‘He’s already had a hand in the poisoning of Aldreas and Ehlana, Your Grace,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I doubt that he’d choke very much over a few Patriarchs and a score or so Church Knights.’

‘The man’s a monster!’ Then Dolmant started to swear, using oaths more common to a barracks than a theological seminary.

‘You’d better tell Emban to circulate word of this to the Patriarchs loyal to us, Dolmant,’ Sephrenia advised. ‘It appears that Annias may have come up with a cheaper way to win an election.’

‘I’d better start rousing the others,’ Sparhawk said, rising to his feet. ‘I want to tell them about this, and it takes a while to get into full armour.’

It was still dark when they set out for the Basilica accompanied by fifteen armoured knights from each of the four orders. Sixty Church Knights, it had been decided, was a force with which few would care to interfere.

The sky to the east was beginning to show that first pale stain of daylight when they reached the great domed church which was at the very centre of the Holy City - its thought and spirit as well as its geography. The entrance into the city of the column of Pandions, Cyrinics, Genidians and Alciones the previous night had not gone unnoticed, and the torchlit bronze portal leading into the vast court before the Basilica was guarded by a hundred and fifty red-tunicked church soldiers under the command of that same captain who, at Makova’s orders, had attempted to prevent the departure of Sparhawk and his companions from the Pandion chapterhouse on their journey to Borrata. ‘Halt!’ he commanded in an imperious, even insulting tone.

‘Would you attempt to deny entrance to Patriarchs of the Church, Captain?’ Preceptor Abriel asked in a level tone, ‘knowing that you thereby imperil your soul?’

‘His neck too,’ Ulath muttered to Tynian.

‘Patriarch Dolmant and Patriarch Emban may freely enter, My Lord,’ the captain said. ‘No true son of the Church could refuse them entry.’

‘But what of these other Patriarchs, Captain?’ Dolmant asked him.

‘I see no other Patriarchs, Your Grace.’ The captain’s tone hovered on insult.

‘You’re not looking, Captain,’ Emban told him. ‘By Church Law, the Preceptors of the militant orders are also Patriarchs. Stand aside and let us pass.’

‘I have heard of no such Church Law.’

‘Are you calling me a liar, Captain?’ Emban’s normally good-humoured face had gone iron-hard.

‘Why – certainly not, Your Grace. May I consult with my superiors on this matter?’

‘You may not. Stand aside.’

The captain started to sweat. ‘I thank Your Grace for correcting my error,’ he floundered. ‘I was not aware that the Preceptors also enjoyed ecclesiastical rank. All Patriarchs may freely enter. The rest, I’m afraid, must wait outside.’

‘He’d better be afraid if he’s going to try to enforce that,’ Ulath grated.

‘Captain,’ Preceptor Komier said, ‘all Patriarchs are entitled to a certain administrative staff, aren’t they?’

‘Certainly, My Lord – Uh, Your Grace.’