A small boy ran past them, being chased by his sister, as Elissa entered the cool gloom of the kinghouse. Her eyes adjusted, and she noted the layout. Four corridors led off from this hall.

‘He said at this time she would be in the courtyard with Erigone,’ said Elissa.

‘Where do you think that might be?’

‘Probably off the main corridor. That one looks like the biggest, doesn’t it?’ There were more people coming in and out of the one that led straight on. ‘Let’s take that one, and then we can always come back here and try the others.’

Silvius nodded. Soon enough the light of day spilled onto the ground ahead of them, and they came out into a large open space, bathed in sunlight, with an olive tree in the centre of it. Underneath the tree was a wooden chair, and in it sat a woman, bony and swathed in a rich purple robe, with a baby on her lap. Around her were many ladies, busily weaving at looms, whilst two soldiers stood at attention on either side of her.

‘That must be Erigone,’ Elissa whispered to Silvius. ‘And Penthilos, the baby.’

Erigone was listening to a pair of women who were apparently looking to her for judgement.

‘Please, my lady, Xanthe’s son lamed my donkey, and now my husband cannot carry his wares to market.’

‘It was an accident!’ cut in the second. ‘I owe her nothing!’

She waved them away, their pleas unanswered, and continued playing with Penthilos, who gurgled and yowled. As if she’d been bitten by a wasp, she thrust the child at a waiting woman, who took him and started to nurse him. Erigone called another to her, and whispered in her ear.

Standing far back, half in shadow, was a young woman with dark skin. She wasn’t dressed as the others were, in robes and sandals, but in a hunting tunic and boots. Her black hair was tied neatly back, and her hand was resting on a dagger that she kept at her belt.

Something sparked in Elissa. She looked like a wolf, lazily keeping an eye on a herd of deer. She was of the space, and yet not of it. Like Elissa. Suddenly she wanted to run to this girl, to take her by the hand, to talk to her for hours.

‘It’s her,’ said Elissa. ‘I know it.’ They crept round the courtyard, keeping quiet, until they were right next to her. Elissa leaned casually against the wall, and said, as Tisamenos had instructed her, ‘The swallows return tonight.’

A tiny ember of recognition burned in Hero’s eyes. Without looking directly at them, Hero said, ‘Wait until that fat man starts speaking to Erigone.’ She indicated with her chin a large, perspiring steward who was waiting to say his piece. ‘When he does, go out of the north-eastern corner of the courtyard. And then, whatever happens, do not be afraid.’