I bowed dutifully. She offered her hand, and I kissed it. Padraig likewise, whereupon she said, 'Words do not exist to express a mother's gratitude for the return of her lost son.' Her Latin was very formal, and slightly stilted. 'Yet, perhaps you will allow this token to adorn the hair of a lady you love, that when you see it, you will be reminded of one whose prayers you helped to answer.'

So saying, she reached behind and retrieved from the table two small wooden boxes. She gave one to Padraig, and placed the other in my nand and bade me to open it. Inside was a brooch and pin of gold; the brooch was made of a single large blood-red ruby surrounded by a ring of tiny blue sapphires which glittered with frozen starlight. The ruby was carved with a curious symbol-what appeared to be an orb borne between the wings of an eagle; the orb was surmounted by the Greek letter chi, forming a cross in the shape of an X.

Padraig had received a band of gold, the ends of which were shaped like two bird's heads-storks, or swans, I think-and between their beaks they clutched a glowing emerald. For size and lustre, the gems were the largest and most brilliant I had ever seen.

'My mother gave these to me, and I wore them on my wedding day. I do not know if priests in your homeland are allowed to marry -I am told that some do not. But I hope you will keep these gifts for the woman who bears you a son as kind and loving as my Roupen.'

'Nothing would give me greater pleasure, my lady,' Padraig said, and thanked her with a blessing in Gaelic.

'And you, Lord Duncan,' she said, tapping the box in my hand with her finger. 'Do you have a wife?'

'Alas, no Lady Elena,' I answered simply. I did not care to disturb the memory of your blessed mother, Gait. 'One day, perhaps, God willing.'

Sydoni, standing behind Princess Elena, caught my glance as I said this; her look of frank appraisal was disconcerting in its intensity.

'Then I will pray the woman you choose will wear it always in love and happiness,' Elena said. Pointing to the symbol carved on the ruby, she said, 'It is the seal of the Royal House of Armenia, our emblem for a thousand years.'

'Your gift is overwhelming, and I thank you, but it is too much,' I demurred, withdrawing from Sydoni's glance with more difficulty than I would have imagined possible. 'I merely accompanied your son along his way.'

The noble woman's expression became condescending. 'Come now, false modesty is as unbecoming as arrogance. Roupen has told me how you twice saved his life, and have been his guardian angel every step of the way.'

I saw that it would do no good to protest further, so I bowed again and, with burning cheeks, accepted my gift as graciously as I could. To my relief, a serving-boy arrived bearing a silver tray with wine in small glass beakers. Constantine took the tray and distributed the cups to our little gathering. Taking up one himself, he said, 'Let us drink to safe journeys and glad homecomings.'

We raised our cups and drank. The wine was sweet and good, and as we drank and talked, I felt myself begin to grow more easy in my manner. Every now and then, one of the other guests would come to the high table to be introduced to Padraig and me and make our acquaintance. Most often, Roupen did the honours; when a name or face failed him, Constantine or Lady Elena obliged. At first, I tried to remember all the names and faces, but there were too many, and not only did they all look alike to me, they seemed to be related to one another in extremely complicated ways so that after awhile it was impossible to tell one from the other.

More people were coming into the hall, and the sound of the crowd soon made speech all but impossible. So, I stood uneasily beside Roupen and his mother, holding my cup and gazing out upon the milling throng. Just when I thought the hall could hold no more, the doors were closed-which made the sound inside even more deafening.

There was a movement in the crowd, and Thoros suddenly appeared, pushing his way through; Nurmal followed in his wake. They proceeded directly to the high table, and greeted the Princess and other members of the royal party waiting there. As they moved from person to person, I noticed that both men were already well into the celebratory spirit. They laughed loudly, kissing everyone and clapping them on the back, their gestures grandiose and exaggerated. In short, they looked for all the world like men who have just won a fortune on a wager, or sailors with silver in their fists who have come into port after a long sea voyage.

I was not the only one to observe their ebullient behaviour. 'The roisterers emerge from their cups at last,' remarked Constantine; he leaned close and all but shouted in my ear. 'Now the festivity can begin for the rest of us.'

This might easily have been the case-too much drink in over-eager celebration makes a man giddy, God knows-and I might have agreed: except for the fact that Padraig and I had been with them before the feast and knew that the drinking had been curtailed. Nurmal, like myself, had returned to his room, and Thoros had quit the hall before us. Certainly, the two might have met again and resumed their drinking, but I doubted this. The dull sense of dread spreading through me-like dark wine tinting clear water-told me the explanation was never so benign.

Thoros took his seat at the high table, indicating that I should sit at his right hand, and Padraig at his left. Nurmal sat beside me, and the other members of the royal party assumed their places around the board and, the instant they were seated, the entire hall convulsed in a tumultuous commotion as the guests scrambled for places at the other tables. There were far more people than places, and many were forced to stand around the perimeter of the great room looking on, and awaiting their chance to claim a place when someone else finished.

As soon as the hall quieted, an old man dressed in long black robes advanced slowly to the high table and, in a loud voice, called the gathering to prayer. Clasping his hands, he raised them before his face and, in ornately antique Greek, proceeded to entreat the Almighty to bless the realm and the faithful of his flock. My Greek is not so good as my Latin, as I say, but I caught most of it. He prayed for the souls of all gathered within the hall, and prayed for the continuance of divine guidance and protection. He prayed long, often wandering from Greek into the obscure Armenian tongue. When he finished, the doors of the hall were once again thrown open and serving-men appeared bearing platters of food.

The first platters were placed on the high table-huge joints of roast oxen and boar-and instantly the aroma brought the water to my mouth and made me realize how hungry I was. Thoros, acting as Lord of the Feast, thrust his hand into the mounded victuals before him and wrested a gobbet from the mass. 'Eat!' he called expansively. 'Eat, everyone, eat. Enjoy!'

Each hungry guest reached for what was before him, and soon the juices were running down our chins and hands as we devoured the succulent meat. My cup filled itself mysteriously, and bread likewise materialized in my hands. I took no notice of who or what caused this to happen, giving myself entirely to the food, which was excellent in every way.

Indeed, I was so preoccupied, that I did not at first mark the appearance of the black-robed man at Thoros' shoulder. I slowly became aware of the fact that he was speaking earnestly, his demeanour grave and sober-in sharp contrast to the red-faced laughing man seated beneath him. He loomed over Thoros, a dark and threatening eminence, breathing gloom with every word.

I watched as all signs of mirth slowly drained from Lord Thoros' face to be replaced by an expression so wretched and doleful as to stop the laughter in the mouths of all who beheld him. One by one, those at the high table also became aware of the swift alteration in Thoros' jovial mood, and the table fell silent.