‘You must be in need of refreshment, my lord,’ said the fire-maker, suddenly at sea in the room he knew so well, picking up random objects and absently putting them down again. At last he found the silver platter on which the wine and glasses stood. ‘I’m flattered by your visit. Is your business urgent?’

‘Necessary. Not urgent. I have no need to rush away. We can enjoy a drink. ’

‘Good, good. Please.’ He offered Katāros a place on the couch. The chamberlain slid into it while Nikolaos finished pouring out the wine. He handed Katāros a cup, stooping awkwardly and then standing back. ‘What is this about?’

‘Please.’ It was Katāros’s turn to be gracious. ‘I cannot have you standing there like some schoolboy at his lessons. There is plenty of room.’ He shifted artfully to one side, but not too far, so that when Nikolaos sat down they lay quite close together.

‘Your health,’ said Katāros. They touched glasses and Nikolaos spilled a drop of wine between them. He sniggered nervously. ‘Forgive me. My hands are clumsy.’

‘A little spillage will not hurt.’

The fire-maker smiled. ‘I suppose not.’

The door opened then and the small figure of his wife appeared. Katāros nearly sighed in frustration, anticipating laborious introductions, but Nikolaos was already on his feet. ‘Out, out, you little pest! Can’t you see I’m busy?’

The humble creature ducked her head remorsefully, mumbled something and retreated from the room. ‘Go to bed, woman. We may be some time,’ he called after her. ‘And close the door!’

The door was duly closed.

A sardonic smile crept over Katāros’s lips. He hadn’t marked the fire-maker for a domestic tyrant.

‘Now,’ said Nikolaos, regaining his composure. ‘What can I do for you?’

They talked for some time. Katāros had made an art of recycling endless streams of figures – quantities, delivery times, budgets, output, source materials, wastage, and so on and so on – pausing only to season the dull business of administration with occasional forays into courtly gossip, which seemed to delight Nikolaos no end. And the more he drank the more he laughed, and the more he allowed the eunuch’s large dark eyes to linger on his, or the back of their fingers to brush, or a fleeting hand to alight upon his knee when something was ‘too funny’.

And so the web was spun. At last Katāros sensed the time had come. ‘Truly,’ he said, ‘you are a wonder.’

‘You flatter me.’