'You mean that you intend to do nothing.' She felt as if the ground were crumbling beneath her and she was plunging into a dark, bottomless pit, helpless to prevent it.
The consul gave her a thin, dismissive smile. 'Even if what you allege was in some way possible, I could not take action against this man based solely on what you have told me.'
'Because I am a woman.'
'Because you are alone.' The consul frowned, and then sighed with exasperated pity. 'Truly, I am sorry. But the law is clear: without the corroboration of at least two witnesses, I can do nothing.'
'The church was full of people,' Caitriona pointed out. 'Someone must have seen what happened.'
'Where are these people?' the consul enquired, lifting a hand to the empty chamber. 'Where are they to be found?'
'Do not mock me, sir!' snarled Cait, her voice growing cold. 'I know what I saw and there was no mistake.' Taking up the skirt of her mantle she spread it before her. 'This!' she said, shaking the cloth angrily. 'This is my father's blood I am wearing. De Bracineaux stabbed him. If you will not do anything about it, then I will.'
'I urge you to reconsider.' Angry now, the consul rose from his chair. 'Renaud de Bracineaux is a man of great esteem and even greater renown-a friend and favourite of both King Baldwin of Jerusalem and Emperor Manuel. He is a guest of the Basileus, and I would not presume to trouble him on the basis of the scant evidence you provide. Furthermore, I warn you: should you persist in repeating this accusation, you will certainly be dealt with most harshly.'
'Oh, I am through with accusations,' Cait informed the official icily. 'I may accept your judgement, but I will not suffer the injustice.'
With that, she turned her back and strode from the room. She wept in the street as she walked back to the cathedral, and then again as she sat with her dear father's body and waited for a hired cart to come and collect his remains, then to be taken to the church where he and Sydoni had been married. Following a short negotiation, an agreement was reached where, for a generous gift to the monastery, the brothers were persuaded to allow Duncan to be buried on holy ground-and according to Caitriona's specific conditions.
She left the body to be prepared for burial, and hired a chair and asked to be taken to Bucoleon Harbour; after waiting a considerable time, she had struck a bargain with the overbusy harbour master allowing her two days' berthing-again for a tidy fee.
Daylight was fading by that time, and so she returned to the Church of Christ Pantocrator to pray and wait with her father's corpse, which had been washed and wrapped in a clean linen shroud, and placed on a low board before the altar. She stayed through the night, lighting candles and listening to the monks chant the prayers for the dead. When the watch service was over, she left the church, waking the bearers she had paid to wait for her outside. They carried her through the still-dark streets down to the Venetian Quay where she roused a boatman who had ferried her to the waiting ship as day broke in the east.
Now she lay and listened to the sounds of the crewmen clumping around on deck as they set about moving the ship. She remembered the day Duncan had hired the hands-two brothers from Hordaland in West Norway. The elder, called Otti, was a large, hard-working fellow, rendered simple by a fearsome blow on the skull which, although cutting short his apprenticeship as a Viking, no doubt saved his life. The younger, called Olvir, was a dark, quiet, good-natured boy a year or so older than Alethea; since the death of their parents, he had the responsibility of keeping himself and his older sibling fed, clothed, and out of trouble.
After a time, she heard a splash, followed by the clunk of the anchor on to the deck, and soon sensed a change in the slow, rhythmical rocking of the ship. They were moving. For the briefest instant, she was tempted to go back on deck and order Haemur to sail for home… but no, not yet.
Soon, but not yet.
Cait slept for a while, but rose unsettled and unrested. She washed her face again, dressed in a clean undershift and mantle, and wrapped a handsome woven girdle around her waist; into this she tucked her father's purse, filled with silver, and a slender dagger which had once belonged to her great-grandmother, and which her grandfather Murdo had carried with him on the Great Pilgrimage. She then put on a gown of exquisite thin material-dark for mourning-and chose a long scarf which she folded over the crown of her head and wrapped around her throat so that the ends hung down her back. Then she went up on to the deck to break fast and wait for Alethea to rise and join her. But her sister was already awake. Little more than half-dressed as usual, Cait noticed sourly, she wore neither hat nor shoes, but merely a sleeveless shift which exposed her slender upper arms and shoulders. She was standing at the prow, tapping her palms on the rail in an attitude of agitation.
