Again she rattled off a stream of Italian, more intently this time. James pulled his arm free and was relieved to see that Stefano had come out to join them.

‘Can you help me?’ James asked. ‘She’s trying to ask me something.’

‘She wants to know if you have a girl back in England,’ said Stefano, and he laughed.

‘Tell her no,’ said James, then quickly added. ‘And tell her I’m not looking for one either.’

Stefano spoke to Vendetta and she snapped at him.

‘What did she say?’ asked James.

‘She says that you are a liar. A handsome boy like you must have a girl.’

‘Well, I don’t.’

‘You do now,’ said Stefano.

‘No, no, no,’ said James and he hurried back inside the cave.

He tried to settle down to sleep, but Vendetta came and sat next to his bed, watching over him.

‘Goodnight,’ he said and closed his eyes.

Vendetta tried to copy what he had said, but her pronunciation was terrible.

James struggled to think of the Italian, and at last he remembered.

‘Buona notte,’ he muttered, then added, ‘grazie…’

He opened one eye a crack. She was still sat there.

‘Go away and leave me alone,’ he said. ‘I can’t sleep with you looking at me.’ He rolled on to his other side, turning his back on her, but was still aware of her, staring at him. At last he turned round and sat up.

‘Go away,’ he said. ‘Scram. Vamoose. Hop it.’ He flapped his hands at her and tried to shoo her away and she laughed. Then she kissed him again.

‘I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that,’ said James. ‘It’s embarrassing.’

After several more minutes of shouting and gesturing Vendetta eventually retired a few paces and sat in the darkness of one of the Neolithic huts; but it was no good, the party looked like it was going to go on all night and James wasn’t really that tired. He had slept too much these last two days.

He waited, lying perfectly still until he was sure that Vendetta was asleep, then he got up, pulled on his shirt and went outside.

There was a chilly breeze from the north and the moon was bright, sending a wash of silver down through the scrubby trees. There were pools of intense darkness where the moonlight couldn’t penetrate, so he felt his way through the woods until he came to the edge of a cliff overlooking a wide valley.

The black clumps of trees below were interspersed with white rocks that seemed to glow in the dark.

Sardinia looked very beautiful. It was hard to imagine that generations of men had fought and died here in these mountains, that the soil was fed by their spilt blood. Beneath him were the bones of Carthaginians, Phoenicians, Italians, Spaniards and the countless Sardinians who had fought to keep them away.