‘No. They follow Jesus. Warlike they may be, but peace is at the heart of the creed of their god. And they too have suffered with the plague. You may have the fire drug, to threaten them with overwhelming destruction, but you will offer them the chance of peace at the same time. Stop the bloodshed. And to symbolise that—’ he glanced at Rina, ‘—you will give them the bones of the Virgin Mother of Jesus, which Rina took illegally and gave to Barmocar in fair payment for her passage here.’

Carthalo raised his eyebrows at Barmocar. ‘I knew nothing of this.’

‘It was private business.’

‘Not any more. You will deliver the bones to the Temple of Melqart in the morning. Consider that done too, Pyxeas.’

‘Good. And there is more.’

‘I thought there might be.’

‘You will help us build a New Northland,’ Pyxeas said.

Carthalo smiled again, more cautiously. ‘And how are we to do that?’

‘Give us a city. Somewhere in your hinterland. By the little mothers’ tears, man, don’t baulk at that! You must have a dozen tomb-cities emptied out by the plague and ripe for reoccupation. As for our people, they are scattered across the Continent, the cities of the Middle Sea . . . You will help us find them. Send agents throughout the known world, wherever the ice has spared. Bring them home – bring them to their new home. That way, at least something of our culture, our values, our learning, may survive, until the longwinter passes, and we can go home again, for we will not forget where we came from.’ He looked at Rina, and held her shoulder. ‘This has been done before. I, Pyxeas, have seen the mark of Northland, or of our ancestors – the three rings, the bar, the form like the Mothers’ Door – on rock panels in Coldland, even in the Land of the Sky Wolf. Put there before the last time the ice came. Northland has endured the ice before. Now it is the task of our generation to ensure it endures again.’

Carthalo said, ‘You realise you are asking me to nurture a rival close to my own hearth. For I have no doubt that you Northlanders will rise to greatness again.’

‘It’s either that or have the Hatti crush you,’ Pyxeas said with uncharacteristic bluntness.

‘Consider it done,’ Carthalo said softly. ‘I must prepare a presentation on this to the Council of Elders. In the meantime, the fire drug—’

‘One more thing,’ Rina said, and she faced Barmocar.

Barmocar looked fearful, as well he might, she thought. He glanced at Carthalo. ‘Our business is surely done—’

‘This woman is the niece of the man who is going to give us the fire drug,’ Carthalo said smoothly. ‘And a woman who has a grudge against you, Barmocar, my friend, and from what I’ve heard I can’t say I blame her. I suggest you listen to what she has to say.’