‘It’s cold and I’m tired. And I’m too young to die.’

‘Oh hush. It’s this way.’

They were accosted only twice – once by a shadow-clad man who stumbled out of his hiding place and thought better of it after Said had shown him his sword, and again by a shaven-headed Ewer woman, trying to buy her freedom. Said was all for whipping her back to her owner, but she was already missing an ear.

Selah had a much more impressive retinue than Benzamir: the street outside his forge was full of men talking in low voices and testing the edges of their weapons.

‘Salam,’ said Selah, ‘to you and your’ – he hesitated as he guessed Wahir’s age – ‘men.’

Benzamir could feel the delight in Wahir without looking. ‘Salam, Selah the Ironmaster. Are we expecting more trouble than usual?’

‘No, this is normal. I’m not a soldier like you are, so I have to hire my protection. Besides, more men to pull the cart. Are you ready?’

Selah gave the order to light the tar-soaked torches, and then led the way through the narrow streets at the head of the procession. The solid wooden wheels of the cart creaked and clattered as it was pulled along, and the flickering orange flames made their path shift and change every step they walked.

‘Have you ever seen the pyramids before?’ asked Selah.

‘Not close up. I’ve heard that they’re very impressive.’

‘Once they were like staircases to the stars, each edge sharp and straight, not like now. Heaps of broken-backed stones that crumble to the touch. But what heaps, my friend! They are enormous, and each one made by hands like ours. It hardly seems possible that all that work was done just to provide somewhere to bury a man.’

‘They were kings,’ offered Benzamir by way of an excuse.

‘All the same, what madness possessed them? I can only imagine the size of their vanity, each one trying to out-build the king before. No, a scrape in the earth, a shrouded body, a few prayers, a pile of stones. Good enough for any man, I say.’

‘And I’d find it hard to disagree.’

The passage of a large group of armed men moving purposefully through the streets of Misr had scared everybody else away. The cart bounced along noisily into a suddenly wide road.

‘The east gate. Across the Nile is Al Jizah. This shouldn’t take too long.’

There was a ramp up to the gate, and a group of city guards to be bribed to let them through. They knew Selah well enough not to overcharge him, and the gate was pushed open with only a few minutes’ haggling.

‘A little baksheesh,’ he said, patting the money bag at his belt. ‘The real money is elsewhere.’ He made sure that all his men got through, and Benzamir checked that Said and Wahir were still in amongst the crowd.

There was another ramp leading from the gate, heading down towards the river, and from the tide marks on the stonework, the walls of the city just about held back the annual flood waters. For now, the black ribbon of the Nile glittered in the moonlight, and the flare of fires down by the river indicated the presence of ferrymen who would carry them across.

The worn mounds of the pyramids were dark and brooding, five millennia old and showing their age.

Selah had hired barges, and they all lent a hand to manhandle the cart off the floating landing stage and onto the floor of the boat.

‘I thought you said no more ships.’ Said lit his face by bringing his lantern close.

‘It’s only a very little one. There’s no chance of you being seasick.’ Benzamir thought he could detect a greenish cast to his friend’s skin. ‘Is there?’

‘The river’s wide, and my stomach’s lurching like a camel’s hump. We’ll have to see.’

The bargees were casting off, their thick ropes thudding onto the decks and following them on. One of them noticed Wahir trailing his hand in the water and unleashed a barrage of abuse in the local cant.

‘What? What?’ he said indignantly, as those who understood laughed, and passed word on to those who didn’t.

‘You’ve never seen a crocodile, have you?’ said Benzamir.

‘No, what’s that?’

‘Big, with teeth. They live in the river and eat boys for breakfast.’

Wahir jerked his hand out and counted his fingers.

The current carried them downstream, and the rudder man used his tiller to bring the barge safely across. Benzamir heard the scrape of sand under the flat hull, felt the bump as the boat grounded.

The western sky was starting to lighten, and Selah was silhouetted against salmon-pink cloud. ‘It’s time, my friend. Let’s see what these filthy diggers have brought us today.’

The ground on either side of the road was wildly uneven, and with the sun so low behind them, the shadows exaggerated every pit and rise. Even the rich Nile sediment couldn’t cover the suggestions of walls and cellars, and further away from the river, where the trees thinned and scrubby plants and low bushes held fast amongst the ruins, it was obvious what they were walking through. Wahir ran through the loose stones and tough grasses, leaping from high point to high point, turning round every once in a while just to take in the strange scene.

‘There aren’t any rubble fields like this anywhere near El Alam. Imagine the treasure that could be under our feet.’

‘Come down from there, boy. What treasure there might have been was taken long, long ago, and digging isn’t for us.’ Said pointed at the road. ‘You’ll fall down a hole or break your neck. You come here and walk with the rest of us.’

‘He’s excited, that’s all,’ said Benzamir. ‘His world is suddenly huge.’

‘I’d rather he didn’t see it from a stretcher.’ Said made certain that Wahir was making his way towards them, then took in the vast expanse of chaotic ground. He shivered. ‘There are dead people here. These were their homes and they still live here.’

Benzamir looked back at the rose-coloured walls of Misr. ‘The city stretched out as far as here, taking in all the east bank, all the west, up and down the river as far as the sea. They called it El Quhira, the Victorious. Can you imagine that many people?’

‘No. Especially now that they’re all ghosts. The dead outnumber the living, and it frightens me.’

‘I can see why the diggers chose this place,’ said Benzamir. ‘No one in their right minds would come to their market unless they had to.’

‘Yes, well,’ said Said pointedly.

‘For a big man, you scare easily.’

‘And you take things too lightly. You’ve power in your fingertips, but there’s going to be a time when it’s of no use to you. There’s worse than Ibn Alam in this world.’

‘I know. Look, Wahir. We’re almost there.’

As they walked, the pyramids had grown from shadows in the distance to vast, looming entities: two huge structures and a smaller third one. There were other remains too: walls and ramps; tiny pyramids now no more than weathered bumps; and a headless lion lying in the dirt.

At the foot of the Khufu pyramid there was an array of widely spaced tents flapping in the hot wind from the Sahara. Each tent had its own retinue of draught animals and wagons, with a perimeter of armed guards eyeing each other up.

They weren’t the first buyers, either. There were horses ridden by merchants and slave cages pulled by oxen parked up at the outskirts of the camp, and the colour of the locals’ clothes contrasted with the black of the diggers, who moved through the tents like crows.

Selah made sure that his men were clear on their orders, then came over to Benzamir. ‘Well, my friend, are you ready to do business?’ He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

‘If we can. Hopefully they’ll have something we want.’

‘These diggers have a fearful reputation, but be confident around them. They can smell fear and will rob the sight out of your eyes if you give them a chance. I’ll arrange some introductions for you, but regretfully I can’t do more. My dealings should be done by midday, if you want to travel back with us.’