Anthony shook his head. "I do not think so, Antonina. Or, at least, not the craft of black magic."

Curiosity overrode her fear. Antonina came forward. As short as she was, she did not have to stoop to scrutinize the thing closely.

"I have never seen its like," she whispered. "I have never heard of its like. Magic gems, yes. But this—it resembles a jewel, at first, until you look more closely. Or a crystal. Then—within—it is like—"

She groped for words. Her husband spoke:

"So must the sun's cool logic unfold, if we could see beneath its roiling fury."

"Oh, well said!" cried Cassian. "A poetic general! A philosophical soldier!"

"Enough with the jests," snapped Michael. "General, you must take it in your hand."

The calm gaze transferred itself to the monk.

"Why?"

For a moment, the raptor glare manifested itself. But only for a moment. Uncertainly, Michael lowered his head.

"I do not know why. The truth? You must do it because my friend Anthony Cassian said you must. And of all men that I have ever known, he is the wisest. Even if he is a cursed churchman."

Belisarius regarded the bishop.

"Why then, Cassian?"

The bishop gazed down at the thing in his palm, the jewel that was not a jewel, the gem without weight, the crystal without sharpness, the thing with so many facets—and, he thought, so many more forming and reforming—that it seemed as round as the perfect sphere of ancient Greek dreams.

Anthony shrugged. "I cannot answer your question. But I know it is true."

The bishop motioned toward the seated monk.

"It first came to Michael, five days ago, in his cave in the desert. He took the thing in his hand and was transported into visions."

Belisarius stared at the monk. Antonina, hesitantly, asked: "And you do not think it is witchcraft?"

Michael of Macedonia shook his head.

"I am certain that it is not a thing of Satan. I cannot explain why, not in words spoken by men. I have—felt the thing. Lived with it, for two days, in my mind. While I lay unconscious to the world."