They made good progress to start with, taking the inland route through Gallura and Logudoro as the roads were marginally better than along the east coast. After a couple of hours James saw that they were crossing the Valle dei Nuraghi and he recognised the squat, black shape of the Sant’ Antine tower off to their left. After that the road got steadily worse as they climbed into the mountains until it had deteriorated into a twisting, muddy track, pitted and rocky. Their progress became frustratingly slow, and they had no idea what was going to be around each bend.

By now their faces were caked with dust and grime. James’s eyes stung from peering intently at the circle of light thrown ahead by the headlamps. He knew it must be worse for Mauro, who couldn’t stop concentrating for even a moment in case they hit a rock or veered off into the bushes. James looked over at him. He was flagging. He had had no proper sleep and taken a nasty blow to the head. His eyes were drooping and he was fighting to keep them open. James knew he had to talk to him to keep him awake.

‘OK?’ he asked.

‘Sì,’ said Mauro. ‘You fight good, James. You OK. I sorry I bad to you. Friends now.’

‘Friends,’ said James.

‘Le montagne sono belle,’ said Mauro.

‘The mountains?’ said James.

‘Sì,’ said Mauro. ‘Buone. Good. You like. My home.’

‘Tell me about your home,’ said James, and Mauro told him his story.

He had never wanted to leave his village, but life was hard and the people were poor. He would have liked to stay there and grow old among his own people, but his sister could look after the animals and make cheese with his mother and there was no real work for him. So, like so many other boys before him, he had gone off to find a job that would pay him enough money to send some home each month.

He had worked at first in the salt marshes around Cagliari, but it had been hard and the pay small and in the end he had found easier work in a bar in Sassari, which is where he had met Victor.

Victor had recently built his villa and needed staff.

Mauro liked working for Victor. He was kind and life was easy. Sometimes when he travelled, to Switzerland or Italy or France, he took Mauro with him; at other times he left him behind and he was free to do whatever he wanted.

‘I swim,’ said Mauro, yawning. ‘I go in boat. I eat good.’