Belisarius stood up. ‘I know very little about God. I have paid for the room for the rest of the day. You should rest. Keep your wound clean, bathe it in more wine, and try not to damage the skin further.’ He turned to go.

Macson, wincing as he moved his hand, struggled to his feet. ‘Wait. Please.’

‘I have business.’

‘I know. Perhaps I can help you.’

Belisarius, used to dealing with chancers, could see that Macson, groggy with pain and opium, was nevertheless thinking fast. ‘You can buy my books at a better rate than Theodoric, can you?’

‘No, but I can take you to better customers.’

‘Who?’

‘The monks. Especially in the north and east. Some of those monasteries are remarkably rich, Belisarius, considering what an impoverished island this has always been. And as they try to stock their libraries the abbots will pay a good price for your books - that is, they will pay a good price to Theodoric, once he brings them the books he purchased from you, marking up a handsome profit in the process.’

‘And how would I reach these monks of the north?’

‘I will guide you,’ Macson wheedled. ‘The old roads are still good, in places. It is not so difficult, if you know the way.’

‘Britain is a hazardous country, of many nations—’

‘Four. The British, the Picts, the Irish, and the Germans.’

‘Even the German lands are full of squabbling minor kings; everybody knows that.’

Macson shook his head. ‘For decades much of the German country has been under the sway of Offa of Mercia. The other German kings recognise him as bretwalda, over-king. He has brought a certain brutish calm to the island.’

‘Offa’s name is known on the continent.’

‘Then you see the wisdom.’

Belisarius hesitated. What Macson said made a certain sense. Theodoric was a mere middleman, and an odious middleman at that. Would it do any harm to cut him out of the deal, just this once? Besides, he suspected there was something more than Macson was telling him - something Macson wanted out of this opportunity which had so fortuitously fallen into his lap. But what could it be?

Belisarius was naturally inquisitive and adventurous; he would never have become a trader if he hadn’t been. And now his curiosity was piqued. To see more of this strange island, cut off from the Roman world for four hundred years, might make a good chapter in his memoirs of travel.

Macson, shrewd and watchful, saw something of this inner dialogue. ‘Think of the tales you will be able to tell!’

Belisarius made an impulsive decision. ‘We will make this journey—’

Macson tried to clench his fist in triumph, but winced as his burned claw refused to respond.

‘But,’ Belisarius said heavily, ‘not for three days.’

‘The law is the Germans’, not mine!’