‘So it is done?’ the man growled.

‘Yes my Lord Bishop’.

‘No survivors?’

‘No. Not one. Well…’

Bishop Severianus looked up from his desk, put down his pen and narrowed his eyes. He calmly adjusted the wooden cross that stood in front of his writing tablet as he prepared his next words.

‘I asked if there were any survivors’, he said softly, studying the edge of his desk carefully, tracing his finger along the fine carvings.

The assassins looked at each other and then at their master.

‘My Lord – we – we couldn’t find the boy’.

Severianus leaned back in his chair, putting his hands together as if in prayer.

‘So young Patricius escaped; or at least his f...

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