Ben noticed the diamond-shaped hole that had been punched through the Greek’s breastplate by some long, pointed weapon, probably a spear blade. ‘Looks like someone must’ve had an argument.’

‘Fighting over the last scrap of camel meat, most likely,’ Wolf muttered.

Holt gave a derisive snort, as though he’d seen it all a thousand times before. ‘That’s great. Totally fascinating, I’m sure. Shall we move on now?’

Madison could barely tear herself away, enormous bristly spiders and all. ‘I’ve got to take him with me.’

‘That’d be tomb robbing, wouldn’t it?’ Ben said.

‘Salvaging precious historical artefacts isn’t tomb robbing.’ Madison was her father’s daughter, all right.

‘Anyhow, it’s too much stuff to carry. We’ll come back for him if we get the chance.’

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, she agreed, handed Ben back his torch, and they pressed deeper into the tunnels. ‘We’re almost there,’ Safiya piped excitedly. ‘Wait until Mère Blanchet sees what I’ve brought her.’

Around a couple more twists, and Safiya cried out, ‘Mère Blanchet! Mère Blanchet! I’m back!’

The sound of raised voices from deeper inside the cave echoed towards them. A moment later, the dim glow of a candle lantern appeared from the shadows up ahead. The figure holding the lantern raised it up to see better, and Ben saw a small, wiry white woman with silver hair, peering at them in the flickering light. She was wearing a long plain robe that looked almost like a nun’s tunic. ‘Safiya? I was so worried about you!’ she called out in Pashto. Then she stiffened, seeing the torch beams and blinking from the dazzle. ‘Safiya, what’s happening? Who are these people?’

Ben began to speak, wanting to assure her they were no threat, but she backed away a step and in a strong authoritative voice shouted, ‘Stop! Who are you?’ Something metallic glinted in her hand. A small, old-fashioned but still perfectly lethal revolver the woman had whipped out of her tunic and was pointing straight at Ben’s stomach.

‘No, Mère Blanchet,’ Safiya protested. ‘These are my new friends and they’ve come to rescue us!’

‘My name is Hope, Madame Blanchet,’ Ben said to the woman, speaking English to show he wasn’t one of the men who’d destroyed her orphanage. ‘Please, lower your weapon. We want to help you. All of you.’

Little faces were peeking out from behind the woman’s. A voice squeaked out, ‘Safiya!’ Safiya called back to her friends, ‘Bashira! Gulnaz!’

Francine Blanchet hesitated, then let the gun down, but only a little. ‘Well, Mr Hope,’ she replied in perfect English with a strong remnant of a French accent. ‘Whoever you are, you’re very aptly named. And equally lucky that I didn’t shoot you. Now please oblige me by telling me exactly what you and these people are doing here.’