At this, the khan threw back his head and bellowed out a big, booming laugh so infectious Erlan couldn’t help smiling. ‘The gall of the Byzantine is truly a thing of wonder! You want us to win this war for you, huh? I wonder would you do the same for my people?’

‘Byzantium is doing this for you already. By standing. If the Great City falls, you will be next.’

The khan’s laughter died and he fell to tugging pensively at the thin rope of his beard. ‘Maybe. . . Maybe not.’

‘If the Arabs take Byzantium, they will rest, they will grow stronger, then they will come. And you have nothing but a heap of mud and a few sticks to keep them out.’ Erlan glared hard into the khan’s oval eyes. ‘If a man means to destroy you, when should you face him? When he’s at full strength, well rested, with his belly full? Or when he’s sick and demoralized and starving?’ Erlan gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘When he’s eating his own shit, as you so delicately put it?’ He leaned forward, pressing his knuckles on the khan’s table. ‘Take your chance now to secure what your father won for your people. And win the friendship of the Byzantines for ever.’

‘For ever? Bah! Nothing is for ever with the Byzantines. . . Still, you do speak some sense.’ The hall fell to silence for a while. At length, the khan sighed. ‘You are no Byzantine, are you?’

‘No.’

‘Then why do you stand here, speaking for them?’

Erlan thought about this. Thought about explaining how they had lost their envoy when they were not half a day’s ride beyond the walls. ‘Because of the city,’ he said instead. ‘Because of what it stands for. . . I believe it’s worth saving.’

The khan considered this answer, nodding slowly. ‘True. Its history has been long. But not always honourable.’

‘I also believe in the emperor. . .’

‘Ahh. It is a wonderful thing, the faith of a young warrior in his lord. . . Alas, such faith is only a distant memory now for an old sceptic like me.’ Tervel snorted. ‘What is your name, young man?’

‘Erlan Aurvandil.’

‘Aurvandil. Mmm. Well, Erlan Aurvandil, I find myself almost persuaded.’ He chuckled. ‘But only almost—’

He was interrupted by the sound of a sudden disturbance below. Footsteps thundered up the stairs and all at once a warrior entered in haste, trailed by two others. The man was young, though still a little older than Erlan, lean as a spear and garbed in a silk coat the colour of midnight with a crimson sash around his waist.

Without a glance in Erlan’s direction, he started berating the khan in a voice far from respectful, banging his fists on the table in his passion. Tervel listened indulgently, his jovial face unmoved by the newcomer’s tirade.