It so happened that Alexios was wrong; Erlan found the emperor in a talkative mood. He was ensconced in his private solar – his work chamber set high on the western gallery of the Daphne wing of the palace – buried under a fur and digging his way through a pile of parchments on his desk, a half-empty wine-pitcher by his hand. By the time Erlan relieved the previous guard, the pale winter sun was close to setting, casting long, spectral shadows through the pillars of the Hippodrome to the west.

‘Ah, Northman,’ he said, swiping his glass from the desktop and leaning back in his chair. ‘Or Erlan, I should say. You have a name, after all.’

‘Your Majesty.’

‘And quite a name now, after your heroics in the breach. Well, potential breach,’ he corrected himself.

‘I’m only glad the crisis passed, Majesty.’

‘Yes, for now. Although one crisis succeeds another soon enough.’ He gestured at the parchments scattered across the table. ‘Drink?’

‘I’m on duty, sire.’

‘I won’t report you,’ he chuckled and rose to retrieve another glass. ‘Come, remove your sword. Make yourself comfortable. I need a rest from all this.’ Hesitantly Erlan unbuckled his sword and leaned it against a pillar, accepting the tall glass of wine the emperor offered, but he stopped short of taking a seat. ‘Life was considerably simpler when I was a soldier,’ mused Leo. ‘It wasn’t that long ago. But it seems like a lifetime.’

Erlan knew that Leo the Isaurian had worn the purple for not even a year. And what a year. . . ‘They say you rose through the ranks.’

‘Every rung,’ nodded Leo. ‘There’s always another to climb.’

‘Until now.’

Leo shot Erlan a glance, then smiled. ‘Indeed.’ He took another sip. ‘I cut my teeth in the east. Well, I learned my trade there anyhow. The Emperor Justinian sent me to Alania in northern Persia, I think mostly to get rid of me. But he did me a service. I learned strategy, and combat of course – but more importantly I learned diplomacy. How to weave and dissemble. The art of empire is not in strength but cunning.’

‘The Arabs have strength.’

‘Certainly. But are they a match for the other? I flatter myself that Maslama is not.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

Leo gave a hesitant grunt, his eyes narrowed, perhaps considering whether to continue. ‘I’ve met the man. Face to face. A meeting he must regret now.’ He chuckled at some memory. ‘It’s thanks to him I now sit upon the throne.’

‘How so?’