They walked and walked, along shaded colonnades and under archways leading from one courtyard to the next. At last the building opened up into a kind of stableyard. At its centre, stripped to the waist and sweating like galley-slaves, were three men. Each held a sword, which Erlan guessed at once were blunt-edged, because two of them were putting the third through a few strokes.

The third man had broad shoulders and a barrel chest thick with black hair. But his legs were a little short for his body. Erlan watched, evaluating the man’s skill. He was probably close to forty, but still fit and lean despite his bulk. He had close-cropped curly hair, dark like most of his countrymen, and a look in his eye that said he didn’t like to lose. So this was General Arbasdos. His new master.

The blades rang several times more before Arbasdos fell back on his guard and raised a hand.

‘A drink, gentlemen,’ he gasped breathlessly. ‘Our steward’s patience is unlikely to outlast your arm.’

‘Oh, but master, you know my patience has no end,’ cried Silanos, with an obsequious bow. ‘How else could I serve you?’

‘I see you’ve returned as impertinent as ever.’ The general accepted a beaker from one of his sparring partners. He gulped it down until wine ran in crimson rivulets down his neck and onto his sweat-slick chest. His wiped his mouth and turned his eye on Erlan. ‘Well, what’s this?’

‘This is Erlan,’ said Silanos. ‘Your latest acquisition. I believe he’s from some godforsaken land in the north. He’s a warrior.’

‘He’s lame.’

‘Well – yes, but—’

‘Tell me you didn’t waste my gold on this dross.’

Silanos gave a weak smile. ‘A-heh.’

‘How much?’

‘Thirteen.’

‘Solidi?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Mother of God!’

‘And three for his sword.’

‘What! Are you mad?’

‘But you haven’t seen him fight, master.’

‘And you have?’

‘Well. . . technically, no. But the man who sold him assured me that it was really something to—’

‘That he fights with the strength of ten men? That he’s fierce as a lion?’ The general’s tone became more acid with each word.

‘Ah. Yes,’ Silanos said lamely.

‘You’re a god-damn fool, Silanos. He cheated you! What was he? A Khazar?’

‘A Greek, master.’

‘Holy saints, even worse!’

All the while, Erlan was taking in his new owner. That he was irascible was obvious from the way that he spoke, but his face was curiously benign, perhaps because of the wide-set eyes, giving him an almost fatherly expression. But then his quick, jagged movements, the impatient way he gulped at his wine, the sharp stare that came from those sad, kind eyes. It all added up into something contradictory.