‘Will you leave the kingdom of Arcium totally defenceless, Emban?’ Makova demanded.

‘Just what’s threatening Arcium at the moment, Makova? All the Eshandists are camped outside our gates. Do you want another vote?’

‘Substance,’ Makova said flatly, insisting on a 60 per cent majority on the question.

‘Point of Law,’ Emban replied. His fat face had an almost saintly expression. He looked at the law clerk. ‘What is the law on matters of substance under these circumstances?’ he asked.

‘Saving only the election of an Archprelate, a substantive vote is not required in time of Crisis of the Faith, Your Grace,’ the monk replied.

‘I rather thought that might be the case,’ Emban smiled. ‘Well, Makova, do we vote or not?’

‘I’ll withdraw the question of substance,’ Makova conceded grudgingly, ‘but exactly how do you propose to get a messenger out of a besieged city?’

Ortzel rose again. ‘As my brothers may be aware, I am a Lamork,’ he said. ‘We are well accustomed to sieges in Lamorkand. Last night I sent twenty of my own men in disguise to the outskirts of the city and beyond. They are awaiting only that signal which even now rises as a plume of red smoke from the dome of this very Basilica. I would surmise that they are already riding hard for Arcium – at least they’d better be, if they know what’s good for them.’

‘I’m going to like him,’ Kalten grinned.

‘You dared to do this without the consent of the Hierocracy as a whole, Ortzel?’ Makova gasped.

‘Was there ever any doubt concerning the outcome on the voting, Makova?’

‘I begin to catch a strong smell of collusion here, Sephrenia said lightly.

‘My brothers,’ Emban continued, ‘the crisis we presently face is clearly a military one, and for the most part, we are not military men. How may we avoid the errors, the confusion, the delays which untrained and unworldly Churchmen must inevitably cause as they flounder through unfamiliar complexities? The leadership of the Patriarch of Coombe has been exemplary, and I’m sure we join together in expressing our heartfelt gratitude to him, but, regrettably, the Patriarch of Coombe is no more well versed in military science than I, and I’ll confess it freely, my brothers, I can’t tell one end of a sword from the other.’ He smiled broadly. ‘Quite obviously, my training has been with eating implements rather than with those of war. I’d be happy to accept any challenge in that area, however. My opponent and I could happily duel to the death on a well-roasted ox.’

The Hierocracy laughed at that. The tension was somewhat relaxed by the laughter.

‘We need a military man, my brothers,’ Emban continued. ‘We need a general now instead of a chairman. We have four such generals in our very midst. These, of course, are the Preceptors of the four orders.’