A tremendous arc of growstone dominated the estuary, an artificial harbour and groyne – an almost perfect circle. There were warehouses and other structures around this harbour, hasty constructions of turf and mud but huge even so. From the harbour, tracks trodden into the earth led inland. Looking that way, to the west, Nelo could see a new city being laid out around a low hill, for now not much more than a sketch of banks and tracks on a straight-line plan, but with the smoke of many fires feathering in the low breeze. Traffic moved on the tracks between city and harbour, carts, people on horseback and on foot. There was motion everywhere, and a distant clamour of voices – a sense of industry, of purpose about the scene.

The harbour itself was crowded with ships. And, looking north out over the sea, Nelo saw more ships, a scatter of them on the breast of the ocean as far as he could see – a snowstorm of Hatti ships, a countless number, descending on this shore.

‘Draw,’ Fabius muttered. ‘Draw, boy!’

Nelo fumbled for his paper.

Gisco said, ‘I’m surprised there wasn’t a Hatti scout up here. I’d have placed one.’

‘Oh, we’ve been seen.’ Fabius pointed. ‘Notice that party? Moving this way. That’s a Hatti war chariot. Not used in anger in a thousand years or more, and now the carriage of a prince.’

‘Look at all those ships,’ muttered Carthalo. He was a tall, angular man with a high forehead and a cool manner, evidently used to command, yet he seemed overwhelmed by the sight. ‘It’s as if the whole of the northern Continent is draining into Africa.’

‘Try not to be awed, sir,’ Fabius said sternly. ‘This is still your country, remember.’

‘True,’ Carthalo murmured. ‘And these Hatti are no more than a band of vagabonds and raiders, no matter how many there are.’

‘Quite right, sir.’

The Hatti party drew up below the headland. The single chariot was escorted by a hefty troop of soldiers dressed in the Hatti style, with their conical hats, and peculiar boots with the toes upturned.

Fabius muttered an order, and the Carthaginians began the gentle descent to meet the Hatti. Gisco made sure none of his troops raised a weapon. Still, Nelo could feel the tension rise as they approached the Hatti; a great deal of blood had already been spilled on this shore.

Nelo was surprised to find he recognised the man who led the Hatti party, dismounting now from the chariot. A young man with an air of command, with a queue of hair like a soldier’s, dressed not in armour but a rich embroidered ground-length robe, this was Arnuwanda, prince of New Hattusa, who had come to Northland two years ago, and had been stranded there when the first bad winter closed in.