‘What time is it?’

‘A half-hour or so before dawn. Get up, Sparhawk. You’ve got a full day ahead of you. Oh, by the way, Ehlana sent you a present. It came last night after you fell asleep.’

‘You should have got me up.’

‘Why? You can’t wear it in bed.’

‘What is it?’

‘Your crown, My Lord.’

‘My what?’

‘Crown. It’s a sort of a hat. It won’t keep off much in the way of weather, though.’

‘What’s she thinking about?’

‘Propriety, My Lord. You’re the Prince Consort – or you will be by tonight. It’s not a bad crown – as crowns go. Gold, jewels, that sort of thing.’

‘Where did she get it?’

‘She had it made for you right after you left Cimmura to come here. She brought it along with her – sort of the way a fisherman always has a coil of line and a hook somewhere in his pocket. I gather that your bride didn’t want to be unprepared in case an opportunity arose. She wants me to carry it on a velvet cushion during the ceremony tonight. As soon as the two of you are married, she’s going to put it on your head.’

‘Foolishness,’ Sparhawk snorted, swinging his legs out of bed.

‘Perhaps, but you’ll learn in time that women look at the world differently from the way we do. It’s one of the things that makes life interesting. Now, what’s it to be? Your breakfast or your bath?’

They met that morning in the chapterhouse, since things in the Basilica were in turmoil. The changes Dolmant was making were sweeping, and the clergy was scrambling about like ants rooted from a ripped-open anthill. The huge Patriarch Bergsten, still in his mail-shirt and wearing his ogre-horned helmet, was grinning as he entered Sir Nashan’s study and stood his war-axe in the corner.

‘Where’s Emban?’ King Wargun asked him, ‘and Ortzel?’

‘They’re busy dismissing people. Sarathi’s giving the Basilica a thorough house-cleaning. Emban’s drawn up a list of the politically unreliable, and the populations of a number of monasteries are expanding sharply.’

‘Makova?’ Tynian asked.

‘He was among the first to leave.’

‘Who’s first secretary?’ King Dregos asked.

‘Who else? Emban, of course, and Ortzel’s the new head of the college of theologians. It’s probably what he’s best suited for anyway.’

‘And you?’ Wargun asked him.

‘Sarathi’s given me a rather specialized position,’ Bergsten replied. ‘We haven’t come up with a name for it as yet.’ He looked rather sternly at the Preceptors of the Church Knights. ‘There’s been some rather long-standing dissension among the militant orders,’ he told them. ‘Sarathi’s asked me to put a stop to it.’ His shaggy brows lowered ominously. ‘I trust we understand each other, gentlemen.’

The Preceptors looked at each other a bit nervously.

‘Now,’ Bergsten continued, ‘have we made any decisions here yet?’