Although Nefyn had tried to assure him that Joseph wouldn’t betray him, Hamza had woken throughout the night, his breathing shallow. He had risen early, asked Nefyn for every map in the cottage. She had spent the morning unearthing them from the folds of books, and boxes and frames. Nefyn watched him now as he studied them in silence, his fingers finding an impalpable Braille on their surface. He read their symbols. Tried to tease their lines into showing him an exit. She watched as he charted the coast, sought out the tides. He knew that his best hope was the sea, every other avenue would be heavily guarded, but he’d need contacts, passage … He held his head in his hands. Felt Nefyn’s eyes on him.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

He looked up at her. Frustration in his eyes. Looked once again at the maps.

‘Nothing.’

‘Don’t lie,’ she answered. Hamza had been preoccupied all day. Quiet. The ease into which they had entered destabilized by his withdrawal. He looked up at her again. ‘I’m going to need more help. If I can get to France, Germany perhaps. Maybe I can make my way …’ He had been watching her. She too had been unable to settle anywhere today, had spent most of the day in her room, door closed. The argument with Joseph obviously weighing on her. He had considered her state of mind. Her ability to help him.

‘Can you think of someone who could help? I’m willing to go myself. Meet someone, maybe at night …’ he offered. He could tell that she was troubled. ‘I’m sorry to ask.’ She was looking away now.

‘I’ll try and think of someone,’ she said softly. ‘I promise.’ Hamza nodded. Unwilling to push her further. They listened to the silence for a moment as Nefyn came to sit. She looked at the maps, reached out her fingertips.

‘I’ve never really looked at them,’ she said quietly. ‘They’ve been here all these years.’ She withdrew her fingers and looked up at him uncertainly. ‘I hadn’t noticed they were so beautiful.’ Hamza watched her, dark circles under her eyes, her lids heavy.

‘These are only one kind of map,’ he said, ‘the kind made by white men who put themselves at the centre of them.’ He smiled. ‘Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi, Muhammad al-Idrisi … These men charted the world long ago … long before these maps here.’