The sentinel bowed and followed the other women down the stairs. Lilla and Leo were momentarily alone. ‘Farewell then, Majesty,’ she said and made to leave, but Leo caught her arm.

‘If anything should happen to Maria. . . if. . .’ He fixed her with his strong, steady gaze. ‘I will have need of you, Queen Lilla. Do you understand me?’

‘Need of me?’ Lilla flushed with sudden searing anger. ‘You mean as all men of power have need of me. Listen, Basíleus. There’s something you should understand. I’m barren,’ she hissed. ‘My womb is fallow. A man like you has no need of a woman like me.’

Leo’s cheeks darkened, then his jaw grew hard, but before he could answer she had pulled her arm free and left him standing there. To savour his victory, alone.

Erlan had done all he could for Arbasdos, either from spite or from folly. Only the gods knew which. The general’s left leg was a blistered, bleeding swell of meat. The arrow wound had been cleaned, but was still suppurating dark blood. His breathing was shallow and he was delirious. Despite all this, the physician told Erlan that he should still live – after some time on a bed of sickness, of course.

Maybe it’ll teach the fool some humility, thought Erlan. Although knowing Arbasdos, probably not.

Erlan had burns himself and a wound across his hip which the physician had a servant dress for him. After that he left Arbasdos in the physician’s care, taking a sword he found in the general’s private chamber. Some dark nagging instinct told him he still might need it.

As he left the general’s mansion, he had only one thought in mind: to find Lilla. Out on the street, the change in the mood of the city was unmistakable. He heard shouts and whoops and the sound of merrymaking from the poorer quarters that lay west of the general’s gate. Higher up the hill, the sound of singing rose through the windows of the basilicas of the Holy Wisdom and the Holy Peace.

His body was crying for rest but he trudged up the hill towards the Augustaion, forcing his limbs onward. His hand was shaking. He kept seeing flashes of fire in his mind’s eye, kept hearing the shriek of dying sailors. Two youths came running down the hill. ‘Did you hear?’ they yelled excitedly. ‘The Arabs are finished! The Bulgars massacred them to a man. The siege is over!’

He caught the older boy by the arm. ‘Are you certain? They’re finished?’

‘Massacred, I tell you! The Bulgars won a great victory!’

‘The city’s saved,’ whooped his mate.