Towards the evening they came to a substantial town, a mixture of wooden and stone architecture, a local market centre.Again they were not allowed inside the walls, despite Barmocar’s protests. They had to sleep in rough felt tents loaned by the town and erected by Barmocar’s soldiers, and were shown where to find fresh water, and were sold shrivelled fruit at astounding prices. The soldiers, who seemed competently led by a grizzled officer, set up a perimeter and organised a watch rota, helped out by some of the travellers.

At least Rina and her children had a tent to themselves. But the night was uncomfortable, the ground hard despite the layers of clothing heaped up on the ground under them – and cold, as if under the surface it had never thawed since the winter. In the morning Alxa helped out with brushing and feeding the horses. It was a novelty for her; horses were rare in Northland.

It took three days of jolting travel in the carts before they came to the valley of a broad river, leading roughly south. They were supposed to sail down this all the way to the great port of Massalia. But there were no boats. Barmocar, ill-tempered, betrayed again by his contacts, had to form up the party to continue the journey south by foot and carriage.

Worry nagged at Rina at the thought that the further they travelled the more Barmocar’s elaborate arrangements were breaking down, as if the world itself was steadily failing around them. Rina, fifty-one years old, had travelled extensively before, across Northland, and in Gaira and Ibera, and, last year, as far as Hantilios with Pyxeas. But she had imagined, deep in her heart, that on this journey she would travel as she had before, in comfort, in well-equipped cabins in caravans and canal boats and ships, with servants and every luxury. Now here she was with no more luggage than she and her children could manage on their backs, rattling in rough carts and carriages over foreign tracks, sleeping under a felt tent on cold, hard earth, and not having had a decent wash for so many days that she probably smelled worse than the horses.

But she held her tongue for the sake of her children. Nelo was sometimes disturbingly quiet, but he was absorbed in what he saw around him – sights such as none had seen in generations, and recorded with brisk strokes of his crayons. And Alxa was discovering a practical side that was, for the first time, Rina supposed, being given a chance to flourish. For their sake Rina did not complain, did not question.