With a sharp tug, Abbud shook his arm free, his heart hammering. He was tempted to hand back the gold and walk away with dignity, but in truth Khuday was a small town and he carried the profits of five years or more in one bag. He could even consider retiring and passing the business on to his son. Truly, God was good.

‘My friend will not let you leave with the gold,’ Yusuf said, his face flushed. ‘He does not understand the insult to your honour, master. I will be here, if you have the information we need.’

With great reluctance, Abbud passed back the bag, wishing he could count the coins first. He would know if they had lightened it by the time he returned, he told himself.

‘Do not speak to anyone else,’ Abbud said firmly. ‘I am the man you need.’

He caught the ghost of a smile on the young man’s face as he bowed a third time and Abbud passed between the twitchy warriors with their hands on their sword hilts.

As the jeweller left, Yusuf chuckled.

‘They are here,’ he said to Tsubodai. ‘I was right, was I not? This is the only town for forty miles and they have gone to ground.’

Tsubodai nodded. He did not like having to depend on Yusuf, but the language was still a confusion of sound to him, more like the song of birds than real speech.

‘We will not have to pay this man if we find them ourselves,’ he said.

The streets had cleared around them and the market that had bustled all day had somehow disappeared. The ululating call from the mosque had ended, to be replaced by a dim and muffled chant.

‘You Arabs would not kill good horses, I think,’ Tsubodai said. ‘They will be somewhere close by in stables. While they pray, we will search. How many good mounts can there be in this dirty little town? Find the horses and we find the shah.’

Jelaudin could not sleep as he lay in darkness, his mind tormenting him with bright images. It was hard not to give in to melancholy as he scratched fresh flea bites and pulled a thin blanket tighter around his shoulders for warmth. At least in the dark none of his brothers were looking to him to tell them what to do and his father’s once-piercing gaze could not find him. He retired as early as he could each night, seeking sleep as a release and willing each day away into nothingness. Yet sleep evaded him and his mind worked as if it was a separate thing, alive and twitching in his head. When he closed his eyes, he was tormented with visions of revelry in his father’s palaces, lit by a thousand candles and lamps. He had danced until dawn many times and never once thought of the cost of tallow or oil. Now their single candle needed to be eked out as much as food or charcoal. Running a household was a revelation to him, even one as poor and meagre as the rooms in Khuday When Jelaudin opened his eyes in frustration, he could see moonlight through the cracks in the roof. The air was thick with the stench from a slop bucket. He had put one outside on his first night in Khuday, but it had been stolen in the morning and they had been forced to buy another. He had learned to pay a boy to carry it to a public pit outside the town, but of course his brothers had forgotten. Everything cost money in Khuday. Life was more complicated than he had realised and at times he wondered how poor merchants could afford to live.

Jelaudin jerked upright as a noise sounded and the small door shuddered in its frame. Someone was knocking and his heart thumped painfully in his chest as he reached for his sword.

‘Jelaudin?’ one of his brothers called fearfully.

‘Be ready,’ he whispered back, pulling on his clothes in the dark. The leggings stank of old sweat, but the water bucket was as empty as the other was full, without even enough to splash his face. The knocking sounded again and he took a deep breath as he drew his sword. He did not want to die in the dark, but if the Mongols had found them, he knew better than to expect mercy.

Jelaudin yanked open the door with his sword ready, his bare chest heaving. The moon was bright enough to see a small boy standing there and relief flooded through the young prince.

‘Why do you disturb our sleep?’ he demanded.

‘My master Abbud sent me while he went to the mosque for evening prayers, master. He said to tell you the Mongols know where you are staying. You must leave Khuday.’

The boy turned to go, his message delivered. Jelaudin reached out and grabbed him, making him yelp in fear. The life of a boy in Khuday was even more precarious than their own and the little one squirmed in his grasp.

‘They are coming here?’ Jelaudin snapped. ‘Now?’

‘Yes, master,’ the boy replied, his fingers jerking at Jelaudin’s hand. ‘Please, I must run back.’

Jelaudin released the boy to stagger away. He faced the moonlit street for a moment, seeing enemies in every shadow. He gave a swift prayer of thanks for the old jeweller’s kindness, then turned inside, pulling the door shut as if it could hold back his fears.

His three brothers were dressed and ready, once more looking to him for leadership. Jelaudin grimaced at them.

‘Light the candle and get our father into his clothes. Run to the stables, Tamar, and take our horses.’

‘Do you have coins, brother?’ Tamar replied. ‘The stable owner will want payment.’

Jelaudin felt as if a noose was tightening around his neck. He opened a pouch and handed a small ruby to his brother, leaving only five as the total of their worldly wealth.

‘Give him this and tell him we are devout followers of the prophet. Tell him there will be no honour for any man who aids our enemies.’

His younger brother darted out onto the dark street and Jelaudin began to help the others with his father. Shah Ala-ud-Din groaned as he was moved and his wheezing became louder in the gloom. Jelaudin winced at the sick heat coming off the old man’s skin, but there was no help for it. His father murmured meaningless words, but none of them stopped to listen.

Once his father was dressed and the candle lit, two of his sons supported him and Jelaudin cast a last look around the infested little place that had been home for a time. As mean as it was, it had given them sanctuary. The thought of returning to their hunted lives wrenched at them all, but Jelaudin could not ignore the warning. The jeweller had done him this one favour and he would not waste it.

He cast his eye over the small brazier, but the doctor had left it in trust and Jelaudin would not steal for the first time in his life. Though he took the papers of bitter herbs, he left that behind. He was consumed with the need to get out and hardly dared think of his father’s illness. It was wrong that an old man should be forced to run again. Jelaudin’s hopes withered in him as he stood there, replaced by a desperate rage. If he was granted just one chance to revenge himself on the Mongol khan, he would take it if it meant his own life. He prayed to be given that chance.

Jelaudin closed the door as he left with his father and brothers. He did not want thieves to steal the doctor’s brazier, though if anyone wanted the slop bucket, they could have it, contents and all.

The streets were not empty so early in the night. Jelaudin could see many men returning from the evening prayers to their families, looking forward to warmth and food. Only he and his brothers had tried to banish another night with sleep. The stables were some distance away, a decision meant to protect them when he had made it. Their father stumbled as he walked between them and Jelaudin did not know if the old man even understood what was going on. When he heard a slurred question from his father’s lips, Jelaudin shushed him softly.

‘The men you seek are in there,’ Abbud said.

Tsubodai snapped orders and the warriors moved instantly, kicking open the door and vanishing inside.