Barmocar’s office was right next door to the temple. He kept her waiting, of course, and met her in an anteroom, rather than take her into his office. ‘I thought you’d show up again. Helpless sorts like you always do.’ He sat at a desk, but she was forced to stand; he had a cup of water which he sipped, but offered her nothing. ‘Will this take long? I am, if you haven’t noticed, a busy man.’

‘Busy with what?’

‘The temple. Which has always been an important institution in this city, and I’m senior on its governing council.’ He eyed her. ‘The temple is the big building next door. With the statues of our gods Melqart and his son Tanit – I don’t suppose you know who they are, do you?’

‘I need your help,’ she said.

He sat back, a grin on his face. He was a fleshy man, though even he had lost weight during the long journey from Northland. She had no idea if he intended to help her or not, but he was evidently planning to have some fun. ‘Jexami warned me you’d show up. How will you pay me this time? Do you have some other prophet’s bones hidden up your arse?’

‘I have nothing to give you. You know that. Nothing but my labour.’

‘Yes, but labour doing what? What could you possibly do for me that would justify a salary to keep you alive? Oh, and those kids of yours.’

‘I am highly intelligent, and educated. Surely you see that.’ She stopped herself; even in this desperate moment she had slipped into patronising him. ‘I can contribute in many ways to your enterprises. As a clerk, a scribe—’

‘By Melqart’s toenail, you don’t even speak the language, woman!’

‘I can learn.’

‘Learn? What, an old stick like you? Look, as far as I can see you have only one saleable asset, and that’s your son’s brute strength. Even the girl’s no beauty.’

‘My son is an artist.’

‘Ha!’

‘There must be something I could do. Work in your office. Your household . . .’

‘You really are desperate, aren’t you?’

‘And you really are enjoying this,’ she couldn’t help but snap back.

‘Still the arrogant she-devil! I’ll tell you what – only because it amuses me – perhaps there is something. Working for my wife, not for me. She’s talked occasionally of needing a woman, somebody less stupid than the cattle that pass for servants these days.’

She felt a spark of hope. ‘I can help with her correspondence, run the household—’

‘You’ll do what she tells you. Starting with cutting her toenails, I should think.’

‘I’ll take it – thank you—’