They rustled like a billow of leaves, and turned as one, rushing to the light of the Sibyl like a swarm of moths. Silvius shuddered, and Elissa shrank closer. But Tisamenos looked outwards because he thought he caught a glimpse of something, shining among the grey and gloom.

Nearer she came. White robes, gold at her wrists and her neck.

Tisamenos let go of Elissa. He gulped.

It was Hermione.

Tisamenos’s mother, as golden as he remembered her. She reached out towards her son, her long hair drifting about her neck, her bright blue eyes smiling. She was wearing a necklace that he remembered, one given to her by a Thessalian king.

‘Don’t touch her!’ The Sibyl’s warning was swift.

Tisamenos could not help himself. Suddenly he was a tiny boy again, just wanting to be picked up and comforted, wanting the warm security of his mother’s embrace. He came as close as he dared to the edge of the light, showed her his mutilated hand. His mother held up hers in return, and they almost touched, a hair’s breadth of space between them.

‘Mother …’

‘My little lion cub … my son … What has happened to you?’

He had to tell her. She could be at peace; he could release her from this shadowy place. ‘You have to know that Erigone has been punished for what she did. Your death has been avenged, and the curse has left the House of Atreos.’

Hermione lowered her hand, and relief spread across her face. ‘I have been waiting here for judgement for I do not know how long. You have given it to me in this terrible place. Oh, my darling Tisamenos … now I can be at peace. Sometimes it is all I can remember, her face.’ She frowned for a moment. ‘My son, no longer a lion cub, but a lion of Mykenai. I give you blessings …’

She began to fade from view, but just before she vanished, she smiled.

‘Seize life,’ she said. ‘It is short, and you must take it and live as fully as you can. Do not make the same mistake as Achilleos …’ Tisamenos let out a sob.

Then there was nothing where she had stood. ‘Where has she gone?’

‘She has returned into the rushing of things. We must not stay,’ said the Sibyl. On they hurried, and it felt to Tisamenos as if they were walking into the wind, the souls of the dead swirling around them, calling, stretching out for comfort and love. Was Achilleos among them? He’d been the greatest warrior of the Achaeans, and had chosen a short life full of glory.

Tisamenos was glad when the empty thrones of Hades and Persephone receded into the distance, and the ghosts fell away, moaning and bewailing their fate.