William gritted his teeth—he would not lose consciousness. Dark waves threatened to block his vision, his head was pounding from the beating they had given him, but he was not going to lose consciousness.

      The children were huddled at his feet. Thus far, neither Daphne nor Paula had been put up for sale. Nor had he. Not that anyone was likely to buy him in his current battered state. William was not generally a praying man, but he was praying now. God grant that we are not separated. If he and the girls were kept together, he could protect them for a little longer. Lord. Two tiny girls, and they only had him, an enslaved knight, to watch over them. William knew firsthand what it was like to feel abandoned at an early age. And these mites were even younger than he had been when … no matter, what had happened to him was nothing compared with what these children were suffering. They were too young to fend for themselves.

      William could not bring their mother back to life but, if humanly possible, he would help them.

      Something thudded into William’s back. The butt of a spear. As he stumbled on to the auction block, more darkness swept over him. His chains rattled, hobbling him at the ankles, weighing heavy at his wrists. The darkness was all but impenetrable, he could hardly see. It looked as though twilight was gathering, but surely evening could not have come so soon? He would have sworn it was not yet noon …

      William fought to stay on his feet as he fought to keep his wits about him. This was combat, a combat that was as challenging as any he had faced and he must not fail. The children need me.

      There was buzzing in his ears. A number of black splotches were flying about the auction hall, like crows in a cornfield. William knew what that meant—any moment he could topple like a felled poplar. His limbs were heavy as lead and his movements, as he mounted the dais, were slow. His head throbbed. His vision cleared a little to reveal Paula and Daphne in front of him on the platform, clutching each other. Paula’s eyes were huge, her face white. Both girls were half-starved, that went without saying, but William had learned that in the diminished world of the slave, lack of food was one of the lesser evils. His lip curled. The miscreant who was trying to sell them considered that half-starving a slave was merely one way of controlling him. Or her. He concentrated on the children, praying to be sold alongside them. Paula must be what—about two years of age? And Daphne was only a babe. He blinked to rid himself of the black splotches, bile was bitter at the back of his throat. And to think he had thought his early life harsh. Lord.

      A lock of blond hair fell into his eyes. When he shook it aside, pain shot to his temples, there was rushing in his ears. Meanwhile, fury sat like acid in his stomach, burning, burning. I should not be here. This is the slave market at Constantinople and I am up for sale. A knight on an auction block. Jesu, what has the world come to?

      Grimly, William forced himself to take stock of his surroundings.

      The auction block was a raised dais in the centre of a covered market that was packed with people. Stone pillars held up the roof. With something of a lurch, William realised why the torches had not been lit. It wasn’t twilight, far from it. Sunlight was streaming through Romanesque arches, bright shafts jabbed like hot knives into his brain. The darkness had been conjured by his exhausted mind, by his beaten body. The citizens of Constantinople were jostling each other, talking and laughing as they pressed up to the dais. They were narrowing their eyes as they stared at the children. At him. As William understood it, slavery was common here at the heart of the Empire.

      This was the second time William had