Behind the King two doors were open, leading into the recesses of the tomb. One way was lit, which led to the mausoleum of the kings, and here, soon, Hattusili would be laid to rest at last, with provisions for the journey, food and wine, and tools and a scrap of turf so that he could build himself a farm in the endless sun of the afterlife. The other way was dark, and Kassu knew it led to a symbolically empty tomb, the Tomb of Jesus and His Mother Mary – empty of their sacred bones, which had been purchased and taken away from Old Hattusa by unscrupulous, far-seeing Northlanders not long after the death of the carpenter-prophet. Some, however, remembered older gods than Jesus, and spoke of that gloomy way as a route to the Dark Earth, a bleaker afterlife than Jesus’, a plain of bones and rags and ash where you forgot who you were, forgot even the names of those who loved you.

All this Kassu saw in an instant, before he threw himself to the ground before the King’s chair. Not fast enough for Himuili, who, on the ground already, murmured, ‘A dozen lashes.’

‘Yes, sir.’

When they were ordered to rise, Hastayar faced Himuili. ‘Welcome, General. You may sit with us.’ She was a formidable woman, Kassu saw immediately, with a square face, flaring nostrils, and direct gaze – a soldier’s face, he would have said. She wore the grey clothes of mourning, with a cloak to match. So Himuili sat in the arc before the King, and accepted a cup of wine. Palla touched Kassu’s sleeve, and the two of them retreated to the back of the pavilion. Nobody served them food or wine.

Hastayar began, ‘I apologise for summoning you with such little notice, Himuili. Call it an impulse. We face a grave decision – and I would rather make that decision in the presence of the King, before Jesus embraces him. Are you comfortable, General? This custom of ours, of sitting out with the King, evolved in the days when the summers were warmer and the winters milder than today. Yet custom must be respected, especially at such times as these. If you need a heavier cloak—’

‘I’m fine, madam, thank you,’ Himuili said. ‘For one thing I’m a lot warmer than those Rus were before they left home.’

‘Yes, the great winter that seems to threaten us all. My husband wasn’t terribly impressed by it, you know. The winter, I mean.’ She eyed the bones critically. ‘ “It will pass, my dear. Weather always does.” That’s what he said, even the day he died. But that’s not what the Rus think, is it? Otherwise they wouldn’t have worn themselves out coming here – and more on the way, I hear.’

Angulli snorted and waved his cup for more of the King’s wine. ‘What do the Rus know?’