Remembering what the sandal maker had said about Yordanus having a daughter, I glanced at her feet and saw sandals the same shade of red as that which stained the merchant's hands. 'Then this is his house,' I concluded.

'Yes. But do not think you will see him. He sees no one.'

'We have come a very great distance,' I told her. 'All the way from Antioch. Commander Renaud de Bracineaux sent us.'

A cloud of suspicion passed over her face. She stared at me for a moment. 'And who is this Commander de Bracineaux?' she asked at last.

'I had been told he was a friend of Yordanus Hippolytus.'

'He is your friend?'

It was a simple question, but I hesitated. Glancing at Padraig, who merely gazed placidly ahead, I said, 'We know Commander de Bracineaux and respect him-but we are not close friends, no.'

This admission seemed to appease her. 'You can come in,' she said, quickly adding: 'Just one of you. I will ask if my father will receive you.'

'You go, Duncan,' Padraig said. As he and Roupen sat down in the shade, the woman led me across the yard and around the pool to a wide stone-paved walk leading to the entrance to the great house. She did not pause but pushed open the large wooden door, and stepped quickly in, motioning for me to follow.

We entered the cool darkness of a vestibule dressed in marble and tiles. The only light came from a small round window high above the door; it cast a circle of illumination on the blue-tinted tile of the far wall, against which stood a row of statues-some entire human forms, others head-and-shoulders only, and all of them carved in the most wonderful pale, milk-white stone. Although I know nothing of such things, they did appear to me to be very lifelike, which I took to indicate a distinct skill on the part of their maker. That a house should own one such carving was to me a sign of taste and refinement; that this house should boast statues by the rank meant its owner possessed the wealth of a kingdom.

'Wait in there,' instructed Yordanus' daughter, pointing to the chamber beyond, 'and I will see if my father is well enough to receive guests.'

She hurried away and I wandered into the next room-a vast chamber easily more than three times larger than Murdo's great hall back home, and crammed with an assortment of tables, chairs, rugs, cushions, and other costly chattel; ornate jars, ewers, bowls, and platters were stacked carelessly on the tables and floor, and numerous ceremonial spears and halberds with braided tassels and silk bindings stood against the walls.

What I had first taken for tiles on the floor, on closer inspection turned out to be squares of fine polished wood cunningly arranged to form intricate patterns of alternating colours. The two walls at either end of the hall were painted with figures on horseback riding to the hunt of two tusked beasts, accompanied by a pack of enormous hounds. The men in the painting carried spears and small round shields, their clothing loosely flowing and brightly coloured in the manner still favoured by the potentates of the East. The expansive ceiling was tinted the colour of the midday sky.

As I say, the greater portion of the room was given to an accumulation of objects of various kinds: rugs piled in a heap, and others rolled up and tied in bundles resembling cut timber logs; great jars and bowls of bronze and copper; ceremonial weapons -swords, spears, shields, and the like; and baskets of smaller objects -cups and chalices by the score, of horn and onyx and brass. I counted seven enormous banqueting tables, each large enough to seat twenty guests with comfort, and a dozen or more smaller boards; some of these were of gilded wood, and carved with precision. There were chairs, too, some as big as thrones; I saw one or two which the Jarl of Orkneyjar would have boasted to own.

So enthralled was I with the inspection of my surroundings, I failed to discern that I was being watched.

'Take anything,' said a dry, husky voice in formal, precise Latin. 'Take as much as you can carry, just leave us in peace.'

I turned on my heel to see a gaunt, bald-headed man standing in the doorway behind me. He was tall and slope-shouldered; limp hands hung loosely at his sides. Sharp-featured, with a large, beak-like nose and narrow chin, he put me in mind of a fish-eagle. His dark, sad eyes, and the severe downward bend of his damp mouth, however, gave him the unfortunate appearance of an extremely aggrieved fish-eagle.

At first I imagined his doleful aspect resulted from the misapprehension that he had entered his home to confront a thief in the act of robbery-an error I hastened to correct. 'Pax vobiscum,' I told him. 'Pray have no fear, I am not a thief. Your daughter was good enough to admit me, and I merely await her return.'

He sniffed loudly-as if this explanation, so obviously untrue, was far beneath his lofty regard-and continued to watch me with his sad eyes. He was a taller man than he appeared; he carried himself low and hunched over as if bent inward by weight on his neck.

'In truth,' I said, trying to make him understand, 'I have been instructed to wait here.' He made no reply, but continued staring at me. 'You are Yordanus?' I ventured.

'I was,' he answered gravely. He straightened and lifted his head. 'Yordanus Hippolytus is no more.' The flesh of his neck was loose and hung in shapeless wattles, much, I noticed, like the wrinkled skin of his upper arms. 'Who might you be?'

I gave him my name, and told him that my friends and I had come to Cyprus from Antioch, and that we had been told by the commander of the Templars to seek him out and ask his aid. I hoped this would help him feel easier about my presence. I was mistaken.

'I care nothing for your troubles,' he said, turning away abruptly. 'Take whatever you want and go. Leave me in peace.'

He shuffled slowly away, leaving me to gape after him.

Dearest Caitriona, something has happened which has me shuddering with a ferment of excitement I have not felt in a very long time. An event of uncertain significance, I realize, yet I cannot bring myself to see it as anything other than a sign of great importance. It would not be the first time a lonely prisoner saw in some minute and arbitrary alteration of his bleak life the false gleam of expectation, I know. Still, my mind races and my hands sweat with anticipation.

Early this morning-the sun had not risen, and the palace was dark – the guards came for me. I was roughly roused from sleep so I had no time to prepare my departure; they would not even allow me to seal my missive to you, dear heart. Fortunately, Wazim, wakened by the noise, came padding down the corridor, and I was able to tell him what to do. Thus, I went to face my fate secure in the knowledge that whatever befell me, my labour of love would find its way to you one day.

Accordingly, I was hauled before Caliph al-Hafiz to receive my judgement. All was exactly as before. Indeed, if I had not been aware of the passage of the last few days, I might have imagined that I had left the room, turned around in the corridor and returned to find everything as I had seen it only moments before. The caliph, splendid in his snow-white turban with the peacock feathers, still sat on his golden throne beneath his palm tree, squinting with undisguised animosity as I was brought in.

I was shoved to my knees before him, and made to kiss the polished stone floor, whereupon I was jerked to my feet once more. The caliph twitched his finger, and the guards released me to stand upright in his presence. He sat for a time, gazing at me in a very hostile way and stroking his long, grey moustache, and I gazed back with as much serenity as I could summon.

'So!' he said after a time. 'They tell me you are very busy these days writing in your book.'