"Only a couple of hours. I couldn't sleep." She picked up one of the place cards and used it to fan herself. "Jayr let me set up a minilab so I could update the database and take a peek at her blood."

Michael recalled how interested Alexandra had been in testing the seneschal's blood. "Have you come to any conclusions about her?"

"Working on it." She smothered a yawn. "Thanks for talking Byrne into giving me that sample. It'll help with identifying the shared pathogen factors in Jayr's blood."

He smiled. "Every female here delights in jewels and gowns and attention, and devote themselves to acquiring more. Yet all it takes to give you equal pleasure are vials and microscopes."

"Costs about the same." Alexandra glanced up as the musicians ended the set. "Is that Scarlet up there? What does he play?"

"Will favors the lute, and plays it very well, but I think he means to sing."

Locksley's seneschal stood at the balcony railing and propped his foot up, placing one hand against his chest. "When I see Kyn appear beside each other unarmed, exchanging the kiss of peace and being gentle with one another, I know no finer joy." He cast a jaundiced eye down on the crowd. "I also know that, like the chastity of a rich merchant's daughter, it cannot last."

Laughter swept around the room, and the dancers left the floor to refresh themselves and listen.

Scarlet nodded to the musicians, who began to play a soft, sweet tune to accompany his song.

"Bryd one brere, brid, brid one brere,

Kynd is come of love, love to crave

Blythful biryd, on me thu rewe

Or greyth, lef, greith thu me my grave.

Hie am so blithe, so bryhit, brid on brere,

Quan I se that hende in halle:

Yhe is whit of lime, loveli, trewe

Yhe is fayr and flur of alle.

Mikte ic hire at wille haven,

Stedefast of love, loveli, trewe,

Of mi sorwe yhe may me saven

Ioye and blisse were me newe."

Scarlet bowed to the applause, and then sang the song again in English.

"Bird on a briar, bird on a briar,

mankind is come of love, love thus craves.

Blissful bird, have pity on me,

Or dig, love, dig thou for me my grave."

From the garland around the railing, Scarlet plucked a flower and tossed it down to Alexandra, who caught it with a look of shocked pleasure.

"I am so blithe, so bright, bird on a briar,

When I see that handmaid in the hall:

She is white of limb, lovely, true,

She is fair and flower of all.

Might I her at my will have,

Steadfast of love, lovely, true,

From my sorrow she may me save

Joy and bliss would wear me new."

Scarlet bowed to Alexandra and Michael, then picked up a lute, strumming it before he joined the ensemble in playing a quick, lighthearted tune.

"That is a planxty," Michael told her. "They rarely have lyrics set to them, but were written by jongleurs for traveling minstrels, or to honor their patrons."

Alexandra twirled Scarlet's flower between her fingers. "I get the feeling you put him up to this."

She never accepted anything at face value, Michael thought, and then wondered why that bothered him so much. "That song was written and performed long before America was even discovered."

She reached over and hooked her hand around his neck. "Thank you," she said, and kissed him.

"Enough of that." Locksley stood over them, grinning. "When my seneschal stops playing the fool, will you dance with me, my lady?"

Alexandra glanced at Michael. "Am I allowed to, or are predance diplomatic talks required?"

Before he could answer, a squabble broke out between two Kyn women at the next table. Michael had seen them at various assemblies but didn't recall their names. A furious brunette in a red-and-blue gown hissed an old curse in Anglo-Saxon, reached over, and slapped a sneering blonde in a glittering black sheath. The blonde answered with a vile threat in archaic French. Jewel-encrusted copper daggers appeared and the Norman struck first, stabbing the brunette in the upper arm. The brunette snapped her wrist and slashed the blonde's right cheek. Alexandra saw the blood and started to rise, but sat down as the wounds healed over and the brunette hit the blonde again, this time in the nose with her fist. They lunged at each other and toppled to the floor.

Michael signaled two guards, who separated the writhing women and marched them out of the hall. Low laughter from the guests followed them.

Alexandra watched them go. "What was that all about?"

"A recent feud, I imagine," Michael said.

"Rather an old one," Robin corrected. "Lady Helvise, the brunette, is Saxon. Lady Desora, the blonde, is Norman."

Michael shook his head. "They should not have been seated together."

"Why not?" Alexandra asked.

