They entered the city in triumph. Although MacKinnie sent no word ahead, the wagons loaded with grain told enough; by the time the army reached the city gates, thousands had turned out to line the streets. Hundreds more spilled outside the gates and ran emotionally to greet the soldiers. The sound of their cheering was deafening.

It took nearly an hour to march up the winding streets to the Temple’s huge courtyard. MacKinnie sent a group ahead to keep the courtyard clear of civilians, and eventually brought the troops and commissary wagons inside. “There’ll be celebration enough tonight,” he told his officers. “For the moment let’s get the men fed and give them some rest.”

“We have won a great victory,” one of the knights protested. “Now we enjoy the rewards …”

“Certainly,” MacKinnie said. “The knights are excused. But we can’t totally disperse the army. The maris seem to be leaving, true enough, but we’ll need to be able to back up my threats if any of them change their minds. There’ll be plenty of revelry right here. I’ve sent for a whole warehouse of wine. One of you go invite all the Temple soldiers who had to stay behind. They were willing to go, and they ought to share in the fun.”

He dismissed the officers, but kept Stark back. “I need the headquarters company now,” MacKinnie said.

“Yes, sir. They’re ready. It’s all planned.”

“Good. Send them in. And send a runner for those Imperial churchmen.”

“Your reverence,” MacKinnie told Casteliano, “you are now in command of this Temple.”

The Archbishop was startled. “How is this?” he demanded.

“The only military forces left in this city are a couple of hundred archers, about that many swordsmen, the knights, and my army. Most of them — including the Temple swordsmen — are getting drunk out in the courtyard. The only comparatively sober troops are my headquarters company.”

“But — what does this mean?” Laraine asked.

“It means we own the place,” MacKinnie said. “Who’s to oppose us? The knights aren’t any match for the pikemen in a street fight, and the pikes will stay loyal to me for a while at least.”

“Surely you do not expect to make war on the Temple,” Laraine protested. “We have no wish to wade in blood to the high altar.”

“It shouldn’t come to that. We’ve sent a picked force to the key points. The Temple itself is already ours. Now we’ve got to tell their ruling council and that Pope of theirs who’s in charge.”

“Would your men really fight against the Temple?” Casteliano asked.

“Most of them would,” Stark said. “Remember who we recruited. They were mostly slaves, and peasants down on their luck. And they’ve won victories under the — the Trader. They’d fight for him.”

“We’d rather not,” MacKinnie said. “It’d be hard to control the looting, and there might be fires. Civil wars are never pretty—”

“No. They are not,” Casteliano said. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And you have not yet informed the ruling council of the changed state of affairs? Good.” He turned to Laraine and Deluca. “Go quickly and get vestments. The best we have, and our most ornate trappings. Trader MacKinnie, will you lend us some of your men as attendants? And if you will have your most regal clothing brought to you that would help as well. I believe there is a way this can be done without bloodshed.”

“I hope so,” MacKinnie said. “Stark will see that you get what you need from us.”

“Excellent.” Casteliano went to the battlement and looked down at the courtyard. The guards at the gates had left their posts. Civilians, Temple swordsmen, archers, knights, commissary troops all danced in great circles, pausing only to scoop cups of wine from open barrels.

“Look there,” MacKinnie said quietly. He pointed to the wide battlemented walls above the courtyard. Grim-faced pikemen and shieldsmen stood in knots of five at all the crossings.

“I see.” Casteliano continued to stare down at the courtyard. “I also see that you brought back none of the Temple swordsmen, and not all of their archers. How did Father Sumbavu die?”

“He was killed with his men in an ambush,” MacKinnie said slowly.

“But you were not caught?”

“Sumbavu was bringing supplies back to the city. I went to his aid, but we were too late. We could avenge him, but we couldn’t save him.”

“I see. A thousand brave men, who served you well. A high price to pay for a city.”

“Damned high,” MacKinnie muttered. “God help me, there was no other way. You’ve seen those Temple fanatics. We’d have to kill every one of those soldiers before they’d let us inspect their holy relics.”

Casteliano turned from the wall. “The relics. What is your interest in those?” He inspected Nathan carefully. “Whatever your reason, you have done the Church a service, and we will not forget.”

“Thank you.”

“And now we must speak to their council. Your pardon, Trader, I must find a room where we can dress properly for the interview — and I would be most grateful if you would bring a dozen of your most loyal men.” He paused. “I doubt it will come to battle. Most of those on the council are practical men. As are we. Our demands will not be excessive, and we must be careful not to humiliate them. And of course the maris are not yet gone-”

“Precisely,” MacKinnie said.

“Thus we have reason with us,” Casteliano said. “And if that fails-”

MacKinnie gestured toward a group of pikemen on the battlements. “Then there is another argument.”

Two days later, MacKinnie begged audience with His Ultimate Holiness, Primate of all Makassar, Vicar of Christ, and Archbishop of New Rome. He was led into a small office behind the council room where Casteliano was seated in his shirtsleeves examining Temple records. The Archbishop looked up and smiled.

“It was easier than you thought, was it not?” he said.

“Yes, Your Reverence. I still find it hard to believe that we had no bloodshed. But my men remain on guard, just in case.”

“I told you there were few doctrinal differences, and these men are not only realists, but believers. If we had approached them from a Navy landing ship and demanded obedience to New Rome, we would have had to demonstrate our power, but it would have been managed. As it was, arriving in the city like beggars, they would never listen to us. How could they believe we were great lords of the True Church from the stars? But with you at our side, and your soldiers commanding their Temple, they had little choice but to listen.”

“You were highly persuasive. Your Reverence.”

“As were your actions. It was not difficult to make them see the hand of God in your victory, and His wrath in the death of Sumbavu. Did you foresee that as well?”

“No, Your Reverence.”

“It is as well. Now what may I do for you?”

“I don’t know how to begin. Yet I must have your help. I see no other way.”

“Colonel — do not be surprised, the title is commonly used by your soldiers — you hold this Temple, not me. You could depose me as easily as you created me, particularly if you supported the council against me. What is it I can do that you cannot do for yourself? Do you want to be crowned king of this city? They would do that for you.”

MacKinnie laughed. “Nothing that simple. But — but may I speak to you in confidence? Have I earned the right to ask something which, if you refuse, you will not thwart me from attempting another way?”

The Archbishop took a small strip of cloth from the table in front of him, kissed it, and placed it over his shoulders. “My son, for thousands of years the confessional has never been violated. By tradition, by the laws of God, and by the most stringent of Imperial edicts, what you tell me in confession can never be revealed. Have you something to confess?”