Lilla glanced back and saw a strange conveyance approaching the cool shade of the archway. It was a sort of box mounted on two long poles carried by four short and burly men – slaves, she assumed, since it looked hot work. The box was ornately decorated, its exterior finished in yellow silk with windows covered by white veils. A kind of carriage for the highborn of the city, she guessed, who were either too lazy to walk or too lofty to mingle with the common herd.

She stepped back and pulled Gerutha with her. ‘We’ll come back later,’ she said, reverting to her native Norse. ‘The guards will change at some point. The next man may be more biddable. Come.’

But as they turned away, a command wafted out through the veil. The voice was neither high nor low, soft, almost languorous. But the four litter-bearers came to a smart halt at once and the guard approached. Something about the timing of it made Lilla hesitate. There was some exchange in Greek, and then the guard looked round and, seeing her still there, beckoned to her impatiently. ‘Grígora!’

She came over to the litter. As she did a face appeared on the other side of the veil. It belonged a woman and, if the shifting folds told no lie, one of startling beauty. Although her features were curiously still, like a mask.

‘It’s been a long time since I heard that tongue,’ the painted lips murmured. Lilla was surprised to find the voice was not that of a woman, nor quite that of a man. But most of all that the words were Norse.

‘My lady, forgive me,’ she stammered. ‘To hear our own tongue—’

‘My lord,’ the woman replied.

Lilla shook her head, confused. ‘I’m sorry—’

‘My name is Lord Katāros.’

Lilla cursed inwardly. This chance sent by the gods and her first words were an insult. ‘How stupid of me.’

‘No matter. You must be as surprised as I. Few in the city speak the Norsk language.’

‘You are the first we have encountered, Lord Katāros.’

‘I am not surprised. We are a long way from home hearths,’ he said. It was a Norse idiom and would only be known to a native speaker or someone who knew the northern lands well.

‘How came you to know our language?’

‘It was my mother’s tongue.’

‘Truly?’ It seemed hard to believe. ‘Yet how came you to be here?’

The painted mouth flickered, more grimace than smile. ‘It is a long tale, and a tedious one. I would not wish to bore you with it. But I might return the same question. Perhaps a tale equally improbable?’

‘Perhaps,’ Lilla replied. ‘Or else mere fate.’

‘Ah, fate.’ The face nodded. ‘The spinner of all our tales. Another question then. What are you doing here before these gates?’

‘It must seem as improbable, but we seek an audience with the emperor. I carry a proposal.’