‘Dear friends,’ Bevier addressed the soldiers in a gentle but commanding voice, ‘you have just witnessed a truly regrettable incident. A soldier of the Church has wilfully defied our mother’s lawful command. Let us join together now to offer up a fervent prayer that All-Merciful God shall see fit to forgive his dreadful sin. Kneel, dear friends, and pray.’ Bevier shook the blood off his axe, spattering a number of soldiers in the process.

First a few, then more, and finally all of the soldiers sank to their knees.

‘Oh, God!’ Bevier led them in prayer, ‘we beseech Thee to receive the soul of our dear brother, but recently departed, and grant him absolution for his grievous sin.’ He looked around. ‘Continue to pray, dear friends,’ he instructed the kneeling soldiers. ‘Pray not only for your former captain, but for yourselves as well, lest sin, ever devious and cunning, creep into your hearts even as it crept into his. Defend your purity and humility with vigour, dear friends, lest you share your captain’s fate.’ Then the Cyrinic Knight all in burnished steel and pristine white surcoat and cape, moved his horse forward at a walk, threading his way through the ranks of the kneeling soldiers, bestowing blessings with one hand and holding his lochaber axe in the other.

‘I told you he was a good boy,’ Ulath said to Tynian as the party followed the beatifically smiling Bevier.

‘I never doubted it for a moment, my friend,’ Tynian replied.

‘Lord Abriel,’ Patriarch Dolmant said as he guided his horse past the kneeling soldiers, many of whom were actually weeping, ‘have you questioned Sir Bevier of late on the actual substance of his beliefs? I may be wrong, but I seem to detect certain deviations from the true teachings of our holy mother.’

‘I shall catechize him most penetratingly on the matter, Your Grace – just as soon as I have the opportunity.’

‘There’s no great rush, My Lord,’ Dolmant said benignly. ‘I don’t feel that his soul is in any immediate danger. That is a truly ugly weapon he carries, however.’

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ Abriel agreed. ‘It truly is.’

Word of the sudden demise of the offensive captain at the gate had spread rather quickly. There was no interference from the church soldiers at the massive doors of the Basilica – indeed, there seemed to be no church soldiers around at all. The heavily armed knights dismounted, formed up into a military column and followed their Preceptors and the two Patriarchs into the vast nave. There was a noisy clatter as the party knelt briefly before the altar. Then they rose and marched off down a candlelit corridor towards the administrative offices and the Archprelate’s audience chamber.