‘Perhaps they’re afraid,’ suggested Gerutha. ‘Or resigned to their fate.’

Lilla leaned against the stone balustrade, her gaze intent on the scene below. ‘They’re not afraid. The emperor knows what he’s doing.’

‘I hope you’re right. Look.’ Erlan pointed south. ‘There’s the last of them.’ The rearguard of the fleet was another two lines of war-galleys labouring their way into the mouth of the Bosporus.

‘That’s well over a thousand ships,’ said Lilla. ‘Maybe two.’

‘Ymir’s blood!’ Erlan snarled. ‘And a hundred thousand warriors to the west, you say?’ He seized Lilla’s hand. ‘We should leave here, Lilla. Now, while we can.’

‘No.’ Her jaw muscles stiffened in that obstinate way of hers. ‘I didn’t come this far to leave with nothing.’

‘You haven’t left with nothing. You have me.’

‘Can one man win a war?’ She looked at him, and for the first time he saw a hardness in her eyes he didn’t recognize.

‘The wind’s dying, look,’ said Gerutha. ‘See the banners on the wall.’

She was right. After fluttering all morning, the long trails of silk, each blazoned with the empire’s double-headed eagle, now hung limp as pelts on their poles.

Below, almost level with them now, the procession of sails slowed, as if the sea had turned to tar. The waves settled to a glassy sheen. The lighter ships took to their oars and set about rowing themselves out of the calm, although it was heavy going against the stream. They slowed even more when a breeze picked up from the north, licking the limp banners back into life.

Something else caught Erlan’s eye. A little to the north, a small flotilla of rowing craft nosed out from behind the city promontory. Each boat was a third of the size of the great Arab war-galleys languishing against stream and now wind; each with no more than forty oars at work, but they moved across the ruffled waters with surprising speed.

The rest of the Arab fleet had all but abandoned its rearguard, although what damage the smaller Byzantine craft could do to those monsters, Erlan couldn’t imagine. Even so, he saw the Arab marines on board scatter. It looked a lot like panic.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Gerutha.

The little Byzantine ships drove forward, the tempo of their oars increasing while the wooden monsters whaled ahead of them.

‘This is madness,’ Erlan said. ‘They’ll be smashed into kindling.’

‘Just watch.’ Lilla’s gaze was welded to the hardy little boats. The galleys were banking round to meet these Byzantine upstarts. Erlan could see Arab marines now lining the gunwales, their spear-tips catching the light of the morning sun.