"Normans are conceited and obsessed with courtly behavior," Robin said. "They believe in using utensils, napkins, and having their meals served in separate courses. Saxons are aggressive and boisterous. Their manner of dining is to get drunk, gather around a spit, and rip half-cooked chunks from whatever is roasting. Oftimes, after William the Bastard invaded England, it was a stray Norman. That is why one never sits a Saxon next to a Norman."

"I didn't think nationalities mattered to you guys," Alexandra said. "Who cares what you were during the Middle Ages?"

"Spoken like a true American," Robin said. "Every nationality, however, has their sins. The English are cold and indifferent, the Germans lewd and brutal, the Spaniards fickle and faithless, the Irish self-indulgent and superior."

"Really." Alexandra nodded toward Michael. "How about the French?"

"They're the worst." Robin leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Arrogant, opinionated snobs, the lot of them."

She laughed. "That sounds about right. You ever go shopping with this guy when he's looking for a new suit?"

Robin nodded. "It did not take that long to fight the Hundred Years War."

"I am sitting right here," Michael said plainly. "I have not gone deaf."

As they laughed together, calls for another song were shouted from the floor to Will Scarlet. At the same time, Nottingham and his Saracens made their entrance.

Locksley stopped laughing, his face turning to stone.

Scarlet stood and this time brought his lute with him, strumming it as the other musicians and the guests fell silent. He saluted his master, who Michael saw was too busy staring at Nottingham and his entourage to notice. Will's voice softened with melancholy as he began to sing:

"The woodwele sings, and will not cease

For song is vanity,

but lo, I'll tell ye of the Hood

and how he came to be.

A poor but noble knight was Robin,

the last of Sherwood's sons,

his love was Maiden Marian

an heiress raised by nuns

Rob offered for her without guise

but Marian was sold

by her sire to the Prince of Lies

for treachery and gold.

The maiden fayre did fly to Robin

afraid of her betrothed

for Guy of Guisbourne wore his sin

like other men their clothes."

Michael heard a number of Kyn mutter under their breath and watched a few cross themselves. Too many had lost blood Kyn to Guisbourne's treachery, and even the mention of his name filled them with hatred.

"Excuse me, my lady," Locksley said, bowing to Alexandra before he walked away.

Michael watched Robin, but Nottingham seemed oblivious to Locksley. From where he sat with his men, the dark lord stared at the singing seneschal without blinking.

"Maid Marian entreated Rob

to help her flee the louse,

and take her to the house of God

where she might take her vows.

They donned the hood and rode away,

the hero and his maid,

but Guy did track them night and day

and many traps he laid.

When last the maiden safety found

good Robin took his blade

and went to fight on holy ground

not knowing what he saved."

Alexandra tugged at his sleeve, and he bent over to hear her whisper, "Is that true? Robin dumped Marian somewhere and left to go crusading?"

Michael felt a change in the air and frowned. "There is more to it than that, chérie."

"The king gave Guy in lieu of bride

the lands of Robin Hood

but Guy was never satisfied

and so brought down Sherwood.

Robin fought the heathen

and marked the sands in blood,

came back to claim Maid Marian

but she lay in her shroud."

Michael saw Alexandra shiver, and something moved across the surface of the water in her goblet. He picked up the glass, which was colder than ice, and saw crystals forming around the sides.

The temperature of the room had not changed, but a quick glance told him the liquid in every cup was turning into solid ice.

He looked at Nottingham, who had stopped glaring at Scarlet and was now staring across the assembly. At the other end of his gaze was Locksley, standing now and leaning against a post, looking as if he might draw his sword and start across the room.

"Michael."

He looked down at his sygkenis, who had wrapped her arms around herself and was shivering violently. He was appalled to see that ice crystals had formed on her eyelashes.

"I can't," Alexandra said through chattering teeth, "feel my feet or my hands."

"An outlaw scorned by stupid men,

the Hood became a brother,

for love of Lady Marian,

he never loved another.

Take heed, my patient, kindly friends,

walk not where Rob had gone.

Love's lost path never ends,

and now my song is done."

Michael removed his jacket and wrapped it around her before striding over to Nottingham and his men. A thick sheet of ice covered their table, and frost whitened the Saracens' blades.

"Lord Nottingham." Michael had to repeat his name twice more before the Italian gave him his attention. "Your talent is causing discomfort here. You should retire for the evening."