Neither of them was really prepared for what happened next. The woman, dishevelled and weeping, emerged from the alley and saw her attacker writhing in the rubble-littered street. She lurched to where he lay and kicked him solidly in the face several times. Then, seeing that he was unable to defend himself, she snatched his dagger from his belt. It were best, perhaps, not to describe what she did to him next. His screams, however, echoed in the streets for quite some time. When at last he fell silent, she discarded the bloody knife, opened the sack he had been carrying and looked inside. Then she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, tied the sack shut and dragged it back to her house.

The soldier who had shot the Cammorian started to retch violently.

‘Nobody’s very civilized in those circumstances, neighbour, ’ Sparhawk told him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, ‘and the lady did have a certain justification for what she just did.’

‘That must have hurt him terribly,’ the soldier said in a shaking voice.

‘I think that’s what she had in mind, neighbour. Go and get a drink of water and wash your face. Try not to think about it.’

‘Thank you, Sir Knight,’ the young fellow said, swallowing hard.

‘Perhaps not all church soldiers are so bad,’ Sparhawk muttered to himself, revising a long-held opinion.

As the sun went down, they gathered in Sir Nashan’s red-draped study in the Pandion chapterhouse, what Sir Tynian and Sir Ulath had come to call – not entirely in jest – ‘the high command’, the Preceptors, the three Patriarchs and Sparhawk and his friends. Kurik, Berit and Talen, however, were not present.

Sir Nashan hovered diffidently near the door. Nashan was an able administrator, but he was just a bit uncomfortable in the presence of so much authority. ‘If there’s nothing further you need, My Lords,’ he said, ‘I’ll leave you to your deliberations now.’

‘Stay, Nashan,’ Vanion told him. The Preceptor smiled. ‘We certainly don’t want to dispossess you, and your knowledge of the city may prove very useful.’

‘Thank you, Lord Vanion,’ the stout knight said, slipping into a chair.

‘I think we’ve stolen a march on your friend Martel, Vanion,’ Preceptor Abriel said.

‘Have you looked over the wall lately, Abriel?’ Vanion asked dryly.