She whirled on her sister as Caitriona approached. 'Where is Papa? What's happened?' she demanded. 'Haemur would tell me nothing. Why are they moving the ship?'
'Thea,' said Caitriona, reaching towards her sister, 'listen -'
'Haemur said he was not to come with us,' she blurted, her face suddenly blotching with colour. 'Why would he say that?'
'Come and sit with me.' Cait put her hand to the young womans arm, and started towards the covered platform before the mast.
Alethea took two steps and then pulled away. 'No! Tell me now! Why are you doing this?' Her shout made the crewmen turn from their work to look at the two women.
'Please, Alethea, this is not seemly. Now, come and -'
'Tell me!' she demanded, crossing her arms over her breast.
'Very well,' Cait snapped, losing patience. 'Papa is not coming with us because he was attacked when we were leaving the church yesterday.'
'Papa hurt? Where is he? I must go to him.'
'No.' Cait shook her head gently. 'Papa was attacked and he was killed.'
'But where is he? If he is hurt, we must go to him.'
'You are not listening, Thea -'
'You should not have left him. You should -'
'Alethea,' she said sharply, 'Father is dead. He was attacked and killed. I was with him when he died.'
'You left me behind deliberately!' the young woman shouted, tears starting to her eyes.
Stepping close, Caitriona took hold of her sister's arm and gripped it above the elbow. 'Stop it!' When Alethea did not respond, she shook her hard. 'Listen to what you are saying! If you cannot speak sensibly, shut your mouth.'
'This is your doing!' Alethea wailed. 'And now I will never see him again!'
Cait was instantly furious. 'Do you think I brought about Father's death just to spite you?' she snapped. 'For once in your life, Thea, think!'
The dark-haired young woman's face seemed to crumple inwardly. 'He cannot be dead.' The tears spilled over her long lashes and her shoulders began to shake. 'Oh, Cait, what are we going to do?' she sobbed. 'What are we going to do?'
Thea put her face in her hands and leaned into her sister's embrace. Cait put her arms around the young woman, and felt Alethea's warm tears seeping through her mantle. 'We will mourn him,' she murmured, rubbing Alethea's smooth bare shoulder as she stared dry-eyed upon the great, looming city spread out before her on its fabled hills, 'and we will see him buried.
'Then,' she added to herself, 'we will avenge him.'
CHAPTER THREE
'Tell me,' whined Thea, using her most irritating tone. 'I am not taking another step until you do.'
'The less you know, the less you have to remember.'
The two young women walked together along the wide avenue as a deep, wine-coloured dusk gathered around them. The street-all but deserted when they had started out-was quickly returning to life once more as the heat of the day gave way to a velvet soft evening. Everywhere, the imperial city was shaking off its languor and reviving itself in the splendid mid-summer night.
'Tell me, Cait. I want to know.'
'If I tell you,' she replied wearily, 'will you promise to keep quiet until we get there?'
'Where? Where are we going?'
; '1 am not telling you a thing until you promise.'
Along the verges, meat vendors hunched over filthy black charcoal braziers which filled the air with blue smoke and the aroma of burning olive oil and roasting spices. Day labourers and wives late from the markets jostled them as they passed, hurrying home with their suppers wrapped in oiled cloth, and large, flat round loaves of bread tucked under their arms. Gangs of young men dressed in short blue tunics caroused, laughing loudly to call attention to themselves. Several caught sight of the two unescorted women and made obscene gestures with their hands which Cait saw; Thea, however, remained blissfully unaware.
Cait moved with solemn purpose, immune to the charms and curiosities around her. To Alethea, who had not ventured into the city before, everything appeared fantastic and enchanting; she had to force herself to remember that just this day they had buried their father, and that she should, as a loving daughter, assume a mournful and sombre step like her sister. But it was difficult when every few paces some strange new marvel presented itself to her easily dazzled eyes.
