While in the marketplace, Padraig and I had taken the opportunity to have our clothes brushed so as to present a slightly less disagreeable presence at the board. Upon entering the dining chamber, the lady offered a wash basin filled with scented water. Roupen, however, did himself a great dishonour by not only refusing the wash basin, but scowling at everyone and everything as if enduring humiliations to his dignity so intense as to be physically painful.

The lady departed, leaving us to our ablutions. We were alone only a moment when she reappeared. If not for the fact that I had just seen her, I would not have known her as the same person. Having removed the white robe, she now wore a gown of the lightest, most delicate fabric I have ever seen. What is more, the thin stuff shimmered in the candlelight, glistening with a lustre like that of moonbeams on water. It was blue as the midnight sky, and cut low over her bosom, to reveal the graceful swell of her breasts. A wide cloth belt of gold gathered the gown at her slender waist, emphasizing the curve of her hips. Her dark hair hung in loose curls over her bare shoulders.

Unexpectedly, the sight of her slender, shapely arms sent a pang of longing through me of an intensity I had not experienced since my own dear Rhona held me to her heart. It was all I could do not to stare openly at her as she invited us to sit and make ourselves comfortable, saying, 'My father has been informed of your arrival. He will join us when he is ready.'

'Your graciousness, my lady, is exceeded only by your loveliness,' I said, wishing I had something better to offer her than common flattery.

Still, she smiled at the compliment, and it came into my mind that despite her assured and forward manner, she was not as confident as she appeared. Truly, she lived in a madhouse and was likely unaccustomed to common courtesy. 'My name is Sydoni,' she told me.

'I am Duncan of Caithness,' I replied, offering her my hand in greeting. She placed her hand in mine without hesitation and, lifting it, I lightly brushed it with my lips. I then introduced her to Padraig and Roupen; I was explaining who they were and how we came to be together, when Yordanus entered the room.

Grim and tight-lipped, he acknowledged us with chilly, if not hostile, indifference and the meal commenced. Our unhappy host reclined at the head of the table with the peevish and sour disposition of a man being bent into an unbecoming shape. Full of sighs and prickly noises, he fumed and fretted, giving every sign that he wished to be anywhere else in all the world but where he found himself just now. Shameful behaviour in a host, to be sure, and it might have spoiled the evening save for the fact that I only had eyes for Sydoni, and she ignored her father's unpleasantness to the point of invisibility. Clearly, the evening was hers, and she was not about to allow anyone to ruin it.

Once we were all seated, Sydoni presented us with small bowls of peeled pears cooked in a sweet sauce, cooled, and seasoned with a spice I had never tasted before. Tangy, pungent, it gave a warm tingle to the mouth and tongue; when I asked what it was, Sydoni smiled and said, 'It is called cinnamon.'

Roupen grunted at this, as if to say it was a commonplace too drearily familiar to mention. I thought it wonderful, however, and praised it loudly. I praised the next dish also: fish roe and curds of soft new cheese with cream and flavoured with garlic and lemon, all mixed together to form a thick paste into which we dipped strips of flat bread. There was sweet wine, too, and several kinds of bread, and grapes.

When we had eaten our fill of these things, Sydoni brought out the next dish: roast quail stuffed with bread crumbs, pine nuts, and herbs. Glazed with honey, the succulent birds were done to such perfection, even Roupen begrudgingly commended the art of the cook. Before I knew it, I had eaten two of them and was reaching for a third when I saw Sydoni watching me. She smiled the proud, contented smile of a woman well satisfied with herself. It was a look I knew well; Rhona had often worn the same expression when serving me something she knew I enjoyed.

The food and wine worked their age-old magic, and gradually both Roupen and Yordanus began to grow more amiable. As the meal went on, the surly young lord became quite pleasant, and the sour old man grew sweet-tempered and convivial.

'Fill the cups!' he cried at one point, thrusting his beaker into the air. 'I want to drink the health of my new friends.' Happy to oblige, I took up the jar and poured the good red wine. Yordanus then raised his cup high and said, 'I drink to friendship, health, and peace – God's blessing on all his children.' We acclaimed this sentiment with cheers, whereupon our host said, 'May the Lord of the Feast eternally bless us with good food, good wine, and dear friends around the board -for ever and always! Amen!'

Roupen affirmed the benediction, but could not let the comment pass. 'Lord of the Feast?' he said when everyone had drunk. 'That is a title which belongs to Christ, I should have thought.'

Yordanus turned his head and regarded the young man quizzically. 'Yes?'

'Strange words from the mouth of a Copt,' Roupen observed with wine-induced carelessness.

The old man stiffened; the smile hardened on his face and his eyes narrowed.

Roupen, seeing he had offended his host, looked to me for help. But I remained silent and left him to face the consequence of his intolerance. 'I meant nothing more than that,' he offered weakly. 'Why does everyone look at me so?'

'You think Copts unworthy of salvation?' asked Yordanus, quietly bristling.

Roupen red-faced now, raised a hand in defence of his blunder. 'I meant no disresp -'

'You think because I am a Copt, I am less a Christian than you?' Yordanus challenged, growing rigid with indignation.

I made to intercede for the young man, but Padraig prevented me. 'Let him squirm,' the priest whispered. 'It will teach him a lesson.'

Yordanus stared with dull anger at the impudent young lord. 'Once,' he said, his voice growing cold, 'I would not have suffered an insult beneath the roof of my own house. But,' he lifted his bony shoulders in a shrug of heavy resignation, 'I am not the man I used to be.' He extended a long finger towards Roupen. 'It is lucky for you that I am not.'

'Father, please -' said Sydoni, reaching across to tug his sleeve.

The old man raised his hands. 'That is all I will say.' Rising to his feet, he threw down his empty cup. 'You must excuse me. I am tired. I am going to bed.'

Roupen, stricken and guilty, stammered, 'Please, sir, I am the one who should leave. And I will do so.' He jumped up from his place. 'Before I go, I will beg your pardon and ask your forgiveness for the offence I have caused. Please accept my deepest apologies.'

He spoke with such contrition that Yordanus, urged by the silent entreaty of his daughter, grudgingly relented. 'Oh, very well,' the old man said. 'Sit down, young man. Sit down. There is no harm done.' He sighed, and forced a sad smile. Flapping a hand at the young lord, he said, 'Come, sit down. We will put this unfortunate misunderstanding behind us.'

Reluctantly, Roupen lowered himself to his place once more. Yordanus gazed at him for a moment. 'For more than thirty generations,' the old man said, thrusting his finger skyward, 'the House of Hippolytus has been a Christian house-before Byzantium, before Rome, before the Gospel of Christ was proclaimed in the streets of Athens, we were Christians.'

'An ancestry to glory in,' Padraig remarked. 'If every family could claim such long obedience, this world would not labour under so great a weight of faithlessness and falsehood.'

'Indeed, sir,' said Yordanus proudly. 'When the followers of The Way were thrown out of the High Temple at Jerusalem where they were meeting in those days, my ancestors were there. On the day that the Blessed Stephen was put to death, my ancestors carried his poor, battered corpse to the tomb. When the persecution began, the infant church scattered-north, south, east, west-wherever they hoped to escape the terrible oppression of the mob, and the tyranny of the temple leaders.'