'This court has no wish to hear the filthy words of traitors.'
'Why then is it called a court?' came a voice from the gallery. The words hung in the air. Norwin had glanced up at the priest, and seen the shock on his face.
'Who spoke?' he shouted.
'Persis Albitane,' came the response. Norwin was stunned. He looked back to see fat Persis rise from his seat. 'I am a citizen of Stone,' said Persis, 'with full rights and privileges. I see before you at least seven people I know. All are citizens. How dare you suborn the law! In the earliest articles of the city it was laid down that every citizen would have the right to speak in his own defence, and to have others speak for him. You make a mockery of Stone justice.'
The silence in the courtroom was almost palpable. Norwin looked back at the priest. At first it seemed his anger would explode, but then his eyes narrowed and he leaned back in his chair. 'Step forward, Persis Albitane,' he said. 'Step forward and speak on behalf of these traitors.'
Persis did so, easing his large frame past the silent spectators, and moving to stand before the Chair of Judgement.
'I do not know all the defendants,' he began. 'But those I do know have been good citizens, and have never spoken against the emperor, and never sought to bring ills upon the empire. This man', he said, pointing to Norwin, 'is my former slave. He is as good a man as any I have met. I have never known him to lie or to steal, or to show malice against anyone. His crime, as I understand it, is that he and others chose to walk quietly into a wood for the purposes of praying together. To call this a crime is a travesty of justice.'
'It is not called a crime. It is a crime,' said the priest. 'Cultists have been named as traitors by the Stone elder himself, and these views have been enshrined in law. Merely to be a Cultist ensures the sentence of death. Are you a Cultist, Persis Albitane?'
Persis stood very still, and Norwin saw him draw in a deep breath. 'Had you asked me that question a few moments ago I would have told you – with all honesty – that I have never been a Cultist, that I have never attended any of their meetings. But as I look at you and the evil you represent I realize I was wrong to avoid them. I was not a Cultist. But you have convinced me that I should be. And I thank you for it, priest.'
'Condemned out of your own mouth!' shouted the priest. 'And you will die with these other traitors.' Surging to his feet, his face almost as crimson as his beard, he gazed malevolently at the public gallery. 'Does anyone else here wish to speak on behalf of these enemies of Stone?'
No-one had, and the prisoners, including Persis, were herded back to their cells. They were held for three days, then transported in chains to Stone. Norwin and Persis had been separated for most of the journey, and had only been reunited that day, being transported from the dungeons under the Stone Temple to this place beneath the arena of Circus Palantes. One of the guards had taken great delight in telling them of their fate. 'Your teachings say you are to be a light to the world,' he told them, with a wide grin. 'And tomorrow you will be. You will be dressed in oil-soaked rags and nailed by your arms and legs to tall posts set around the arena. Then you will be set afire, my dears. And you will scream and burn.'
'You are a sad man,' Persis had told him. 'And I pity you with all my heart.'
The guard swore and ran at Persis, punching his face and knocking him to the ground. Savagely he kicked the fallen man, then turned and strode from the dungeon. Norwin had helped Persis to sit upright. 'Oh, my friend, what have you done to yourself? You shouldn't be here.'
'No-one should be here, Norwin.'
'Why did you speak up for us? Did you hear the voice of the Source?'
'I heard no voice,' said Persis.
'Then why?'
Persis leaned his head back against the cold rock. 'I have no idea – save that I felt ashamed when I saw what was happening.' He forced a smile. 'Anyway, you would have missed me.'
'Aye, I would have,' said Norwin sadly. 'You are a good man, Persis. A better one than you know.'
Slow hours had passed. The prisoners did not talk to one another, but sat listlessly, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Then the door opened and a young woman was hurled into the dungeon. She landed heavily, striking her head on the floor. Persis and Norwin moved to her side as she struggled to sit. She was young and dark-haired, her face bruised and swollen. Long streaks of blood had stained the back of her dress, and Norwin saw the marks of a whiplash across the top of her shoulders.
'Don't look so holy now, does she?' sneered the guard. 'Without her veil she's just another doxy. Should have heard her scream as the lash fell.'
Persis cradled the woman to him, careful to avoid touching her mutilated back. She lapsed into unconsciousness, her head resting on his chest. There was no water within the dungeon to clean her wounds, no bandages to bind them. But Persis held her to him, and whispered soothing words to her. She curled up against him like a child, and he stroked her hair.
After a while she opened her eyes. 'Who are you?' she whispered.
'Persis Albitane. Rest now.'
'I will rest soon.' He helped her sit, and she slumped against him, her strength all but gone. 'I do not know you, Persis Albitane,' she said.
'Nor I you. It doesn't matter now.'
She fell asleep again. Norwin sat gazing at her in the torchlight. 'She is so young,' he said. 'Little more than a child.'
In the far corner a man began to chant a prayer. One by one the others joined in. When it had finished there was silence in the dungeon once more, but a sense of calm had settled upon them.
'I wish I had time to learn about the Cult,' said Persis. 'It would be nice to know what I was dying for.'
'You'll have plenty of time to learn, my friend,' said Norwin. 'After the burning.'
Nalademus had not slept. He had stalked his apartments throughout the night, his mood alternating between ecstasy and fear. Now the dawn light was bathing the city, and he was tired and irritable. Where was Voltan? Why had he not brought news of Jasaray's death?
Pushing open the doors to his balcony Nalademus stepped outside. The air was sweet and cool, the city stretching out before him, pale and beautiful. This was his day, a day of glory and cleansing. Sixteen months of planning, and the collection of thousands of names. Today would see the Cultists utterly destroyed, and with them the increasingly feeble Jasaray.
His Knights were marching from the barracks, hundreds of them. He watched with pleasure as they moved out into the city, column after column, the officers carrying lists naming traitors. They would be hauled from their beds and dragged back to the Temple. There would be too many for the dungeons, so they would be herded into the Barracks Square, before being transported to the various circus arenas for execution. More and more of his Knights filed out of the barracks. Nalademus watched them with pride. From tomorrow the people of Stone would march towards destiny.
But where was Voltan?
Nalademus stared out along the deserted avenue, hoping to see the Lord of the Stone Knights riding towards the Temple. He swore loudly, and moved back inside the apartment. One of the lanterns began to gutter, and oily black smoke sputtered from the wick. Nalademus blew it out. On the table were the remains of last night's meal, and an empty jug of wine. He picked up a piece of bread. It was stale now and he hurled it to the floor. His huge stomach rumbled. Calling one of the guards he sent the man to fetch him some food, then slumped down in a wide leather chair, his anger growing. Voltan had been growing increasingly arrogant of late. Soon it would be time to dispense with his services. Not yet, though. With Jasaray's death there was still the risk of civil war.
The guard returned with a plate of cold meats and a fresh jug of wine. 'Send Banouin to me,' said Nalademus, taking the plate, and stuffing a handful of ham into his mouth. Moments later there was a rap at the door, and the slim, dark-haired Rigante entered.
'My heart is pounding,' said Nalademus. 'Prepare me a tisane.'
'The emperor is alive,' said Banouin, his voice soft, almost sorrowful. Nalademus jerked, his great head coming up, his eyes peering at the younger man.
'What do you know of this?'
'Everything, lord. I am a seer. Among my people I would have become a druid. Last night I had a vision. It was