They passed through a street dominated by the tall, well-made houses of the wealthy, each of which boasted elaborate, carved wooden balconies – veritable outdoor rooms which overhung the street-on which the families of spice, timber, and gold merchants, ship owners, and moneychangers gathered to eat their evening meal and watch the pageant below.
Meanwhile, the inhabitants of more humble dwellings fled the close confines of dark, stuffy rooms and gathered in the streets and deserted marketplaces to exchange the news of the day. Men stood in huddled conclaves around jugs of raw country wine and nibbled green olives, spitting the pits into the air. Old women squatted in doorways, their wrinkled faces shrewd and silent, watching all around them with small, dark eyes. Dirty-faced children, clutching bits of food snatched from the table, stood stiff-legged and stared, while hungry dogs tried to cadge morsels from their hands.
Every now and then they passed a walled garden and caught a fragrance on the air-jasmine, lemon blossom, hyacinth, or sandalwood-or heard the music of pipes and lute, played to the accompaniment of the tambour, sticks, and hand drum. Although they recognized the instruments, the melodies seemed quaint and plaintive and strange to the ear, unlike anything they had heard before.
After a time, they arrived at a crossroads which formed a common square. Here, the commerce of the day was far from concluded. Women whose companionship could be obtained for the price of a meal strolled idly along, jangling the silver bracelets on their arms as an unobtrusive means of promoting their wares. Across the square, a potter had set up his wheel beside a low wall on which he presented examples of his work, and nearby stood a man with bits of painted wood dangling from strings in his hand; by pulling the strings, the carved pieces seemed to dance-much to the delight of the spectators gathered around him.
There were also chairs for hire lined up alongside a wall beneath the overhanging boughs of a huge sycamore tree. The bearers were huddled around a small fire in the street, resting after their day's work, talking and laughing as they passed a jar around.
Alethea took one glance at the row of chairs and instantly felt the strain of having walked so far. She stopped in mid-step. 'Could we?' she said, tugging on Cait's sleeve. 'I am just exhausted.'
Cait moved on, inclined to ignore her sister's entreaty.
'Oh, Cait, please? We have been walking all day. My feet are sore.'
Caitriona hesitated. She turned back and looked at the chairs. Her vacillation was all that one of the more enterprising chair owners needed. Leaping to his feet, he hurried to where the two young women were standing. 'My friends!' he called. 'You wish to hire a chair. Mine is best,' Dark and thin, he smiled at them as he spoke in rough, rustic Greek. 'I am Philippianous. Come with me, I will show you now.'
'Very well,' said Cait, when she had examined the chair and found it satisfactory. 'How much?'
'Where you wish to go?' asked the eager Philippianous. 'You tell me that, I tell you how much.'
'Blachernae Palace.'
At this, the young man's eyes grew wide. 'You have business there tonight perhaps.'
'Yes,' said Cait. 'How much?'
'Thirty denarii,' he said, growing sly.
'Ten.'
'My lady,' complained Philippianous, 'it is getting dark. We are tired and have nothing to eat Twenty-five denarii. It is a good price.'
'Fifteen denarii-for both of us -'
'Ten apiece,' countered the chair owner.
'Very well,' relented Cait. Slipping a small leather purse from beneath her girdle, she began counting small silver coins into her hand. 'Ten apiece-to take us there and return.'
'My lady,' whined Philippianous. 'We are poor and hungry. We have had nothing to eat all day. We cannot work all night with nothing to eat.'
'Then take your rest,' replied Cait, regarding the group of bearers who were listening to the negotiation with undisguised interest. 'I am certain one of your friends would be more than happy to oblige.'
'Cait, please!' whispered Alethea, embarrassed that her sister should haggle like a fishwife over such a trivial matter.
Sensing victory, the bearer pointed to his chair. 'It is a nice chair. Very comfortable. We will take good care of you.'
'If you do well,' Cait promised, 'I will give you extra for a meal. But you must take us to the palace first.'
'Done!' The chair owner spun on his heel and clapped his hands. He called to his labourers, who rose from among the men gathered around the fire. One of them took a last gulp from the jar before passing it along, and then he and his three companions shuffled to a wide red-painted chair with a green cushion on its wooden bench seat.
