"What errand?" Alexander snapped, his eyes glittering with anger.
"It is not good news, Your Highness," Mordred replied grimly. "He fled by night from Constantinople and came to tell you that your uncle, Alis, has seized your throne and declared himself emperor in your place."
Alexander's eyes flashed, and he turned to King Arthur, declaring, "My friend, I am feared to have to leave your hospital!" Terence guessed that he meant hospitality; Alexander's English always suffered when he was excited.
Terence glanced at Acoriondes and read doubt in his eyes but had no chance to inquire further. Arthur said, "Then let us go together. I will muster my own troops and join you. You fought on my behalf when Count Anders rebelled against me. I can do no less for you!"
Stunned, Terence looked sharply at Mordred and saw—or did he imagine it?—a fleeting expression of satisfaction. But Alexander replied promptly. "That you must not, my friend! You have just fought a traitor here, and there may be others. Remember, Count Anders said he had allies. If you leave, you put own kingdom in danger!"
Arthur hesitated, and Mordred stepped forward. "My king, if you choose to repay your debt to Alexander by leading troops against his enemies, I offer myself at your service to watch your kingdom again. I made grave mistakes when you left me in your place before; I will not make those mistakes again."
Terence thought his heart would stop. Surely Arthur would not trust Mordred with England a second time! Then Acoriondes cleared his throat. "Your Highness? May I make a suggestion?" Arthur nodded, and Acoriondes said, "I believe that my master is correct; your place is here. But you could send a troop of your best soldiers, under the command of an experienced warrior—Sir Gawain, let us say." Terence was watching Mordred, who nodded with approval. Then Acoriondes added, "And you should send Sir Mordred with him." Mordred's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Acoriondes had already continued. "A young knight of such promise could learn much from a seasoned warrior such as Sir Gawain, and from visiting foreign lands as well."
"It is well said," Arthur replied promptly. "Gawain? Mordred? You will accompany Alexander to Constantinople! Choose your men well! You leave at Alexander's command." Mordred closed his mouth, but when his eyes rested on Acoriondes, their expression was ugly.
Alexander bowed. "This, I accept." Then he turned to Sarah. "My love, our wedding must wait, I am feared. But when I am back on my own throne, I shall return for you."
"And I shall wait," Sarah replied calmly.
"You told me once," Terence commented to Acoriondes, "that at Constantinople you knew many schemers."
"Yes?" Acoriondes replied. They were several days into France, more than a week into their journey, but in the close quarters of a military expedition this was the first opportunity that Terence had found to speak privately with Acoriondes.
Terence said, "I have been thinking that, as far as clever manipulation goes, you probably match them."
The sober Greek's lips quivered, but he only replied innocently, "What do you mean?"
"That business back at Camelot, when Mordred brought your messenger. You turned the tables very neatly on Mordred, didn't you?"
Acoriondes inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment. "Perhaps. I still am not certain that your Sir Mordred is the plotter that we have suspected, but it did seem to me that he was too eager for King Arthur to depart and leave him in charge."
"Did you see the look he gave you when you made your suggestion?"
Acoriondes nodded. "I did. I have asked Bernard to watch my back."
They rode together in silence for a moment, and then Terence said, "I've been wanting to ask you: What do you think of this report from Constantinople? Could Alexander's uncle truly have seized power?"
Acoriondes frowned. "I would not have believed it. Alis is not a man of decision. I would have said he has too little energy or ambition to do such a thing. Indeed, when Alexander appointed him regent, he tried to refuse."
"So, the message was a lie?"
Acoriondes sighed. "I cannot be sure. Alis may have fallen under the influence of others. I can think of many who might use him for their own ends. I wish that Michael, the messenger, had lived longer. But not with such wounds as he had."
"He didn't die of his wounds," Terence said calmly. "Didn't you notice? There was no blood on the messenger's clothes."
Acoriondes blinked, then frowned. "Not die of ... what do you mean?"
"Wounds like that would have bled freely," Terence explained. "And even if Mordred had cleaned his body when tending the wounds, there would have been blood all over his tunic. But his garment was soft and clean."
