A serious-looking man in white approached with a scroll in his hand. “Let Jamalc of Azilia come forward and present his grievance,” he called, his voice ringing from the dome of the ceiling.

From an upper ledge behind the ring of kings came a man dressed in the garb of an ordinary laborer. He came to stand before the Keeper of the Record, who demanded, “Do you know the penalty for speaking falsely before this assembly?”

Jamalc wrung his hands and bobbed his head.

“Very well,” said the Keeper, withdrawing, leaving the man alone in the center of the circle. “Relate the truth of your grievance in as few words as possible.”

“My name is Jamalc,” said the man timidly. “I come from Lassipos where I am a tanner and dyer with my brother.’ He raised his hands to show rich brown-stained palms sis verification of his occupation. “Ten months ago I purchased the shop and stall next to my own in the market square. It was owned by a man who died, and I bought it from his widow. I moved my goods into the stall at once.

“The next day but one a man came and confiscated my goods, saying that he owned the stall. He showed me a paper with the seal of the man who died. He told me that he had bought the building before the man died.”

Jamalc’s voice climbed as he warmed to his story. “But I knew my neighbor, and I know he had never sold his stall. When I went to my neighbor’s widow, she would not see me. So, I sent my brother to see her, but when he arrived she was gone and could not be found. We Believe she has left the city.”

The tanner spread his hands helplessly. “The man who says he owns the stall has taken all my goods, claiming they are his by virtue of the fact that he owns the shop and everything in it. I have lost my goods and the money I paid for the stall and shop. I come before you to seek your judgment and ask that justice be done.”

King Itazais of Azilia was the first to question the man. “Where is the man you accuse of this deed?”

“I have not seen him again.”

“What of the stall and shop?”

“He has let it to a spice merchant.”

Musaeus of Mykenea was next to speak. ‘ ‘Is the man you accuse of taking your shop here today?”

Jamalc gazed around the circle. “I do not see him.”

‘ ‘Did you not receive any papers from the widow of the man who owned the stall?” asked Ceremon.

“I was to receive them, Sire,” explained Jamalc, “but they were never delivered to me. And afterward I could not find the widow to ask for them.”

“How much did you pay for the shop and stall?” asked Itazais.

“Six thousand kronari in silver.”

“That is a great deal of money to pay for a market stall, is it not?”

“It is a good stall, Sire, with an excellent shop. It is on the corner of the square near the entrance where everyone must pass.”

“I see,” replied his king. “What judgment do you recommend? “

“I ask only for the return of my goods and papers of ownership to the shop and stall.”

“Are there other questions?” asked the High King. No one ventured any further questions, so Ceremon said, “Then how do we judge?”

One by one the kings rendered their judgment, saying, “We find for the tanner.”

When the judgment had been rendered, Ceremon said, “Itazais, will you see that the will of the council is carried out and that justice is administered?”

“I will, Sire,” replied the king. He turned his attention to the tanner. “Jamalc, writs will be delivered to you authorizing the repossession of your property. The man who wronged you, and the former owner’s widow-for I perceive that they conspired together to defraud you-will be required to pay you three thousand in silver as punishment when they are found.”

“So be it,” said all the kings at once. Jamalc, beside himself with joy, bowed quickly and was ushered from the room.

The Keeper of the Record then called the next case, and so it went, the kings sitting in council, hearing grievances and dispensing justice for their people until the sun began to set and the big Bell tolled once more. The High King declared the convocation adjourned until the Bell should call them back to their places.

The kings filed out of the rotunda and their purple cloaks were hung on the golden tree once more. Belyn joined Aval-lach and Seithenin as they emerged from the vestibule and the three walked back to their rooms together. “You saw- what do you think?”

“I think,” replied Seithenin, “that Nestor is being most foolish. What his excuse will be, I cannot imagine. But the High King is certain to show him disfavor.”

“Failing to attend the council approaches treason,” said Belyn.

“If it is deliberate,” Seithenin reminded him. “We do not know that it is.”

“I like this less and less,” said Avallach. “If he does not attend tomorrow I think we must speak to the High King.”

“Yes,” agreed Seithenin. “Leave it until tomorrow. And if Nestor offers no explanation, I will demand one in council.”

Belyn grinned. “Do that. I know there are others curious about Nestor’s absence as well.”

“You did not speak to anyone about this…” warned Avallach.

“No, but I have heard talk. There is concern about Nestor beyond our own.”

“Then we are right to bring this out into the open-but tomorrow. Do nothing until tomorrow,” said Seithenin. “I will leave you now, my friends.” He strode away down the corridor.

“Well, Belyn,” said Avallach, “I am hungry. Join me at my table.”

“Ah, I would, brother, but I have promised to dine with my wife tonight.”

“Go then, and take my greetings to that beautiful lady. I hope we may see her before our visit here is ended.”

“See her you shall, but perhaps we should be more careful about being seen together.”

Avallach put his arm on Belyn’s shoulders. “We are brothers; it is expected that we should be seen together now that we are here. If Nestor’s spies are skulking about, they will see nothing unusual.”

The men embraced. “Until tomorrow then,” said Belyn.

“Tomorrow,” affirmed Avallach. “Rest well.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

When the Bell in the rotunda tolled the next day, the kings donned their purple cloaks and assembled in the council chamber. Avallach saw that Nestor’s chair remained empty and noticed, too, that several other kings regarded the vacant seat with frowns on their faces. Clearly, Nestor’s absence was beginning to create ill will among the other members of the council.

The High King entered and, as before, the council began: the Keeper of the Record came forward to call the first case of the day. But before the Keeper could read the name on his list, there arose a commotion in the vestibule. All heads turned as in through the arched doorway strode Nestor, the purple cloak flying behind him, his face set in a terrible scowl: his brow like a lowering storm cloud, lightning darting from his glance. His long flaxen hair was wet with sweat and hung at his shoulders in damp ropes; dust soiled his clothes and boots. He was a lean man, narrow of frame, with fine, almost delicate features.

He bowed to the High King, making the sign of the sun with his hands, and then whirled away to take his seat.

The room erupted in a babble of voices, and the gallery behind the circle of chairs buzzed with suppressed excitement. Ceremon gazed levelly at the wayward king and when order had been restored in the room he said, “Welcome, Nestor. I am glad you have deigned to join us.”

Nestor winced under the bite of the High King’s sarcasm and his demeanor changed. “Sire,” he replied, “I am keenly aware of the difficulty my absence has caused, and I deeply regret the inconvenience.”

Ceremon stared, his gaze growing hard. “You regret the inconvenience? That’s all you have to say?”

“I beg your indulgence.”