‘Ahh.’ Khassian drew in his breath as the searching fingers found another bruise. ‘You’re – ‘sbad as your – damn – thugs.’

‘Commanderie thugs,’ Korentan corrected, raising Khassian’s soiled tunic. ‘Take in a breath. And another.’

‘Whas – th’diff’rence?’ Khassian shut his eyes, wincing. ‘You’re all – ahh – th’same.’

Korentan pulled back the tunic, all his movements brisk, efficient. He seemed not to have heard the rancour in Khassian’s mumbled words.

‘Cracked ribs. They need binding.’

‘Don’t – want – your help.’ Khassian ground the words out between gritted teeth. ‘Don’t – want – your compassion – Guerrior.’

Korentan sat back on his heels. For the first time Khassian saw a look of puzzlement cloud the intense blue of his eyes.

‘Understand?’ Khassian hissed. ‘Don’t – interfere. Leave me – alone.’

There was a moment’s silence. Then Korentan stood up.

‘I’ll get the surgeon.’

Khassian lay slowly back, letting the dark enfold him. His bruises throbbed but he welcomed the pain. Pain had reawakened his anger. And he needed that anger – he had begun to slip into a mire of hopelessness and self-pity.

Now he knew for sure. There were others out there who felt the same as he did. He was not alone.

Acir found nel Macy tucking into his breakfast in the dining hall; the Governor had piled his plate with spiced sausage, coddled eggs, salt pork and fried mushrooms. Acir was hungry but found his appetite fast fading as he watched the Captain busily forking in mouthfuls of food.

‘Governor,’ he said, saluting.

‘Sit down.’ Nel Macy pointed with his fork to the place beside his.

‘The behaviour of your men last night was very remiss. Several of the Sanctuarees were brutally beaten.’

‘My men acted swiftly and efficiently,’ nel Macy said, his mouth half-full of sausage. ‘The disturbance was stopped almost before it began.’

‘Does singing constitute a disturbance?’

‘And what were they singing?’ Nel Macy speared another slice of sausage. ‘Seditious songs. Banned songs. We can’t have that, Captain Korentan. For all I know, that song could have been the signal for a mass break-out.’

‘There are other ways to calm a disturbance. The surgeon’s bound up three cases of cracked ribs, one broken collar bone and two smashed wrists. I want those Guerriors disciplined.’

‘Are you implying that I can’t control my own men?’

‘Six men are out of action, that’s six men fewer to work at the Fortress. What will the Grand Maistre say to that?’

Nel Macy’s face darkened. When he spoke, the hairs in his sandy moustache bristled. ‘Girim nel Ghislain entrusted the running of this Sanctuary to me, Captain Korentan. If you have any complaints, take them to him.’

Silence had fallen in the dining hall; Acir became aware that Guerriors and servitors alike were staring towards the officers’ table.