Dirt rained on his back, and heavier lumps. He turned, squinting up. ‘Father?’

His father had taken Pimpira’s shovel and was frantically scooping the pile of lumpy, still-frozen earth back in the hole. ‘Shut up,’ he said, panting, glancing up. ‘Don’t move.’

‘What are you doing? Must I hide here?’

‘Yes, you must hide.’

‘How long?’

‘You’ll know. Then dig your way out.’ His father kept shovelling. The rubble was building up on his chest, his legs. Soon he would be buried. Pimpira, shocked, saw tears stream down his father’s face. ‘Remember us. Now put your hands over your face.’

The next shovel-load came raining down on Pimpira’s head. He huddled in the hole, curling around big blocks of frosty earth. Soon the rubble had shut out the light, and he was covered. But the weight was not great; he would be able to climb out. He heard frantic scuffing. He imagined his father kicking dirt over the storage pit, to conceal it. Then running footsteps, receding.

And then the soldiers arrived, with a tramp of marching boots, a clink of scabbards knocking against greaves, wagons trundling to a halt. Pimpira longed to see them! But, as his father had ordered, he lay curled in the hole.

More footsteps. His mistress’ voice. ‘Zida. I hoped it would be you.’

‘I told you I’d do it for old Kassu. I take it he’s not here.’

‘Working on the round-up in the city. He knows in his head what must be done here, but his heart would explode out of his chest if he were forced to dispose of his own slaves.’

Dispose of?

‘That heart of Kassu’s is his big trouble, for all he’s a stickler for his duty. And if not for the generosity of his heart, lady, you might not be alive to see this day. Or that streak of piss standing beside you.’

‘The blessing of the Carpenter be on you too, Zida.’ That was the voice of the priest, Palla. He sounded good-humoured.

‘I asked Palla to be here,’ Henti snapped. ‘He’s good with the slaves. I’ve seen him comfort them. They’re not animals; they deserve consolation when it comes to the end.’

Zida said sourly, ‘You’re a big bucket of consolation, priest, while the rest of us bloody our hands with the killing.’

Palla said evenly, ‘I think Jesus will understand what’s to be done today, and He’ll see the grain of goodness in you even as you slaughter, officer. You’re here to commit a terrible act – and yet you have come to spare your friend the pain of doing it himself.’