‘We’re almost there,’ Elissa said. ‘Almost at the Bow!’

‘And then how will we get back?’ Silvius could not bear the thought of being stuck here.

‘We’ll have to deal with that when we come to it,’ said Tisamenos, confidently.

The Last Gorgon’s head was slung across his shoulders; Elissa had the quiver.

But Silvius had nothing.

He looked up, and saw there were many birds circling around the summit of the hill of Troy, and as they neared he realised these were crows and vultures. He shuddered to think what they might be feasting on. Clouds were scudding across the sun, sending huge shadows across the stark plain.

They reached the slopes. Scrub was growing over the stones. Already it was looking as if there had never been a city here at all. The landscape itself was consuming his history, and soon nobody would remember.

Would Brutus care about Troy? Would his children know? Would their stories become mangled, changed by many tongues, until they were nothing but shadows of memories?

Something golden, glinting among the sandy soil, caught Silvius’s eye, and he paused to look. He knelt to brush the earth away with his fingers, and revealed a breastplate, engraved with wolves. Holding it up, he realised that it was almost exactly the same size as he was. He shivered suddenly. Had it belonged to one of his young cousins? Out of King Priam’s fifty sons, only one, Helenus the seer, had survived. Carefully he laid it back where it had been, leaving it for the dust and the sun.

‘Try it on,’ said Elissa.

‘I can’t – it would be taking something that isn’t mine. I don’t know whose it was – his ghost could be around here …’

‘Try it.’ She smiled at him encouragingly. ‘Pour a libation first.’

So Silvius knelt, poured out some water on the dust and prayed to the shade of his dead kinsman. A breeze ruffled his hair, and a seagull shrieked.

He lifted up the breastplate. The leather straps were in good condition. He placed it over his neck, and Elissa fastened the buckles. It fitted. It might have been made for him.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

Tisamenos eyed him with a keen glance. ‘Looks good on you,’ he said, a little grudgingly.

Ahead was a ring of rubble that must have been the walls of the citadel of Troy. Tisamenos strode in front, with Elissa half-skipping to keep up, whilst Silvius picked his way over the stones more carefully.

A road wound in a circle, slabs of coloured marble blocking it occasionally that might have belonged to houses or temples. Once they passed what was unmistakeably a human skull. Silvius paused, whilst the others went on ahead. Kneeling, he stroked it lightly with his fingertips, sending a message of comfort to whatever ghost might still be haunting it. It occurred to him that he could not tell if it were Achaean or Trojan.