‘Hmm. I’ve seen this before. All right. But better to lose your soul between the thighs of a woman than to the emptiness out there. I will say you’re ill, so nobody’s feelings are hurt. May I give her the food anyway?’

‘If you wish.’

‘Of course in my arms she would explode like a Northlander emptor. But I cannot give her a baby, and, for this one night, that is my deepest regret. Goodnight, Coldlander.’ She bent, kissed his forehead, and passed into the night.

So they moved on, leaving behind fearful guards and wombs not impregnated, and with a fresh horse, new blankets and saddles, and their surly mule trotting behind.

They headed ever east, into the Mongol empire.

Avatak’s feet, and his arse when he rode the horse, noted the better surface of the trail here, a straight and narrow track that arrowed to the east. But Pyxeas bewailed its condition. ‘This is one of the Khan’s post roads. He united his empire, and all of Asia, with roads straight and fast and true so that messengers could cross a continent as fast as a thought crackles through your small head, Coldlander. Look at it now! Covered in dust from this desiccating farmland all around, and with the trees cut down – mighty trees they were, purposefully planted along the route so a rider could never lose his way no matter what the weather – cut down for some peasant’s firewood, no doubt!’

The deeper they walked into Cathay the more densely it was farmed. But workers thin as shadows toiled at dried-up fields, there was only a scattering of green even though the harvest must soon be due, and the bare ground was turning to dust that blew over the roads.

And, in the middle of the farming country, they came upon Mongol camps. These were not princes of Daidu and Karakorum, or traders, or border guards; these were common folk, herders like their ancestors, with their horses and a few cows and fat-tailed sheep. They lived in yurts, battered houses with their door flaps all set to face the sun at midday, like rows of shabby flowers.