‘Oh. Well, I don’t suppose she’d have missed it.’

Carthalo smiled. ‘I follow a little of what you say. I once visited Northland, you know, many years ago. When the world and I were both much younger. Fascinating place. But your customs are quite different from ours. Your treatment of the dead, for example. You inter your dead in the fabric of your mighty Wall, so that your ancestors may add their strength to the unending war against the sea. Inspirational.’

His tone sounded mocking. Rina’s reading of his Greek was too uncertain to be sure. She wondered if this man, used to manipulating those around him, was too clever for his own good.

‘We of Carthage do things quite differently,’ he said now, waving a hand. ‘As you can see. We believe that the afterlife is similar to the life we have lived on earth. Hatti missionaries of Jesus argue that this is a childish notion. But really, which is the simpler assumption – that the afterlife is like the world we know, or like a world none of us has ever experienced? We believe, however, that at death a person’s spirit splits in two. The spiritual embodiment of Anterastilis, the rouah, now resides in the world of the dead. But the physical embodiment of her spirit, the nepesh, stays with the body – and as you can see she requires nourishment, just as a living person.’

‘Biscuits,’ Pyxeas said.

‘Biscuits.’

Rina faced Carthalo squarely. ‘You brought us here for a reason, I presume.’

Carthalo gave her that thin, intimidating smile. ‘It’s true that I thought it would be appropriate to have our discussion in the context of this solemn farewell to a woman who was your employer and your friend.’

Barmocar looked away.

‘This, our most ancient rite, is central to our culture, we Carthaginians.’

‘This and crucifixion,’ said Pyxeas. ‘And child sacrifice—’

Rina hushed him.

‘We have retained the semblance of an orderly society, despite our terrible losses, losses nobody would have believed a few short years ago. This is still Carthage, we are still Carthaginians. We asked you here today – indeed, at the command of Fabius himself – because I wanted you to see us at our best. For there is something I must ask of you. Something that Carthage must ask of Northland.’

Rina flared. ‘More than you have already asked? The gods took my daughter’s life, but Carthage took my son, to fight in her wars. Speaking of which—’ she pointed at Mago ‘—why is he here?’

Mago grinned again. His face was scarred, she saw, the length of his right cheek. He blew her a kiss. ‘Glad to see me, Grandmother?’

‘Get him out,’ Carthalo murmured to Barmocar.

‘But I brought him here – the funeral—’

‘Out. Now.’

Barmocar turned and gestured to his nephew, who left the tent gracelessly.