Acoriondes frowned. "So..."
"So whenever your Michael received those two wounds—whether they were from arrows or a dagger—his heart had already stopped beating."
They had no chance for further speech, because at that moment Dinadan approached. Dinadan had been chosen one of the Camelot party, despite his lack of skill with weapons, because he had traveled extensively on the continent and spoke several languages. "Good afternoon, sir," he called as he drew near. "Hallo, Terence."
"Sir Dinadan," Acoriondes replied with a curt nod. Dinadan, with his irreverent wit, was not one of the Greek's favorites. Terence returned Dinadan's smile.
"You two should be careful, riding off for a tête-à-tête this way," Dinadan said, turning his horse and joining them. "Remember last time we were in France, how many romances got started? You don't want to set tongues wagging."
"We are both men, Sir Dinadan," Acoriondes replied sternly.
"Ah, yes. That makes a difference, doesn't it?" Dinadan replied. "I say, Sir Acoriondes, could I ask you a question?" Acoriondes nodded. "If you had rebelled against Alexander, the way this Alis fellow has—"
"I would never do so."
"Don't pick at straws," Dinadan replied promptly. "I'm asking you to imagine for a moment. You Greeks haven't lost your imaginations, have you? Because the old Greeks had just bales of the stuff—Homer and those chaps, I mean—and it'd be a shame if you'd lost it."
"What do you wish to ask?" Acoriondes replied with determined politeness.
"As I say," Dinadan resumed, "if you had rebelled against the emperor, would you scatter most of your armies along your borders while you waited for the emperor to come home?"
"Of course not," Acoriondes said disdainfully.
"Because that's what this Alis chap has done," Dinadan said.
"What?" Acoriondes hissed, lowering his voice. "How could you know that?"
"I've just been scouting up ahead, where I came on some Languedocian merchants. They've just brought a caravan from Constantinople and are swinging through Champagne on their way home to Toulouse. They say your Alis has divided up the armies and sent them off to watch the borders, then packed up and left the capital."
Terence looked closely at Acoriondes, whose eyes were fixed on the road ahead. "And do you believe these merchants?" the Greek asked.
"Oh, yes," Dinadan replied readily. "They're Cathars."
"What are Cathars?" asked Terence.
"A religious group. I spent a winter with them in southern France a year or two back—fine people, with a taste for music. And they don't lie."
Acoriondes's brow furrowed. "Then this might mean that Alis has not seized the throne."
Dinadan frowned. "No, that much seems to be true. The Cathar merchants referred to Alis as the new emperor of Rome."
"But that's ridiculous," Terence said. "If you had just seized power, you would never send your armies away."
"No," Acoriondes said. "Neither would you leave the walls of Constantinople, which have never been breached. It sounds more as if Alis were going on vacation—for a peaceful winter at the Athens palace, for instance." He looked keenly at Dinadan. "Did anyone else hear your conversation with these merchants?"
Dinadan nodded. "Mordred was with me," he said. Terence and Acoriondes looked up sharply, and Dinadan grinned at their dismay
ed faces. "Not that Mordred understood, mind you. We spoke in Provençal, the dialect of Languedoc."
"Did you tell him what you learned?"
Dinadan shook his head. "Haven't told anyone until now." He touched his horse with his heels. "But I thought you'd be interested," he added as he cantered away.
Acoriondes watched him ride off. "Perhaps that fellow isn't as foolish as he seems," he commented. Terence only nodded.
A month later, having pushed their animals for weeks along the Danube River, they turned south into Greece. By this time, Acoriondes's suggestion that Alexander's uncle had moved to the winter palace in Athens had been confirmed by other trading caravans. This news had greatly lightened the spirits of those in the Greek party. Athens, it seemed, was an indefensible city surrounded by ancient walls that were mostly in ruins. With the British knights on their side, and with Alexander at their head, they had no doubt of victory.
