‘This man has wasted enough of our time already. So listen all of you, and listen well.’ The general’s gaze moved menacingly among his slaves. But Erlan’s attention was gripped by something else. The hideous object trailing from the spatharios’s hand. ‘I make it my business to be generous to you all. You live in conditions many a free man would envy. In return, I expect loyalty. I expect submission. If I permit a man a cup of my wine, I don’t expect him to spit it back in my face.’ His finger rose to point at Erlan. ‘This man has mocked my kindness. So heed his lesson well.’ Kindness, thought Erlan grimly. He must have missed that part. ‘Davit.’ The spatharios trotted down the last two steps, the whip dragging behind him, scraping across the flagstones. He took his place behind Erlan. Glancing under his armpit, Erlan saw long tendrils of leather and threaded amongst them pieces of jagged metal and bone.

You will bear much pain, but you will never break. The words of the vala, spoken a lifetime ago. To another man. To Hakan. . . But Hakan was dead. So Erlan would have to bear it in his place.

The shock of it was like nothing he’d ever known. A splice of time, a swipe of the leather, a dozen metal hooks sinking into his flesh and ripping it away.

He could only gasp and gasp away the pain, his back cloaked with sudden fire. But he did not scream. He would not scream. Would not give these bastards the satisfaction. His eyes rolled madly around him and happened to alight on a column on the shaded side of the gallery above. He saw behind it, pressed against the marble, a small figure. Saw red lips curled in a curious smile, half-sneering, half-sad.

‘Again,’ said Arbasdos.

Another phantom, Erlan thought, and shut his eyes to soak up the pain.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lilla looked up.

Light splintered in from a hundred different apertures in the ceiling, filling the air, lifting her vision higher. Far above her, she saw domes and half-domes, tiers upon tiers of pillars climbing up and up in a race to reach the sky. Green and purple stone, white and black, and everywhere covering the walls, images. Images all around her, sparkling with golden iridescence and just out of reach a floating sea of candles suspended by chains from the far-off ceiling.

‘It’s like being inside the sun,’ whispered Gerutha.

‘What did Demetrios call this place?’ Lilla murmured.

‘The Holy Wisdom. It must be some kind of temple to their gods.’

‘Their god,’ corrected Lilla. ‘They worship only one.’ She had understood that much at least from the Greek.