From here Mauro got the first sight of his village. Past a small wooded valley the ground rose sharply and he could clearly see a little cluster of white buildings, clinging to the side of the far mountain.

He was soon hiking through the woods, singing a song to himself, a silly thing that he used to sing with his mother when he was little. He heard the noise of a large animal in the trees, but thought nothing of it. It was another moufflon, probably, or perhaps a boar rooting for acorns.

It was certainly nothing dangerous. There were no wolves or bears on the island.

As he pressed on, however, he became aware that the animal was following him. No wild animal would do that; they were all too nervous of humans.

He carried on walking, and gradually the animal got nearer. He could clearly make out the sound of heavy feet stepping on the ground and twigs snapping.

It was too large to be a person. What was it?

Mauro stopped, standing in the centre of the track.

‘Chini sesi?’ he called out. Who’s there? But there was no answer. ‘Faidi biri!’ Show yourself.

The footsteps had stopped. There was only the sound of the woods now, the wind teasing the leaves in the upper branches of the holm oaks, a tiny brook rattling over a stony bed, a bird twittering, bees humming in a nearby strawberry tree.

Mauro peered into the woods to one side where he thought the sound had been coming from, but could see nothing.

Maybe he’d imagined it.

He turned to carry on, and, as he did so, a horse and rider emerged from the trees ahead of him.

Mauro frowned and had a sudden urge to laugh.

The rider had on the outfit of Su Compoidori from the festival. With full bridal veil, black hat and the mask of a woman’s painted face.

What on earth was he doing here? He looked completely out of place.

‘Ita oli de mei?’ Mauro called out. What do you want?

The rider said nothing. The mask showed nothing. It just watched him with its steady, unfeeling gaze.

The rider now drew a sword and pointed it briefly skyward before levelling it at Mauro.

Surely he was not going to charge him as if he were a silver star.

It was unreal. This carnival figure here, in the woods, in the middle of nowhere.

The rider spurred the horse and it jumped forward, galloping down the track towards Mauro, the thin blade of the sword unwavering.

He was going to charge him.

Mauro shouted, then turned and fled into the trees.

But the rider had picked his spot well. There was space between the trees here for a horse to pass with ease and the ground was level and firm.