James looked up. The great, grey mountain continued above the palazzo and near its peak was the dam that arced across the valley to the mountain on the other side.

The piazza appeared to be at the heart of Ugo’s complex. One side of it was open and overlooked the valley and the aqueduct, which joined the palazzo just below here, the water in its canal sparkling in the sunlight. Tall, elegant facades stood to right and left of the piazza, and, at the back, a row of wide marble steps led up to the most imposing building of all, which had a massive portico held up by tall pillars and a statue of Julius Caesar standing on its roof.

This must surely be Ugo’s private residence.

The whole place was eerily deserted and looked unnaturally clean after the dirt and dilapidation of the rest of this poverty-stricken island. It felt unreal, like an elaborate stage set. It was all too neat and white. James had to shield his sore eyes from the glare.

The guard led the two boys across the piazza past an extravagantly carved fountain of Neptune on the backs of four dolphins that spouted water from their mouths.

As they got nearer the main building James saw that it was built into the mountainside. The rooms at the rear must have been carved out of the rock. The guard took them up the steps and into a huge, gloomy marble hall whose walls were hung with oil paintings.

‘Aspettate qui,’ said the guard and he wandered off, leaving James and Mauro alone.

‘The Count must be very rich,’ said James, looking around. ‘Much money,’ he added, rubbing his fingertips together.

Mauro gave a dismissive gesture. ‘He is Barbati.’

‘From the mountains?’ said James.

‘Sì. He is same as me,’ said Mauro. ‘From my village. He is not count. È un contadino.’

‘Contadino?’ said James. ‘What is a contadino?’

‘Pastore,’ said Mauro, then he made a bleating noise.

‘He’s a shepherd, you mean?’ said James, and Mauro mimed two horns. ‘A goatherd?’

‘Sì.’

James laughed and they sat down on a stone bench. James rested his aching head in his hands and in a moment he was asleep, but as his head nodded forward it jerked him awake.

He mustn’t doze off here.

He got up and went to look at a painting to try to keep himself awake.

It showed a grisly religious scene. In the background various unarmed men were being slaughtered, and in the foreground was a kneeling saint with a neat halo, his eyes upturned to heaven, a small smile on his lips. A barbarian with an equally calm expression was in the process of driving a sword through the saint’s head.