees. The rider appeared before me then; his horse had disappeared and he carried not a lance, but a sword which he proceeded to heat in a brazier. He thrust the blade into the flaming coals and drew it back and forth along its length. The metal grew dull and then began to blush, and then to glow. Withdrawing the blade from the fire, he advanced to where I struggled on the floor.

He spoke a word I could not understand and one of the black men snatched a handful of my hair and yanked my head up, while the other squeezed my jaws and forced my mouth open.

It was dark now. All I could see was the glowing steel as the fiery blade swung nearer.

I could feel the heat on my face. I could hear the wispy sigh of the hot metal in the cool air.

They pulled my tongue from my mouth.

The sword rose up sharply, and hovered before falling. In that instant, I saw the face of the warrior illuminated in the dim fireglow. It was the face of the Amir, J'Amal Sadiq.

He regarded me dispassionately before commencing his stroke-no anger, no hatred, merely a grim serenity as the blade fell, severing my tongue. I screamed, and went on screaming. My mouth filled with blood.

I awoke to the echo of a shout still reverberating down the empty corridor outside my room, and the taste of blood in my mouth.

The next days were given over to the preparations for the feast with which the eparch would welcome the amir and his noblemen. There were many long and serious consultations about what the Muhammedans could or could not eat. It seemed that the Arabs would not abide pork in any form, nor shellfish-which the fish market of Trebizond excelled in supplying-nor certain kinds of vegetables. Nor did they drink wine, or ale.

These constraints occasioned endless discussion among those whose duty it was to prepare the meal. I came to know this because the eparch bade me observe in the kitchens and bring word of the arrangements as they progressed. The master of the kitchen was a sour man called Flautus, who begrudged every demand the eparch placed upon him. He went out of his way to construe offence, and grumbled prodigiously at every opportunity. In this way, he instilled in his helpers and all who laboured in the kitchens a loathing of the Arabs well before they arrived.

Why he should complain so, I was not to discover. However, Nikos recognized the quality of the man and wasted no time inflaming Flautus' animosity to the full. I learned the way of it when, having been sent to the kitchens on a minor errand, I saw Nikos talking to the kitchen master. The latter was chopping a bit of meat with a cleaver, dropping the implement with increasingly violent strokes. Upon seeing me, Nikos broke off his talk and approached me.

"Brother Aidan," he said, his tone lightly menacing, "it is good to see you taking an interest in the eparch's affairs. He does not overly burden you, I trust?"

"No, komes," I answered, "I am content."

"King Harald does not begrudge someone else the use of his servant, I suppose?"

"Jarl Harald is pleased to have me help where I can. I feel certain he would complain if it were otherwise."

"Good." He looked at me a moment, as if trying to read my thoughts. "You know, Aidan," he continued, speaking as if he were confiding an intimacy, "I have not forgotten your aid in helping bring the treacherous quaestor to justice. I have not forgotten that day."

"Nor have I."

"And I still cannot help wondering what moved you to do such a thing. It was no affair of yours certainly."

"But it was, Komes Nikos," I replied. "It was my lord Harald's affair and I serve my lord."

"And in serving your lord you gained the favour of my lord, and freedom for yourself, too. Yes?"

"But I am not free," I pointed out. "I am still a slave."

"Yet you entertain hopes of freedom, I presume."

"I do, komes," I said, and added: "It is a hope most slaves cherish."

"You are to be commended for keeping this hope alive, friend Aidan." Without raising his voice, or altering his speech in any way, his bearing had become threatening. "If I may be so bold as to suggest, I can be of help to you, priest. I enjoy a certain influence where the emperor is concerned."

"I will bear it in mind."

"I am certain that you will."

He left the kitchen then, and Flautus watched him go. When I looked at the cook, he averted his eyes and pretended not to listen. He began chopping the meat again, slamming the cleaver hard against the bone and gristle as if it were an enemy. I concluded my business there quickly, and hoped to avoid future discussions with Nikos.