‘You saw Maslama himself?’ asked Leo.

‘I did, Majesty.’ The Jewess stood before the emperor with the same haughty half-grin she had worn when the patriarch had fumed at her around Arbasdos’s table.

‘You did well, daughter of Abraham.’

‘I did.’

Katāros could not help but admire her. Her appearance was immaculate. There was not a fold out of place to suggest where she had been. She was dressed in black silk and cloaked in black wool, with baggy pantaloons of the style worn by merchants in the sweltering ports of southern Persia. Her long black hair was arranged in two demure braids that fell down her back. She must have an iron constitution to endure the cold in nothing more. But her clothes had served her purpose.

‘Tell me then. What did you learn?’

Lucia’s lips pursed for a brief moment, before she started speaking quickly and softly. ‘I saw nothing so pathetic as Maslama’s army, Majesty. Human waste everywhere. Dead carcasses of animals stripped to the bone. Even dead bodies, left to rot with the ground too hard to dig, or else waiting for the furnace—’

‘So they suffer privation,’ interrupted Leo, impatient, ‘yes, yes. But what of his plans?’

Lucia’s eyes flicked to Katāros. There was no one else in the room. The emperor had insisted on absolute privacy for this first report, not even his precious guards were present. The chamberlain calmly stepped forward and furnished the Jewess with a cup of warm Thracian red. She accepted, arching a slender eyebrow in thanks. ‘The new Caliph Umar has promised Maslama another fleet, bringing grain from Alexandria. And reinforcements from Syria.’

‘When, girl, when?’

‘They expect them in the spring.’

‘Nothing more specific?’

‘They know nothing more. Though they pray it is early spring,’ she added.

‘Hmm.’ The emperor brushed the imperial seal on his knuckle thoughtfully over his lips. ‘Anything else?’

‘They fear the Bulgars far more than they fear us. The people of the shadows, they call them.’

‘Anything else?’

‘General Suleiman presses Maslama to reach out to them in alliance against us. He counsels him to appeal to the caliph to send gold for the purpose.’

The emperor scoffed. ‘The Bulgars would never ally themselves to followers of the Prophet.’

‘Nevertheless, Maslama is considering it. Only the loss of personal honour makes him hesitate. To seek allies would be to admit failure – and with a force larger than any ever assembled. He wears it sorely.’

‘Maslama always did prefer to save face, whatever it cost him,’ observed Leo. ‘The Bulgars, eh?’ he muttered to himself, pacing up and down the priceless Bukharan carpet that warmed the marble floor.

‘There is one further thing you should know, Majesty.’

‘Go on.’

‘They have an agent within the city walls.’

Leo frowned. ‘An agent?’

‘A spy—’

‘Did you learn his identity?’