“It could be tomorrow,” he said. “I think this is what I was meant to do, and everything has been preparing for this.” He watched her a moment. “I don’t have time to hold a grand review. I need to tell Julius to copy out orders and cancel it. It’s a waste of time; vainglory.”

“Unless it is an important moment for building unity and good morale,” Blanche said. She obviously felt better; she polished off her morning drink with relish, put the cup outside the bed hangings, and rolled over toward him.

“I take your point,” he said. “But fifty thousand men; it’ll take four hours to get them on parade and four hours for them to file off. They could be . . .” He paused, because she moved closer.

“Shut up,” she said.

A surprising amount of time later, she leaned over him, her hair all around him. “They want to see you,” she said. “It’s not vainglory. It’s monarchy. Also, cancelling will start a lot of rumours. And it will keep everyone’s mind off . . . tomorrow.”

“I know what would keep my mind off tomorrow,” Gabriel said. He lifted his real hand and ran the calloused palm lightly across one of her nipples.

“Why, kind sir, what can you mean?” she asked.

He had new arming clothes. They were scarlet, dyed with the bodies of a type of small beetle found only in the east. Beautifully cut, carefully and lightly padded, they fit him like a second skin.

But in the way of tailors, some of the lacing points were in the wrong places for his new golden armour, and the solar was suddenly full of men and women. The grand review was less than an hour away, and Gabriel stood in his shirt and braes, drinking fennel tea and being besotted with his wife while she and Kaitlin and Gropf and her new maid Beatrice sat working eyelets through layers of linen and scarlet wool and velvet.

Master Julius brought him a stack of messages. The room was emptier than usual; most of his officers were out on the field of Arles, moving troops. Michael came and stood reading over his shoulder.

Master Julius was grinning from ear to ear.

Michael and Gabriel whooped together. “Master Smythe is alive,” the emperor said. “It is confirmed.”

Blanche looked up. “The queen will be so pleased,” she said.

Gabriel nodded. “MacGilly, fetch me Magister Mortirmir.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” MacGilly said, and he went out.

“I need more red silk twist,” Blanche said.

Beatrice rose, but Kaitlin waved her off. “I’ll go; I’m up,” she said, and she pecked Michael and continued, looking in on her sleeping child and stopping at the window with a gasp. Then she came back with a bone thread winder full of scarlet silk thread.

“You must look out the window,” she said.

Gabriel continued reading.