And every night, too, part of Quinsai burned. The buildings were of wood, and dry as tinder after years of drought. Avatak heard rumours that some fires started because people recklessly built bonfires to battle the cold of the spring, and perhaps there was some rioting over a shortfall of the city dole. But the city was organised; engines would rush through the street, and pumps would pour water into the latest conflagration, even as the rebuilding began in last night’s disaster area.

Avatak was bemused by Quinsai, the crowding people, the endless carnival, the whirlwind of buying and selling, the nightly blazes and frenetic rebuilding. An insane city, a city at the end of the world. He was relieved when, on the third day, Uzzia said she had found a ship.

‘Here are the details.’ She pushed a slip of paper across the table to him. ‘Berth, all the way to Carthage, if the gods spare her, and the pirates. Remember, the ship won’t wait. I’ll leave it to you to get the old man ready.’ She stood up, leaning for a moment with her fingertips on the table; she looked very pale, her brow slick with its customary sweat.

‘Are you going out again?’

‘That’s my business,’ she snapped. ‘Just don’t miss the ship.’ She went to the door and gathered her cloak. ‘And finish the journey. For, you know, it might be a journey no one else will be able to make, not for many generations. That’s something to tell your grandchildren, isn’t it?’

She did not return that night, despite the curfew.

The next day he waited almost until noon. Still she did not come back. When he went into her room, he found her sparse luggage gone – all save the quilted coat, with its sewn-in treasure.

He donned the coat, and began to get Pyxeas ready for the sea voyage.

56

A month after the first Hatti landings on the African shore, Fabius suggested to the councils of Carthage that the time was ripe for an attempt at negotiation. He kept Nelo at his side during his sessions with the councils, so the boy could sketch the scene, the general in his Roman-purple cloak standing before the Tribunal of One Hundred and Four in their chamber on the Byrsa, or in a private office in deep discussion with the two suffetes. Nelo’s crayon captured expressions and body postures in rapid, silent sweeps.

‘I will lead the party myself. Let us show these Hatti that we are strong and determined. Honour must be served. They tread on our sacred land—’

‘It’s not your land, Roman.’

‘My apologies. And already blood has been spilled.’

‘Yes, because you failed to drive them off.’

‘We could not defend the entire coast. And the Hatti are a mighty host.’

‘A host of locusts.’