Macson propped himself on his left elbow and laughed, hollow. ‘A man may ask for charity from a bishop, but he doesn’t always receive it.’

‘Besides,’ Belisarius said carefully, ‘you claimed you know me.’

‘So I do. You are Basil—’

‘Belisarius.’

‘Yes. Belisarius the east Roman. You deal in rare books from the libraries of Constantinople and Alexandria. I have worked for Theodoric before. You may not remember me - but I do you.’

Belisarius didn’t remember this man, but he had no reason to believe he was lying. ‘You are not a German.’

‘No. I was born on the other side of the estuary of the river Sabrina, in what was known as the land of the Silures, - in the days when this island was a province of Rome.’

‘You are of the wealisc.’ Welsh.

He grimaced. ‘I am British. The wealisc is what the Germans call us. It is a word that means “foreigner”. Or “slave”.’

‘Tell me what was being done to you, in that church.’

‘It was a trial,’ Macson said darkly. ‘I am a learned man, sir, as is my father, who raised me as a scholar. I worked faithfully for Theodoric in his book business for many years. But Theodoric accused me of stealing from him. So I was brought to the church, to be paraded before supporters of Theodoric’s case.’

‘And you must return in three days.’

Macson studied his hand. ‘If the wound is healing I must be innocent, for God protects the good, and I will go free. But if the wound is festering it is because of the corruption of my inner heart.’

Belisarius shook his head. ‘These Germans call themselves Christians, but such a ritual has more of the pagan about it.’

‘How true,’ Macson said. ‘And how good it is to be able to converse in a civilised tongue.’

Belisarius, a hard-nosed trader, was immune to flattery. ‘Are you a slave, Macson?’

‘No,’ Macson said fiercely. ‘My father was born a slave, from a line of six generations of slaves. But we never forgot who we are. We are descended from a British woman called Sulpicia, who was raped by a German, or possibly a Norse. Her bastard child, neither British nor German nor Norse, was given up to slavery.’

‘Six generations? That’s a long time to hold a grudge.’

‘We remembered who we were, and what had been done to us. At last my father was able to purchase his freedom. Thanks to him I am free-born - the first since Sulpicia herself.’

Belisarius, not much interested, merely nodded. ‘Then tell me this, free-born. Are you guilty?’

Macson looked him in the eyes, and evidently calculated. ‘Yes. Yes, I am guilty. Theodoric is a fat, greedy fool who cut my pay. I stole food to keep my sick father alive. In your heart, do you believe that is a crime before God?’