In this swarming city Pyxeas was looking for one man, a Northlander merchant called Xavu who was to be the guide for the next stage of the journey. They had no address for Xavu; all they could do was put out contacts through traders and various officials and wait for the man to get in touch. As the waiting wore on, Rina grew increasingly impatient. The caravan back to Parisa wasn’t going to wait for long, and when it left Rina intended to be on it, Xavu or no Xavu.

On the third day a messenger, a barefoot boy, brought them a note, inviting them to a meeting. It was not from Xavu. It was from a Hatti, a woman called Uzzia.

Both Pyxeas and Rina were frustrated. But they could see no alternative but to go and meet the stranger, and Avatak accompanied them.

Uzzia’s home, on the outskirts of the city, turned out to be not large but quite grand, a walled compound with a spacious house and garden within. ‘In the Hatti style,’ Pyxeas mused, as a servant showed the three of them in. ‘Just like New Hattusa.’

‘Hmm,’ said Rina, but under her breath as their host entered. ‘And I suppose she is dressed in the Hatti style too, is she?’

‘Welcome!’ The word was in clipped Northlander. Uzzia was dressed like a man, Avatak thought at first, with a tunic belted at the waist, breeches, scuffed knee-high boots, hair tied back in a queue like a Hatti warrior. But this was a woman, aged perhaps forty, with a sturdy frame and a pleasant, weathered face. There was a whiff of the road about her, of dust, of horses. She glanced over her visitors. ‘You are the Northlanders. Welcome, Pyxeas, Rina, and . . .’

‘Avatak. The boy’s name is Avatak.’

‘You were not mentioned in the note to Xavu. What are you – a Coldlander?’

‘Yes, lady.’

‘Well, you may be from a cold country but I hope you like hot mulled wine, for that’s what I’m drinking today. Please, please.’

She led them across a courtyard to the house, and into a lounge. The servant who had been at the door briskly brought them drinks, the mulled wine they had been promised, and water, fruit juice. Avatak took a cup of water and sat cautiously on a couch he shared with Pyxeas. Rina took her own chair opposite Uzzia, who sat relaxed on a three-legged stool. Avatak glanced cautiously around. This was a living room, it had a hearth, unlit today, and a rug of woven wool on the floor and a tapestry on the wall. But there was travelling gear heaped in one corner – a leather cloak, bridle gear, a whip – and a desk piled with scrolls and parchments. A working room, then. A quilted coat hung on the back of the door, heavy-looking, practical.

Rina got down to business. ‘We were expecting our countryman Xavu, who was to arrange passage for my uncle and his companion to Cathay.’