Meanwhile, Zantheus was reacting in a slightly different way to his own luxurious bedroom. Rather than delighted, he was intimidated by it. He longed for his mat, for the simplicity of the Sanctuary. He sat down guiltily in one of the uncomfortably comfortable chairs and wondered what he should do until dinner at six. After a moment a young servant boy came in and gave him his answer, asking in an unrefined accent “Will sir be taking his bath now?” Zantheus let the boy bring in the hot water to fill the tub, then ordered him out of his room. “But—” began the boy, trying to carry out his whole mandate, but Zantheus said “I am quite capable of attending to my own matters of personal hygiene. You may leave.”

“Will sir not care to select a shirt to dine in this evening?”

“You would dare to strip an Aythian knight of his armour?” asked Zantheus threateningly.

The boy knew better than to persist and left the room with a disapproving “As you wish, sir.”

After he had his bath and dried himself with one of the unnecessarily fluffy towels, Zantheus buckled his armour back on and went back to the chair. His thoughts began to wander once more. He reflected on his situation. It was highly surreal being in this tidy, well-furnished room all of a sudden after what seemed like an age trudging through the countryside, through plains and forests and fields. It was also highly odd to have come upon this community of civilised scholars when thus far he had only encountered murderers, pirates, prostitutes, forest-dwellers and, frankly, lunatic after lunatic on his journey. But it was encouraging. He was close now. Kathegetes had even mentioned the city of Qereth, joy of joys! He yearned to return home.

He turned his head to look out of the window and found tall trees that stood proudly in a magnificent garden below, reaching upwards to the sky. For a long time he looked out of that window, his thoughts lost in the stunningly beautiful garden. At one point he thought he saw a young lady in a white dress, herself astoundingly beautiful, darting through the garden. Or perhaps he was seeing things, he was very tired.

A knock on the door woke him from a doze.

“Oh, you’re not wearing a suit,” said Kathegtes when he answered it. Zantheus glared at him. He spoke again quickly, “Of course, of course not, far be it from me to separate and Aythian knight from his armour.”

Zantheus stepped out into the corridor. “Where are Anthē and Tromo?” he asked.

“Oh, Anlay went for a little stroll in the grounds. We will see them in Hall.”

They walked back to the central T-junction, carried on without turning right and were soon at one of the entrances to the hall. There was a line of old men, who looked much like Kathegetes, waiting to go in. “We are to dine at High Table,” Kathegetes whispered to him. “You must wait here so that you can be announced.”

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Zantheus watched as one by one the men in front of him entered the hall at the behest of the servant on the door. After a while, Kathegetes went in just in front of him. Then it was his turn.

“Name and title?” the servant asked him. Zantheus told him, and the servant flung open the door, stepped through with him and announced in a theatrical voice “Sir Zantheus, First Paragon of the Aythian Order, Champion of Awmeer.”

Zantheus immediately felt the apprehensive gaze of a sea of Philosophers settle on him. He caught the eye of one man, shooting him a mixture of curiosity and hostility. What confused him most was that everyone was standing up behind their chairs. He had entered onto a stage-like platform, raised above the rest of the floor, on which was perched the long “High Table”. Three more long tables were positioned at right angles to it in the lower part of the room. He was struck by the size of the hall. It was at least four times the size of the dining hall at the Sanctuary, and many times more magnificent. It was lit by no fewer than three chandeliers that twinkled with the light of hundreds of candles. Zantheus made his way along to the next empty chair at High Table and assumed his place behind it, next to Kathegetes. As he did so, he caught sight of Leukos, who was not with him down at this end but seated at the head of the other end of the table. What was he doing over there?

The servant called out another name –“Chief Biologician, Professor Paideutes Nomodidaskalos!”– and another elderly gentlemen came in and stood behind his chair on the other side of Zantheus, completing the row.

The next name caught Zantheus off guard. “Miss Anthē of Ir!” He looked over at the doorway with the rest of the room. His jaw nearly dropped open. A beautiful woman in a white dress entered through the door. Zantheus did not recognise her at first. She was immaculately clean, wearing a dazzling dress with a long train and lace bodice, and her hair was tied up on top of her head, held together with a single white needle, except for one curly dark brown lock, which was allowed to find its way down her forehead and caress her bright, smiling face. And there it was, her face, unmistakably her face. This was the same woman he had been travelling with for the past three months. And yet, it was like he was seeing her for the first time. He had always known she was beautiful, he supposed, but he had never really noticed her beauty before. Not until now, that was. He felt strangely privileged when the lady made her way over to the last seat left in the row opposite, smiled at him and raised her eyebrows as if to say “Well, look at all this.”

Tromo followed her in, unannounced, and took the place at the end of the table. At this, the servant spoke one more time, in his loudest and most official voice: “Remain standing for Provost Epistaseis Huperlianapostolos.” A man entered dramatically from a door on the other side of the hall, and strode in fabulous dark robes across its length and up some steps onto the raised platform. Zantheus recognised him as the man from the portrait: Sleek hair, younger than the others, sinister expression. He took the one remaining empty place at the centre of High Table, where he turned and recited something in a language that Zantheus could not understand. When he had finished, everyone sat down noisily and at last the meal began.