Meanwhile the rising sun caught the fronts of the grand buildings of the Byrsa, and from his column at the summit Hannibal hero of Latium stood proud, surveying his decaying city.

Rina remembered who this man was. ‘You’re Jexami’s servant. That’s how you know Northlander.’

He shrugged, grinning easily. ‘Easier for me to learn the master’s tongue than for him to learn mine, though he would beat me if he heard me saying it.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.’ Nobody remembered servants’ names – nobody of the class to which Jexami belonged, and herself, once.

‘Himil. My name is Himil.’

‘Thank you for coming to get me, Himil. How do you know Alxa?’

‘Who, sorry?’

‘My daughter. I suppose you remember her from our arrival in Carthage.’

‘Not so much. She helped me. The master threw me out.’

‘He did? Why?’

‘Heard there was blood plague in my family.’ The Carthaginians were terrified that the awful infection they called the ‘blood plague’, which had left scars in their history before, was on its way back to the city, brought by the endless nestspill flows.

‘He threw you out just for that? And was there plague? In your family, I mean?’

‘No. Father died. Not plague. Just died. Hungry, got sick. I had nowhere to stay. Got work cleaning sewers, and bought food for the family, little brothers and sisters, but still nowhere to stay. Sleeping in streets, like these folk. Then I heard a rumour about the Ana.’

‘Who?’

‘Your daughter, mistress. The Ana was helping people find places to live. I went looking, I asked and I asked, found the Ana and she remembered me, said I’d been kind when she came to the master’s house. But I think she’d have helped me anyway. Got me a bed in a house, outside the walls, but that’s all right.’

‘Alxa did all that? How?’

‘Ask her yourself.’

They had come to a tavern, an open door, a counter fronting the street, a dingy interior behind. The wall bore a hand-scrawled sign in chalk:

NO ALE. NO WINE. NO WATER. NO FOOD.

NO OUT-OF-TOWNERS.

NO SEWAGE WORKERS.

NO DOCTORS.

‘ALWAYS A FRIENDLY WELCOME AT MYRCAN’S!’

‘Hello, Mother.’ Alxa came forward from the shadows of the tavern.

Rina rushed to her, and hugged her daughter. Through layers of much-patched clothing, she could feel Alxa’s shoulder blades.

Alxa led her to a table at the back of the tavern. It was a dismal cave, Rina thought, which must have seen better days with a location this close to the Byrsa. But despite the chalked denials outside, a barman produced a jug of wine and two pottery mugs. ‘Always we serve the Ana,’ he murmured, pouring the wine.