“I will make sure I mention it to Giselle before I ride,” the emperor said.

The orders rolled on.

In late afternoon, the imperial household arrived. Master Nicodemus threw himself into the work of the imperial chamber; he relished it. Toby and Anne handed it over with relief and satisfaction.

Count Zac, golden mace in hand, directed the distribution of a hundred wagons’ worth of flour and dried peas. The other wagons were laagered and the whole surviving Milice of Arles marched out, spear in hand, and mounted guard over the largest food supply in the duchy. News of the emperor’s elevation of their duchess to be a queen was electrifying. The men of Arles stood taller.

The Huscarls of the guard rode east into the setting sun, leaving just six of their number to guard the emperor. The rest never halted, and neither did the Harndoner guildsmen and women on their Venikan ronceys, nor the fifty wagons of supplies that were moving east with the army. By nightfall they were ten leagues to the east, almost as far as the site of the disastrous battle between the Duke of Arles and the Necromancer in the spring.

The rear guard, Syr George Comnena and his Scholae in their scarlet and maille, arrived last. Pages were waiting to take their horses; Comnena knelt to his emperor.

Gabriel sat in the hall with Blanche and Michael and Kaitlin. Francis Atcourt stood guard; Adrian Goldsmith, now Atcourt’s squire, wore full harness but sat sketching.

The Bishop of Arles bowed to Gabriel and indicated a cushion.

The emperor rose and returned the bow. “George Comnena,” he said softly, “I am about to have you crowned Caesar.”

Comnena muttered a piece of blasphemy that would have shocked his wife or his sister.

“There isn’t another time,” Gabriel said. “I could die tomorrow. Understand?”

“Yes,” George Comnena answered. “My great-uncle was emperor,” he said. It made no real sense; it was the comment that floated into his head.

“Exactly,” Gabriel said.

Just at dark, Tom Lachlan and all of the remaining knights of the casa rode into the citadel of Arles and were given rooms.

Gabriel met Tom in the hall, cloaked in artificial anonymity to save time. “Straight to bed, gentles,” he said. “We ride at dawn.”

“I thought we was riding all night,” Tom said. “And that’s a party or I’m a blind leper.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’m running behind. We just crowned George as Caesar. Emperor-heir-apparent.”

Tom laughed. “I’ll just toast the wee man before I totter off to my mattress, then,” Tom said. “Or ye could get yer wee arse mounted and we’d be away.”

“I’d rather leave in the morning, and I’m the emperor,” Gabriel said. He was very slightly drunk.

“You just want Blanche another time,” Tom said. “Who’s to blame ye?”

But regardless of any further endearments, the sun had not risen when he was fully dressed and mostly armed.

He kissed his wife. “I’ll be back. Two weeks, I hope.”