As the company neared Athens, Alexander began meeting nightly with Acoriondes and Gawain and Mordred, so as to plan their strategy. Terence was not present at these councils, but Gawain and Acoriondes told him all that was said. Mordred was pushing for a surprise attack, at night; while Acoriondes pleaded instead for diplomacy—asking Alexander to send him and a few men to Alis, to demand surrender. Acorion-des's request was denied, however. Both Alexander and Gawain were, by nature, men of action, and besides, as Acoriondes told Terence wearily after the last council, "No one wants to negotiate with traitors."
"Did you tell them that Alis has sent most of his armies away?"
Acoriondes shook his head. "Our only proof of that is the report from Dinadan's merchants. Sir Dinadan may believe them—indeed I do, myself, though I know not why—but only a fool would base a military campaign on such weak information."
"And so you have been denied permission to meet with Alis?"
Acoriondes nodded, and Terence thought for a long moment. "And what would be your punishment if you disobeyed the emperor?"
Acoriondes looked up at Terence, frowning. "Death, of course."
"Then I'll have to go alone," Terence said. "Is there anyone else in Alis's court who speaks English?"
"You will go across battle lines, on your own, to meet with an enemy? But that's treason."
"I know. How far to the city of Athens from here?"
"Not two hours'steady riding," Acoriondes replied automatically. Then he shook his head. "But you cannot!"
"I can't explain it, but I'm sure that this night attack is wrong. There is something else here that we don't know. I have to go."
"Against direct orders?"
"Are you going to report me?"
Acoriondes was silent.
"When is the attack to begin?"
Acoriondes was still for another moment, then said, "We are to leave two hours after midnight, riding slowly and quietly, so as to arrive just before dawn."
"So I should have a good three hours lead on them," Terence said.
"More," Acoriondes said. "There are faster ways through the hills for two riders alone." "Two?" Terence asked.
"I have said many times that I would die for Alexander. That is still true, even if I must die at his own hands. I am coming with you."
Over the next two hours, Terence breathed more than one prayer of thanks for Acoriondes's presence. The Greek countryside was more open than the English forests, allowing the stars and moon to light their path, but in the mountainous maze of crags and narrow passes, Terence would have been hopelessly lost. Indeed, several times he was. Having made his decision, Acoriondes was wasting no time, and more than once Terence lost sight of his guide. Each time, though, just as he was about to give up, he spotted Acoriondes atop some distant hill. The last stretch before the city was comparatively level, and by urging his laboring horse to new efforts, Terence caught up with Acoriondes at the edge of Athens. There were no guards, no gates, hardly a sign of life in all the city. Only a few lights glimmered in windows, and away in the distance Terence saw the placid empty blackness of the night sea.
"Come," Acoriondes said. "The summer palace is on that hill."
They passed through narrow city streets and open areas littered with broken masonry and ancient pillars standing alone, coming shortly to a long palace with no outer walls. Terence, used to high walls and battlements with positions for archers, could hardly believe that this unguarded structure of gleaming white marble was a king's home. Acoriondes banged on the door, which was opened a minute later by a sleepy porter with a lamp. Upon seeing Acoriondes's face, the porter turned white, staggered backwards, nearly dropping his light, and gasped something in Greek. Acoriondes rapped out a sharp command, and the still trembling man threw open the door and hurried away. As they stepped inside, Acoriondes whispered, "He's gone to fetch Alis. He was surprised to see me." "Really?" Terence replied.
A minute later, a portly man with tousled graying hair, wearing a long white sleeping robe, came running into the entry hall. "Acoriondes!" he called joyously, throwing himself at the counselor's feet and kissing his hand.
For the next several minutes Terence was reduced to the role of observer. Acoriondes raised the man to his feet—this appeared to be Alis himself, and a less imperial figure Terence could hardly imagine—and the two of them spoke rapidly in Greek. Except for the frequent repetition of the name Alexandros, Terence understood nothing of what was said, but from Alis's expressions first of overwhelming joy, then of shock and dismay, Terence surmised that the older man was hearing much that was new to him.
