‘Neoptolemos is dead, this long time,’ continued the commander. In a sudden flurry, the six guards surrounded them, spears pointing. ‘And you will come with us.’ The impulse to use the Last Gorgon’s head was strong. But Hermes had told him not to do so. They would have to march with these men, and perhaps whoever was king now would help them.

‘We will go with you to the kinghouse,’ said Tisamenos, in as regal a manner as he could, and he was pleased to see the men glance at each other in surprise.

The heat was making them sweat as they marched. He caught a defiant look in Elissa’s eye, and warned her with a quiet gesture that now was not the time to bring out the Arrow and the Bow. She agreed, with a little nod.

Soon a city rose up in front of them on the grassy plain, encircled with a white wall. Many soldiers stood watching from the ramparts, and as they were herded through the broad, pleasant streets, lined with white houses of two or more storeys, they saw many soldiers at work.

Tisamenos’s heart was sinking. They could not afford to waste time here. They would probably be taken prisoner, until they could get a message through to Aeneas and maybe ransom Silvius. But by then it would be too late.

Nobody gave them a second look.

They reached a large stone hall, were pushed into a wide antechamber hung with tapestries, and left with a guard. They sat on a hard wooden bench, a table laid with cool bronze jugs filled with clear water by them, and a plate of soft goat’s cheeses, which they fell upon eagerly.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Tisamenos when the men had gone. ‘This was a mistake. I should have listened to you, Silvius.’ He felt dejected.

‘It’s not your fault,’ said Silvius. Tisamenos looked gratefully at him.

‘We’ll find a way,’ said Elissa. ‘We got out of the Underworld. We’ll get out of here.’

They would, thought Tisamenos. They would find a way, even if he had to use the Last Gorgon’s head.

After a long while, there was the sound of footsteps, and the door to their room opened. Two men entered, engaged deeply in conversation. Tisamenos looked up at them. And then his heart began to race.

For a moment, he couldn’t be sure.

One of the men was darker skinned, and had long black hair. He wore the long robes favoured by the Trojans. He was handsome, and he had a long nose and a thin face, with dark eyes flashing kindly, and he bore the white bands of a priest in his hair.

The other was taller, and limping slightly, looking at Tisamenos with an expression that he knew so well.