‘Cup your hands,’ he instructed Anoush. He spilled coins into the boy’s palms. ‘I need you to do something for me. I want you to go to the bazaar, quickly, and buy me some lamp oil. As much as you can carry. Get tinder also. If there’s money left over it’s yours. Go, lad. Now!’

Anoush nodded and left swiftly to do his bidding. Dion paced and made plans, feeling the time passing far too quickly for his comfort. He decided he would head for the harbor at the end of the day, when most of the crews would have left. He had to be clever as well as lucky if he was going to leave Lamara alive.

He ate some dried fruit and drank water, feeling his strength return. His brow furrowed as he tried to understand the plans of Solon and his naval overlord, Kargan. Roxana had told Anoush they were sailing for Xanthos . . .

But how was that possible?

Anoush finally returned an hour before sunset. He struggled to make his way up the stairs as he carried a heavy satchel over one shoulder.

‘What is this for, master?’

‘Anoush, I cannot tell you. The best thing you can do is to forget you ever met me. We might not see each other again.’

Dion took the satchel and put it over his shoulder. Peering inside, he saw a bulging skin and a bundle of dry tinder.

He left his bow and quiver in the room; if he could, afterwards, he would return to get them. He still hurt, but he could do this. Pushing aside the last remnants of pain, he summoned his determination as he crouched down and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, Anoush.’

Without another word, Dion left the House of Algar. He walked with purpose, heading straight for the harbor.

The guards at the gate let him through unchallenged, and Dion soon found himself walking along the sandy shore. Passing the lined-up warships, he saw bireme after bireme, with barely enough space between them for a man to walk. They were all drawn up on the shore with just a section of stern in the water. Some showed activity, sailors scrubbing the decks and mending sails. But most of the vessels were still and silent; their crews were done for the day.

Dion headed in the direction of the rectangular hut that was the mess. A hood on the structure’s side funneled black smoke from the cooking hearth within. He saw a marine he knew and waved casually; Dion was just a man carrying supplies.