His name again. That shade, slipping away just out of his vision. Was it one of his ancestors? He paused, and turned.

And then Silvius, tripping over his sandal, fell, and landed outside the light.

Within moments terrible cold hands were clawing at him. Faces surrounded him, distorted by loneliness and hatred, their features locked into grimaces of pain. They whispered his name.

He felt his life ebbing away from him as the hungry ghosts began to feed.

Thirty-Two

The Choice of Achilleos

‘Silvius!’ Tisamenos gasped as the black-haired boy sprawled on his back, and almost immediately vanished under a crowd of spirits.

Without even thinking, and ignoring the Sibyl’s cry, he rushed out of the circle and grabbed Silvius by the shoulder, plunging through the freezing spirits to drag him back, Elissa now helping too, until both were within the bounds of the light once more.

Around the edges the ghosts prowled. Silvius, eyes flickering, sat up weakly.

‘I give you thanks,’ he whispered. ‘I thought I had died …’

‘And you could have died too,’ intoned the Sibyl. ‘We must not dally in this place.’

Hefting him up, Tisamenos said, ‘We can’t lose you.’

Elissa gently took Silvius’s other arm, and the three of them hurried on behind the Sibyl, linked now, moving as quickly as they could.

More silver orbs appeared above, Tisamenos saw. In the distance on the tops of hills, huge shapes like fortresses rose up. They even passed a wood, and the banks of a stream that flowed sluggishly back to the water it had come from. It was like a ghostly parody of the world above.

Soon Tisamenos felt the way underfoot become smooth, like marble. When he stopped the group to place his hand on the surface, he heard thousands of dark voices that spoke of things he did not understand. The endless echoing that was always at the edge of his mind was now magnified. They were warning him of something, too, something about Troy … Terrified, he quickly removed his hand. It seemed that only in Achaea, his own land, could he touch the stones and be able to bear it.

They were now passing through a hall, echoing and vast, and here some torches were alight, torches that, Tisamenos shuddered to think, no mortal had set, and no mortal could put out.

‘This is the hall of the King and Queen of the Dead,’ said the Sibyl. ‘They have many names, but Hades and Persephone will be known to you.’

‘Hades?’ said Silvius.

‘You call him Pluto,’ answered the Sibyl. ‘Though he and the Queen have long since departed.’

Two huge thrones, carved out of solid granite, gilded with silver, dominated the space. In front of them were gathered a group of souls.