Kushiel's Chosen

yellow cap atop his dark hair. "I meant no offense," he said, a touch of uneasy defiance in his voice. "I do not worship Asherat-of-the-Sea. By our commandments, it is unlawful for me to lower my gaze before false idols and prophets."
    Until then, I hadn't known him for a Yeshuite; then, I did. I didn't know yet that Serenissiman law required all followers of Yeshua to identify themselves with yellow caps, but I knew the accent-and I knew their sacred precepts. The Rebbe had made sure of that; I could quote Moishe's Tablets verbatim.
    "And by our commandments," the Immortali said menacingly, "you should have your eyes put out!" He drew his belt-knife and nodded to his companions. "Grab him!"
    The crowd scattered back, abandoning the Yeshuite; the Immortali charged. They got so far as to snatch the cap from his hair, and I heard, ringingly, the sound of two daggers clearing their sheathes in precise simultaneity.
    "My lady." Ti-Philippe appeared at my side and spoke in irritated D'Angeline. "It is Southfort all over again, and I do not wish to die for that idiot's heroics, but if you ask me to, I will."
    "No." I sighed, looking across the Square to where Joscelin stood before the Yeshuite, crossed daggers forming a deadly barrier of protection against the Immortali, bright steel blazing in the sunlight. I had taken the measure of Severio's comrades, and I did not think they meant to do aught more than scare the Yeshuite. "My lord," I appealed to Severio "if you would woo me, pray bid your companions not spill the blood of my men in my presence."
    No coward, Severio Stregazza; he waded amid the Immortali, shoving down raised arms. "Enough, enough! You've given him a fright to remember, now let my lady's guardsman be! What are you, noblemen or thugs?"
    It was over in seconds, the Immortali giving way good-naturedly, forgetting their quarrel; two of them clapped Joscelin on the shoulder, which he bore with frigid tolerance. Ti-Philippe retrieved the Yeshuite's cap and brought it to me. I made my way over and spoke to the poor man. "Are you all right?" I asked in Caerdicci, handing him his cap.
    "Yes, thank you." He replied absently in the same tongue, settling the yellow cap atop his curls, his gaze fixed intently on Joscelin. He lacked the traditional sidelocks, I noted, and his hands clenched into fists with the undissipated force of his anger. One of the schismatics, I thought; even so, his interest in Joscelin was peculiar. All the more so when he murmured beneath his breath in Habiru, "And he shall carve out the way before you, and his blades shall shine like a star in his hands."
    Like a secret code, a shared tongue carries over a crowded space. I saw Joscelin turn, eyes wide and startled as the murmured Habiru reached his ear. The Yeshuite made a bobbing bow in his manner, and stepped back, the milling throng closing around him. I met Joscelin's wide-eyed gaze and wondered.
    "So the Immortali bear insults to the Gracious Lady of the Sea," spoke a taunting voice from somewhere behind me; I spun about to see us surrounded by another noblemen's club, its fellows clad in green-and-white striped hose, their leader wearing a blue chlamys over his tunic. He gestured, making the short cloak swirl. "You have grown fearful, since losing the support of the D'Angeline Prince. The Perpetui of Sestieri Navis would not abide such a slap in the face to the Dea Coelestis!"
    "Pietro Contini," Severio said through clenched jaws, "I am in the mood to kick in someone's teeth today, and it might as well be yours. If you don't want to pick them up from the Square, go tell Lorenzo Pescaro I said so!"
    "And miss such a glorious opportunity?" The leader of the Perpetui smiled and drew a short truncheon from his belt. "I think not."
    And with that, he swung hard at the head of Severio, who ducked with an oath and planted a punch in his midsection. The Perpetui leader grunted, and in short order, fists and bats were flying, and the crowd was scattering anew. I saw some of the strolling lovers watching, one of the young women clapping her hands in glee at the entertainment. A horde of Perpetui descended on Severio, scion of their Sestieri's greatest enemy; he struggled against them, shielding his head. Pietro Contini had caught his breath and was roaring for blood. The Immortali flung themselves into the fray, and I heard Ti-Philippe's voice call out my name like a paean as my chevaliers waded into battle. "Phè-dre! Phèdre!"
    Bodies surged,