The next thing I knew, someone's hands were on me, shaking me awake. I sat up with a start.

'Peace,' said Sydoni, crouching beside me. 'All is well, but it is time to leave.' She rose. 'Gregior has brought you a basin of water. I will leave you to wash and dress. Join us in the great hall as soon as you are ready.'

She left and, as I scraped my scattered thoughts together, I heard her in the next room, waking the young lord with an explanation of our purpose. I stumbled to the steaming basin and washed, praising the Gifting Giver for the luxury of soap. I then dried myself quickly on the linen cloth provided, dressed, and lumbered out the door and down the long, cloistered corridor of the villa to the great hall. The sky was dark, and daybreak still somewhat distant, by my estimation.

Yawning, I joined Yordanus, Sydoni and the others already gathered inside the door of the great hall. Gregior was ambling here and there, lethargically lighting candles and throwing dark glances at his master, who scurried around the enormous room, beckoning us to follow. We caught up with him, pawing through a pile of old maps stacked high on one of the many tables in the room. 'Here! See here – this,' he pointed to a black spot in the centre of the map, 'this is Antioch. The port of Saint Symeon is here, and-' he moved his finger a fair way up a wavy line representing the coast and brought it to rest on a brown spot just below a tiered stretch of jagged sawtooth mountains, '- Anazarbus there.'

Frowning, Roupen bent down and examined the crude representation of his home.

'See here,' Yordanus continued, tracing the route to Antioch with his finger. 'Bohemond must go overland because he has no ships to carry so many men and horses and supplies.'

'Two roundships were still in the harbour at Saint Symeon when we left,' Padraig pointed out.

'It makes no difference,' asserted Yordanus with conviction. He had assumed the aspect of a man very much younger than he had shown himself to be. He became decisive and earnest, and I realized I was seeing a glimpse of the man he had once been. 'Two, you say? Two ships would not even carry enough fodder for the horses. He would need twenty, at least.

'So,' he continued, resuming his reckoning, 'Bohemond's army must go on foot. But it is far faster by way of Marionis on the coast, here.' He placed a long finger on a small spot on the coast north of Antioch. 'From there, Mamistra is easily reached on the river. See it there?' He indicated another black wavy line which was the river to another brown smudge north and a little west of the port. 'From Mamistra, it is horseback the rest of the way. With good luck and God's speed, Anazarbus is but ten days' ride from the river. Even if Prince Bohemond marshalled his troops and marched the same day you fled Antioch, you will reach the city at least four or five days ahead of the prince and his army.'

He glanced up to make certain that we all understood. 'You are frowning again, my friends. Now what is the matter?'

'We have some money with us,' I explained, 'but not enough to buy horses.'

'But I have money enough for anything,' said Yordanus, rubbing his hands enthusiastically, 'and I am going with you. Gregior, run and fetch my box.' The old trader's sudden industry was amazing; it was as if he had shed not only the dull languor and melancholy which had gripped him so tightly, but entire decades of years as well.

The sluggish servant returned with a small chest made of a dark, heavy wood. Yordanus opened the box and withdrew three leather bags, then bethought himself and took three more. 'Here,' he said, thrusting three of the bags at me, 'a man on a journey can never have enough money.'

Thanking my host for his thoughtfulness and generosity, I tied one of the purses to my belt, and gave the other two to Padraig to carry in his monk's satchel. 'With your help, we shall travel like kings,' I told him.

'Ragged kings, at best,' Yordanus said, indicating our clothes. 'Fortunately, I have something for you.' He crossed to a large chest and threw open the lid. Delving into the chest, he began tossing lengths of cloth and various garments onto the floor around him. 'Ah, here! Here!' he said at last, and brought out a long flowing garment like an overlong tunic.

Made of fine, light-weight cloth, it was the colour of the northern sea as night sweeps in from the east. There were trousers of the same cloth and colour, and new boots of soft leather, the sides of which were stitched with coloured thread in a plumed emblem. The tunic's sleeves were long and wide, but close around the wrists. The trousers were secured around the waist with a long cloth belt of woven purple strips to which hundreds of tiny bronze discs had been attached.

In all, it was the raiment of an eastern prince, and although I was impressed, I could not imagine myself wearing such a garment. 'People will think I am pretending to be an Arab,' I said. 'I will feel foolish. It would be better to stay as I am.'

'Nonsense,' said Yordanus, ignoring my objections, 'your clothes are unsuitable for the rigours of the journey ahead. Not only that, they mark you out as a stranger and an outsider. If you wish to travel swiftly without arousing unwanted interest in your affairs, you must not fly the banner of the ignorant foreigner.'

Sydoni agreed with him, and after my initial scepticism, I allowed myself to be convinced. Despite his protests that he was a monk dyed in the wool of his monastery, Padraig, too, came in for the same treatment. In the end, we changed our clothes and marvelled at the difference; I felt cooler and more comfortable instantly, and bade farewell to my tattered homespun in favour of the lighter Eastern stuff.

Only when both Padraig and I were suitably attired did Sydoni allow us to leave the house. 'I will see you as far as the harbour,' she told us.

Leaving the villa, we crossed the darkened courtyard and waited while Gregior unlocked the door, then slipped out onto the deserted road. We hurried down the hill through the new town, and continued on to old Famagusta and the quiet harbour as crimson sunrise broke in the east.

'I will speak to the harbour master directly,' Yordanus told us as we came onto the quay. 'He will know which sailors are available for hire and, of those, who can be trusted.'

'As it happens,' volunteered Padraig, 'we know our way around a ship. Count us among the sailors.'

'Splendid,' said the trader. 'The fewer who know our business, the better.'

Among the vessels riding peacefully at anchor on the tranquil crescent of blue water, there were the usual fishing boats plus a few more substantial craft used by the island traders. There were also four large ships, which I took to be of Venetian or Genoan origin. I was wrong.

Upon arriving at the wharf, Yordanus pointed to the four large ships and said, 'My beauties. Which one do you like the best?'

'The smallest,' I replied, thinking how much work it would be raising sail.

'The fastest,' suggested Padraig. The canny priest was, as usual, closer to the mark.

'That would be Persephone? the old man said, indicating the long, low vessel at the end of the line. Although painted in the Greek style-with a green hull, a slender red mast, and a rail and keel of bright yellow-the ship owed more to the ancient Roman design which had held sway in that part of the world for a thousand years or more. 'Not the smallest, but she fairly flies before the lightest breeze. With God's help and a good wind, we will be in Anazarbus before Bohemond makes the Syrian Gates.'