She chose a building at random. As Jexami had promised it was like an independent house, with its own kitchen, bedrooms, a bathroom just off the vestibule – even its own water supply, from a toy fountain in the bathroom. A girl brought her buckets of water and fresh clothes.

She stripped off her dirty travel garments, which the girl took away, then stepped into the bath. She knew little of Carthaginian customs. Perhaps this bathroom beside the door was meant as a gateway, between the grime of the outside world and the purity of the home. Whatever the symbolism it was a luxury beyond belief to sponge the hot water over her bare skin. There was even soap, which from its scent appeared to be of Northlander manufacture.

Soon she was warmed through, and scented, and was pulling on the clean clothes the girl had brought her. The need for sleep seemed to wash over her in a flood. Yet she must not succumb, not until she had dealt with Jexami and his odd reticence, not until the children were safely with her.

The man Himil was waiting for her when she emerged. He led her across the courtyard to a west-facing building dominated by a big, airy room. Here Jexami sat behind a desk covered with scrolls and slates, with a scribe to one hand, a clerk to the other scribbling numbers. When she came in, Jexami raised a hand, one finger in the air, without looking up.

The instruction was unmistakable. She waited in the doorway, motionless. She had become used to fielding such slights from the Carthaginians. She had not expected this discourtesy from a Northlander – a friend, a relative. Yet it was so. She began to feel uneasy.

At length he sat up straight, smiled at Rina, and clapped his hands to send the clerks away. He waved her to a seat before the desk. ‘Are you hungry? Would you like some fruit juice, wine, tea?’

‘A little wine would be welcome.’

Himil was despatched to fetch it.

There was a bundle on the desk, neatly wrapped in linen. He pushed it over to her. ‘Your dirty clothes – properly laundered, of course. Your baggage is outside. Oh, and the coins are in there too.’

‘The coins?’

‘The ones the carriage-man dropped in the dirt. Not worth much of course, but you may as well have them back!’ He laughed, as if he’d made a joke.

She frowned. ‘I don’t understand. They are good Northlander scrip.’