“Nay, my Prince, she is young and very beautiful. Also she is a Latin, and she calls his Highness her husband.”
Prince Christodoridi laughed ferociously. “Husband, indeed! and she a Latin! How do you know these things, Petros?”
“His Highness takes me to guard him when he visits the house, my Prince, and I alone have been permitted to pass within the gates.”
“Then if you are able to enter, you must do what has to be done.” The words came with lightning swiftness.
“Nay, my Prince, the gate can only be opened from within. His Highness says some word which I have not heard to the old woman who keeps the door.”
“And you are too feeble to climb a wall, my poor Petraki?”
“O my Prince, the wall is guarded on the outside. It is through the sentries that the common people have learnt to laugh and jest about the Lady.”
“Then this disgrace is a matter of common talk—at a moment when the Emperor of Scythia is offering his daughter as a bride to my son?”
“I think it is his cousin, my Prince. The Emperor’s daughters are all very young, they say.”
“His daughter,” repeated Prince Christodoridi firmly. “Anything else would be an insult only to be washed out in blood. And is this fair prospect for Emathia and our ancient house to be destroyed for the sake of a Latin woman?”