‘I believe it’s a necessity. I believe now we have it, God has granted it as a shield. But only as a shield, not as a sword. We do not use it to oppress other tribes and nations. We do not wield it to steal lands and riches, or to take more than is our due. We protect. That is all.’

‘And what if one has already taken everything from me?’ she said, her gaze fixing his like a rivet. ‘You know nothing of me. You don’t know what I’ve suffered. I am no monster. But I must contend with monsters, yes. And something monstrous is what I need to overcome them.’

‘My lady, you are mistaken.’ He shook his head. ‘Here, take your gift. It is not welcome. You are not welcome.’ He pressed the dark silk into her hands. ‘Please leave.’

‘As you wish,’ she said, the taste of defeat sour in her throat. At the door, she stopped and dropped the stole on a side table. ‘Give it to your wife. It’s the least she deserves.’

Katāros watched Lilla leave from the shadow of the portico across the street. Nearby, the bells of St Stephen’s basilica tolled the doleful hour, when the grey gloom of evening thickened into night. He waited until she had passed, her head down in her hurry to reach the corner of the Grand Portico that would take her back towards the palace.

The guards posted on Nikolaos’s door stood erect but inert. He had but to show his face to them, a murmur of imperial business, and they would let him pass.

Nikolaos appeared a little shaken when he showed the high chamberlain into his reception room, which overlooked the little courtyard.

‘You seem agitated, my friend,’ Katāros said.

‘A little distracted, that is all. Oh, I forget myself. Here, let me take your cloak.’ Nikolaos came around the back of him and drew the dark woollen cloak from his shoulders, surely catching a breath of the eunuch’s perfume, worn for his benefit. Katāros possessed many scents – some masculine, others more feminine in note, wearing each as the mood took him, or else the occasion. Tonight he wore a rich, peppery oil, offering an afterthought of cardamom and saffron. It had served him well in the past.

He had taken trouble over his appearance too. Subtle outlines of kohl to enhance his eyes, his long mane of black hair combed till it shone and falling loose down his back, a deep red gown draped over one shoulder with a golden girdle and black slippers. He saw his host’s reaction, the flicker of something in his eyes, instantly suppressed. Katāros knew the man, knew his mouse of a wife. A man didn’t marry a woman like that unless he had something to hide.