‘The family are not poor. You will have a good home.’

She looked scornful. ‘Our customs require that three times a day a wife kneels before her husband and asks him what is his wish, and how she can make him happy.’

She spoke with such bitterness that Valens glanced at their neighbours.

‘Only the merchants in the village speak Greek,’ she said. ‘These are farmers.’

‘Among us a woman is subject to the authority of her husband,’ Valens said. ‘Some say the greatest praise of a woman is that she is never mentioned.’

‘Among you, a husband does not lend his wife to the beds of any he chooses.’

Valens had no answer to that.

‘The priests preach that if the god Mazda had been able to find any other creature to bear children, he would not have created women.’

Again Valens was silent.

Lucia took a deep breath. Obviously she was preparing to change the conversation. She smiled again.

Until this moment Valens had never really looked at her. On the journey there had never been time. He had been too tired, there had been too much to be done. If anything, she had been a self-inflicted encumbrance. Now he saw her as if for the first time.

She was not beautiful. Her nose and face were too long, her black hair, parted in the centre and dragged back behind her ears, was too flat and without lustre. But there was a knowing intelligence in her dark eyes, and her mouth hinted at a hitherto unnoticed playfulness and sensuality.

Aware of his appraisal, she was unflustered, and spoke as if she had read his thoughts. ‘The priests give many instructions to men concerning a wife. Her stature must be neither too tall, or too short, her head and neck well formed, her fingers long, and her waist slender. They go into great detail. Her limbs must be soft and smooth, her buttocks rounded, her breasts like quinces, and her body milky white to her toes.’

Valens knew she was teasing him, but could think of nothing to say.

‘Even her pillow talk is regulated. In bed she must have good words for her husband, but never talk shamefully.’

Valens took another pastry to avoid answering.

‘My late husband was an avaricious fool. Obviously he lacked religion, as he enjoyed shameful talk.’

As if summoned to rescue Valens from this unexpected flirtation, Hairan came over.

‘We need to talk,’ Hairan said.

‘Lucia can be trusted.’

Hairan flicked a glance at those sitting nearby.

‘They have no Greek,’ Lucia reassured him.

Only partly mollified, Hairan spoke quietly. ‘The headman says that no villager will act as our guide. They are scared to venture away from the settlement alone. It is the fault of a djinn.’

‘A djinn?’ Valens said.

‘A malevolent spirit, like a daemon. Several locals have vanished. The djinn took them.’

Valens grinned. ‘Really?’