At last Alis set his jaw—and for a moment Terence could see a resemblance between Alexander and his rotund uncle—and called out a command. Acoriondes responded quickly, obviously disagreeing, but the older man shook his head and repeated his command. Then Alis turned and strode away. Acoriondes turned to Terence. "Alis is going back with us, to meet Alexander as he nears the city."
"Will there be fighting?"
Acoriondes shook his head. "Alis is going with us alone." Terence blinked with surprise, and Acoriondes continued, "It seems that several months ago, perhaps six weeks after my master arrived in England, an English messenger appeared at Constantinople bearing word that my master was dead, along with all his companions, killed in a forest fire."
Terence considered this new information. "That's why the doorman who met you looked as if he were seeing a ghost." He frowned. "But no one was sent to Constantinople after the battle with Anders."
"No, my friend, think," Acoriondes said. "Remember how long it takes for a messenger to travel from Camelot to Constantinople. This messenger, whoever he was, had to have been sent weeks before the rebellion even began. Someone in England wanted Alexan-dros forgotten. After a time of mourning, Alis assumed the throne—with both Alexandros and Cligés dead, Alis is next in line—then sent Michael to recover our bodies and bring them to Athens for burial."
It was too much to process. Who had the English messenger been? Who had sent him? Why? Terence thought first of Mordred, but he couldn't explain why Mordred would want to cut Alexander off from his uncle or why he would have brought the Greek messenger, Michael, back to Camelot.
Acoriondes seemed to be reading his thoughts. "I cannot explain it either. If it is all a plot, it is a deeper one than I have ever known."
At that moment, Alis returned to the room, dressed in unadorned velvet, wearing no armor and carrying no weapon. He barked a quick command, and they went out the front door to find three fresh horses saddled and ready.
Terence could remember no family reunion to compare with what followed. He, Acoriondes, and Alis came upon Alexander and the combined Greek and English forces about an hour from Athens, at the darkest part of the night. Alexander was riding a few yards ahead of the column, and Alis made his way directly to his nephew. Alexander pulled in his horse abruptly, stared, then called a halt. Alis heaved himself from the saddle, then knelt in the road in front of Alexander's horse. "What is this?" Alexander exclaimed in English. Then, with a quick shake o
f his head, he changed to Greek and dismounted.
Acoriondes moved his horse beside Terence's and, in a quiet voice, translated for the squire. "Alis is explaining about the messenger ... Alexandros is asking proof of this story ... Alis says that every member of the court heard the message, Alexandros can ask the translators if he wishes ... Alexandros is asking who could have sent such a message ... Alexandros is saying many very vulgar words ... He is saying what he will do to the man who sent such a lie ... more things he will do ... even more things—that one isn't even possible. I think Alexandros has forgotten that he's already had the man's legs eaten off by rats ... Wait! This is new."
Alis had diffidently interrupted Alexander's tirade, then bowed his head. Acoriondes nodded slowly.
"What is it?"
"Alis says that he is still guilty. Though his crime was the result of a mistake, not a plot, he still assumed a throne that was not his and has committed treason. He asks Alexander to strike him dead now." Then Acoriondes dismounted and knelt beside Alis in the road.
"I, too, am guilty, my lord," the counselor said in English, "with even less excuse. When I left your camp and went ahead of you to Athens, I disobeyed your direct command. I give you my neck as well."
Alexander hesitated. His right hand grasped his sword hilt and drew the blade partway from its sheath, then pushed it back down. "Why did you disobey, my old friend?"
"Because I was sure that Alis was innocent, and I wished to stop a needless war. If my life is the only one lost today, then I shall be well content with my efforts."
Terence wondered if he ought to offer to let Alexander execute him as well, since he had done the same thing as Acoriondes, but on the whole he didn't feel like it, so he held his peace.
Alexander frowned for a moment. At last he spoke. "I will not say that what either of you has done is—how do they say it?—all right. You have both deserved death. But I believe that your hearts are loyal, and so I pardon you. It is my right as king to be merciful." Then, having repeated this in Greek for his uncle's sake, he called out in English, "Let us make camp here! The empire is ours again! Who has some good Greek wine?"
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