‘Do you actually expect me to carry this toy?’ Kalten demanded, flourishing a light rapier ‘I want a sword, not a knitting needle.’

‘Courtiers don’t carry broadswords, Kalten,’ she reminded him. She looked at him critically His doublet was bright blue, gored and inset with red satin. His hose matched the goring, and he wore soft half-boots, since no pair of the pointed shoes currently in fashion could be found to fit his huge feet. His cape was of pale pink, and his freshly curled blond hair spilled down over the collar. He also wore a broad-brimmed hat adorned with a white plume ‘You look beautiful, Kalten,’ she complimented him. ‘I think you might pass-once I rouge your cheeks.’

‘Absolutely not!’ He backed away from her.

‘Kalten,’ she said quite firmly, ‘sit down.’ She pointed at a chair and reached for a rouge pot.

‘Do I have to?’

‘Yes. Now sit.’

Kalten looked at Sparhawk. ‘If you laugh, we’re going to fight, so don’t even think about it.’

‘Me?’

Since the chapterhouse was watched at all times by the agents of the Primate Annias, Vanion came up with a suggestion that was part subterfuge and part utilitarian. ‘I need to transfer some things to the inn anyway,’ he explained. ‘Annias knows that the inn belongs to us, so we’re not giving anything away We’ll hide Kalten in the wagon bed and turn this good, honest fellow into a teamster.’ He looked pointedly at the patch-eyed, bearded Sparhawk. ‘Where on earth did you find so close a match to his real hair?’ he asked Sephrenia curiously

She smiled. ‘The next time you go into the stables, don’t look too closely at your horse’s tail.’

‘My horse?’

‘He was the only black horse in the stable, Vanion, and I didn’t take all that much, really’

‘My horse?’ he repeated, looking injured.

‘We must all make sacrifices now and then,’ she told him. ‘It’s a part of the Pandion oath, remember?’

Chapter 5

The wagon was rickety, and the horse was spavined. Sparhawk slouched on the wagon seat with the reins held negligently in one hand and apparently paying very little attention to the people in the street around him.

The wheels wobbled and creaked as the wagon jolted over a rutted place in the stone-paved street. ‘Sparhawk, do you have to hit every single bump?’ Kalten’s muffled voice came from under the boxes and bales loosely piled around him in the back of the wagon.

‘Keep quiet,’ Sparhawk muttered. Two church soldiers are coming this way.’

Kalten grumbled a few choice oaths, then fell silent.

The church soldiers wore red livery and disdainful expressions. As they walked through the crowded streets, the workmen and blue-clad merchants stepped aside for them. Sparhawk reined in his nag, stopping the wagon in the exact centre of the street so that the soldiers would be forced to go around him. ‘Morning, neighbours, ’ he greeted them.