The stark facts in front of him told him that Gualtier Tomasin had been a claveciniste and repetiteur at the Opera. He was also the composer of several ‘degenerate works of music, written in an uncompromising style wholly unsuited to the needs of the new regime in Bel’Esstar’.

‘I see that you have been brought here regularly for spiritual counselling since your arrival.’

A tremor animated the man’s lips, the twisted parody of a smile.

‘So what is it to be this week? Another letter from my wife? Our son is sick, she has no more money for medicine, no money for food. If only I would overcome my pride and do as the Commanderie wish…’

‘There are no letters,’ Acir said, searching the folder.

‘Oh, so that’s the tactic now? Leave me wondering why, what’s become of them? You won’t break me that way, confrère. I’ve listened to your Commanderie fabrications for too long.’

Acir did not respond. Shame had tied his tongue. Nothing he said would change Gualtier Tomasin’s view of the Commanderie – but what Gualtier Tomasin had said revealed a great deal about the Guerriors in the Sanctuary.

He closed the folder.

‘You call yourselves men of god. What kind of a god has priests who starve and torture their charges? Who imprison a man for stringing together a few notes of music in the wrong style? Your god couldn’t give a fig about my music.’ Tomasin’s thin face was twisted with anger. ‘Surely gods have better things to do than concern themselves with such petty issues? Surely –’

The door was flung open and the Guerriors ran in, seizing hold of the musician, pinning his arms behind his back.

‘No, no!’ shouted Tomasin. He went on shouting as they wrestled him to the floor.

Acir rose to his feet, furious.

‘Who summoned you?’

‘Sanctuaree’s out of control. Governor’s orders – to intervene.’

One flung open the small door beyond Acir’s table.

‘Not the inner chamber! Not the inner chamber!’ screamed Tomasin hoarsely.

They bundled him into the lightless room and slammed the door shut. Tomasin beat on the door with his fists, still screaming.

‘Governor’s orders!’ repeated Acir coldly above his screams. ‘What about my orders?’

‘This one’s a trouble-maker. He stirs the others up.’

‘Because he has been maltreated. Locked and left in the dark. Beaten. Now take him out of there before he has a fit.’

The Guerriors looked at each other.

‘The Governor won’t like it.’

‘The Governor can bring his complaint to me. Get him out of there.’

They unlocked the door and Tomasin fell out on to his knees. He looked up at Acir and his bloodshot eyes narrowed.

‘You won’t break me this way. They’ve tried that trick too. You’ll never break me.’

The Fortress of Faith towered above Acir Korentan.