‘Scrub out the scum! Scrub out the scum! Scrub out the scum!’ It was an unending detonation, an eruption of humanity in one continuous explosion, with no sign of cessation or flagging, three hundred voices raised in unison in a chant that was so heartfelt, so primal, it made Albert’s hackles stand up and he felt the blood turning cold in his veins.

And, at the head of it all, at the centre of this collective orgasm of hatred and passion and anger, bathed in light, arms raised above his head, sat Vail. Like a solitary rock unmoving as an ocean rages around it, he was just sitting there, smiling gently, surveying the orgy of destruction that awaited but for his word to be unleashed.

Finally, he held his hands up for silence, and once again, they immediately complied. ‘But not yet. Soon, but not yet. For the moment, let us wait and gather our strength and stoke the fire within us, keep it burning hot, till it is hot enough to consume all who would stand in its path. Then, and only then, will we finally step forth. And when the time comes that we do, we shall blaze a trail across this valley that will serve as a warning to every usurper who would dare think to come our way again!’

With that, he jumped off the stage and into the sea of people in front of him. They surged forward, eager to be the first to touch him, to talk to him, or even just be near him.

Albert stood, still taking in what he had just witnessed, as people moved past him. A man brushed roughly past him and Albert turned to get a glimpse of a beard and a bald pate. It was the smiling blacksmith who had waved at Theo and him earlier in the day. Jovan, she had called him. He wasn’t smiling now, though, as he forced his way forward, one eye covered by the customary patch, the other burning with fervour.

Albert looked ahead, past Jovan, and got one last glimpse of Vail, surrounded by the throng, smiling, clasping a man by the hand, greeting another by name—in every sense, a man of the people. He spoke for them; he came from them; he was them. And they were him. Albert had seen it with his own eyes, and he knew now why Vail frightened Castor so. It was not just the man’s power to arouse these passions in a crowd with his words; it was the total, iron control he had over his flock, a mastery so absolute that he could quieten a rabid, howling mob with just a single gesture.