‘We don’t have the time,’ Piay breathed. ‘We act now. The longer we wait, the more chance we might be discovered. And then we would be slaughtered.’

Piay knew he had brought them to the point of no return. He could almost hear Taita’s praise ringing in his ears.

Piay noticed the captain had taken himself further away. He was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the circle of firelight, looking up at the stars with his lips moving as if he was praying. He dipped into a leather pouch that hung at his waist.

Piay levelled his left hand to signal for his men to wait.

The captain unfurled his fingers to reveal a handful of small flowers. The petals were dark and Piay shivered when he recognised their distinct shape. The blue lotus. He had heard it called the Dream Flower, sacred to Ra, for it rose from the waters of the Nile at first light and disappeared as the sun fell. The priests of the temples had drunk it in a brew from the days of antiquity, for it allowed them to contact the gods themselves. Some said it transported the Ka to the afterlife to learn secret knowledge before returning to the land of men. Others, that it filled those who consumed it with supernatural powers.

‘Wait,’ Piay whispered. ‘The blue lotus will suck their leader into dreams and visions. Then our advantage will be greater still.’

The other barbarians laughed and chewed and tossed more sods on to the fire, sending golden sparks cascading towards the heavens. The captive’s head nodded on to his chest. For him all hope was gone – he had resigned himself to death.

The captain let his eyes drift to the stars, and the full moon, and gradually his lids weighed down.

Easing up his sword, Piay pushed himself onto his haunches and uttered ‘Now.’

The Egyptian band surged forwards. Blood-curdling screeches rang out across the lush fields.

Piay bounded ahead. He was strong and fast, and the memories flooded through him of all those lessons with a sword from when he had been barely old enough to lift one: sweating under a hot sun, parrying and thrusting and moving with the grace of a temple dancer until all of it became second nature. He told everyone he was the best swordsman in all Egypt. Few argued.

By the time he could feel the bloom from the heat of the campfire, the barbarians were on their feet and fumbling to draw their curved blades. Except the captain, who remained cross-legged, drifting in whatever netherworld the blue lotus had imprisoned him.

Piay darted in front of the first Hyksos warrior. As his opponent swung his weapon to hack, Piay rammed his blade through flesh and bone to the heart. He wrenched his sword free and spun to confront the next opponent.