Piay felt his heart leap with joy at the sight of her, but only for an instant. Sakir swept forwards, hacking, his broken ribs barely hampering him. Piay stumbled back, but the barbarian’s weapon smashed against his blade, knocking it from his hands.

Piay spun in desperation, crouching beside Myssa. Weaponless, there was nothing he could do but watch the Red Hawk come to them.

He’d failed, at the very last.

Looking at the woman he loved more than life itself, Piay hoped for a final moment of affirmation before this life was stolen from them. Yet as he did, he saw Myssa’s eyes were moving to the right. He followed her gaze and glimpsed Jabilo’s spear lying on the sailcloth, the one Myssa had armed herself with after the Abantu warrior had sacrificed himself.

Piay snatched the spear and raised it, just as Sakir swung his crescent sword down. The spear tip plunged into the Hyksos captain’s belly and Piay heaved it upwards, pushing hard until he almost lifted the barbarian off his feet.

The crescent sword slipped from the barbarian’s fingers. Piay rammed one final time, heaving his mortal enemy back and pitching him into the conflagration raging at the other end of the hold.

Piay snatched up the fallen sword and cut through Myssa’s bonds. She ripped away the gag and tried to speak, but the air was too hot to breathe, the din of the inferno too loud. Yet he could tell from her eyes all that she wanted to say.

Please, great Khonsu, do not let us die here, Piay thought.

As the blistering heat closed in, Piay felt his life ebbing away. But he would not give in, not now he had finally found what he wanted. He threw himself at the hull, kicking as hard as he could. The timbers cracked; the joints of the ship were already weakened by the fire.

Again he kicked, and again, and then one of the planks shattered. Cold river water gushed in. He wrenched at the opening to rip it wider and Myssa threw herself beside him, pulling at the splintering wood. The black water cascaded around their legs and the galley start to keel.

When the hole was bigger, he pushed Myssa forwards. She held his gaze, a look that lifted his spirits to the heavens, and then she plunged through and was gone.

Piay glanced back along the hold, anticipating Sakir rising from the flames. But this time he was certain his tormentor was dead.

Piay clawed his way through the papyrus beds and rolled on to his back in the muddy bank next to Myssa. His skin was raw and his lungs ached, but he was alive.

And Myssa was alive, too.