‘Now, that’s really amazing, Makova,’ Patriarch Emban drawled. ‘As it so happens, I sent observers of my own out of the city, and they had an entirely different kind of report. How do you imagine we can reconcile these differences?’

Makova’s smile was brief, even frosty. ‘The Patriarch of Ucera is well known for his jocularity,’ he said. ‘He is indeed a droll and jolly fellow, and his merry japes frequently relax our tensions at stressful moments, but is this really the time for hilarity, my dear Emban?’

‘Do you see me smiling, Makova?’ Emban’s tone had quite nearly the bite of a dagger-thrust to the kidneys. He rose, grunting. ‘What my people report, dear brothers, is that this horde of so-called pilgrims at our gates is anything but friendly.’

‘Nonsense,’ Makova snapped.

‘Perhaps,’ Emban said, ‘but I’ve taken the liberty of having one of these “pilgrims” brought here to the Basilica so that we may examine him more closely. He may not choose to speak very much, but much can be gleaned from observing a man’s demeanour, his bearing, his origins – even his clothing.’ Emban clapped his hands sharply together before Makova could object or exert his authority.

The door to the chamber opened, and Kurik and Berit entered. They each held an ankle of the black-robed man they were bringing in to be interviewed, and they dragged the inert body across the marble floor, leaving a long crimson smear of blood on the white stone behind them.

‘What are you doing?’ Makova half-shrieked.

‘Merely presenting evidence, Makova. No rational decision can be made without a thorough examination of the evidence, can it?’ Emban pointed at a spot not too far in front of the lectern. ‘Put the witness there, my friends,’ he instructed Kurik and Berit.

‘I forbid this!’ Makova howled.

‘Forbid away, old boy,’ Emban shrugged, ‘but it’s too late now. Everybody in the chamber has already seen this man, and we all know what he is, don’t we?’ Emban waddled over to the corpse lying spread-eagled on the marble floor. ‘We can all tell by this man’s features what his nation of origin was, and his black clothing confirms it. My brothers, what we have here was obviously a Rendor.’

‘Patriarch Emban of Ucera,’ Makova said desperately, ‘I arrest you on the charge of murder.’

‘Don’t be an ass, Makova,’ Emban said. ‘You can’t arrest me while the Hierocracy’s in session. Besides, we’re inside the Basilica, and I claim sanctuary.’ He looked at Kurik. ‘Did you really have to kill him?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ the burly squire replied. ‘The situation made it necessary – but we said a brief prayer over him afterwards, though.’