Alethea nudged her sister in the ribs, and pointed at a green chair. It was newer, slightly larger, the pole rings were shiny brass, and the cushion was yellow satin. Cait nodded. 'Wait,' she said, and pointed to the green chair. 'That one.'
'My sister/ complained the owner. 'That one is very special-for the empress herself, eh?'
'If the empress wishes to hire it, we will gladly give it to her,' replied Cait, stepping into the chair. She held out the little stack of coins.
Philippianous sighed, but gave his men the nod to go ahead. Taking up two long brass-tipped wooden poles from among those leaning against the wall, they slipped them through the rings, lifted the chair, and started off. 'Enjoy your journey, my friends.'
'You come, too. I will give you an extra ten to announce us at the palace/ Cait said, adding a few more coins to the stack in her hand.
'Philippianous is at your service, empress/ said the chair owner, accepting his payment with a polite bow. The bearers moved out, and the owner ran on ahead, leading the way and clearing idlers from the path.
Alethea was instantly ecstatic. 'This is wonderful! Cait, we should travel like this everywhere,' she said, almost hugging herself.
Cait made no reply. She turned her eyes to the slowly darkening street ahead, and thought about what had been accomplished this day, and what was still to come.
'Why did you not say we were going to the palace?' asked Alethea brightly.
'Some surprises are best kept secret,' Caitriona replied.
Alethea snuggled closer, enjoying the mysteriousness of it. 'Is the royal family there?'
'No,' replied Cait. 'I have to see someone.'
'Who?'
'A man called Renaud de Bracineaux.'
It is to do with Papa's death?'
'Yes.'
Cait turned once more to her meditation on the day's events. As soon as the ship had been secured in its new berth in Bucoleon Harbour they returned to the church where Duncan was lying on his bier in the sanctuary, waiting for burial. She allowed Haemur to accompany them – more for Haemur's sake than for her own. The old sea captain had liked and admired her father very much, and it would have been a needless cruelty to have denied him the consolation of attending the burial.
So, leaving Olvir and Otti to look after the vessel
, they had proceeded to the church where they were received by the abbot himself and conducted into the darkened sanctuary where burned but two tall candles, one either end of the shroud-wrapped corpse. Upon entering the chapel, Alethea had begun to cry. Once they were seated, the cleric had read a simple service for the dead, at the conclusion of which the body of their father had been taken up by the brothers and carried to a small burial ground in a portion of the garden outside the monastery scriptorium where a fresh grave had been dug in the dry, rocky earth.
After a lengthy prayer in Greek, Cait said another in Gaelic, whereupon Alethea, weeping uncontrollably now, had placed on the body a handful of summer flowers and foliage wrapped in a length of white silk. The monks lowered the body into the hole and, while the abbot read a passage from the holy scripture, the brothers slowly filled in the grave. Haemur stood with bowed head and folded hands, and both Caitriona and Alethea knelt as the monks heaped the dirt high over the bundled corpse, tamped it down, and then planted a new-made wooden cross in the mound.
The service concluded, the abbot led the little funeral party to the refectory where they were given some wine and honey cakes with raisins to refresh themselves. Afterwards, Cait delivered the monetary gift they had agreed upon – together with an additional sum for the grave to be continually maintained-whereupon the chapter's infirmarer was summoned. A stoop-shouldered man of middle age with sad dark eyes, the infirmarer presented the women with a small box made of lead; a chi-rho had been embossed in the soft metal, and the container sealed with solder.
(I thank you, brother,' Cait said, accepting the small casket from his hand. She then thanked the abbot for his care and kindness, and the three were conducted by the porter through the gates of the monastery and out into the light of a hot summer day. Cait moved out into the sun-bright street in a thoughtful mood, Haemur solemn and silent beside her.
Alethea, who had dried her tears, walked along the tree-lined streets with a buoyant step. The great tide of sorrow which surged over her unexpectedly now and again had ebbed for the time being, and she felt light-headed-as if the heavier humours had been drained off, and now she might float away on the breeze. 'It was a fine funeral,' she observed, once they were through the gate. 'Do you not think so, Cait?'
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