‘That’s something, anyway,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Are we going to present the matter of Arissa’s so-called marriage at the same time?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Dolmant replied. ‘It’s really not a significant enough thing to require the consideration of the entire Hierocracy The declarations of Arissa’s spinsterhood can come from the Patriarch of Vardenais. The alleged wedding took place in his district, and he would be the logical one to draw up the denial that it took place.’ A smile touched his ascetic face. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘he’s a friend of mine.’

‘Clever,’ Sparhawk said admiringly.

‘I rather liked it,’ Dolmant said modestly.

‘When are we going before the Hierocracy?’

‘Tomorrow morning. There’s no point in waiting. All that would do is give Annias time to alert his friends in the Basilica.’

‘Do you want me to come by here and ride to the Basilica with you?’

‘No. Let’s go in separately. Let’s not give them the slightest hint of what we’re up to.’

‘You’re very good at political chicanery, your Grace.’ Sparhawk grinned.

‘Of course I am. How do you think I got to be a patriarch? Come to the Basilica during the third hour after sunrise. That should give me time to present my report first and to answer all the questions and objections that Annias’ supporters are likely to raise.’

‘Very well, your Grace,’ Sparhawk said, rising to his feet.

‘Be careful tomorrow, Sparhawk. They’ll try to trip you up. And for God’s sake, don’t lose your temper.’

‘I’ll try to remember that.’

The following morning Sparhawk dressed carefully. His black armour gleamed, and his cape and silver surcoat had been freshly pressed. Faran had been groomed until his roan coat shone, and his hooves had been oiled to make them glossy.

‘Don’t let them back you into a corner, Sparhawk,’ Kalten warned as he and Kurik boosted the big man into his saddle. ‘Churchmen can be very devious.’

‘I’ll watch myself.’ Sparhawk gathered his reins and nudged Faran with his heels. The big roan pranced out through the chapterhouse gate and into the teeming streets of the holy city

The domed Basilica of Chyrellos dominated the entire city It was built on a low hill, and it soared towards heaven, gleaming in the wintry sun. The guards at the bronze portal admitted Sparhawk respectfully, and he dismounted before the marble stairs that led up to the great doors. He handed Faran’s reins to a monk, adjusted the strap on his shield, and then mounted the steps, his spurs ringing on the marble At the top of the stairs, an officious young churchman in a black cassock blocked his path. ‘Sir Knight,’ the young man protested, ‘you may not enter while under arms.’

‘You’re wrong, your Reverence,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Those rules don’t apply to the militant orders.’

‘I’ve never heard of any such exception.’