Silvius returned to where Tisamenos lay. Elissa and Orestes were preparing him for burial, washing him carefully. In his white shift he looked young. ‘He should not have died,’ Orestes said, running a cloth over his son’s face. ‘I should have died instead of him. It is my fault. If I hadn’t believed Erigone, he would not have left the kinghouse. I would not have allowed him to go. This was my duty.’ He broke down in sobs once more. Orestes was a shadow. He had been wounded in the fighting, too, and he had lost a lot of blood, a bandage tight around his waist.

‘He was brave,’ said Silvius, touching Orestes’s hand. ‘He was braver than all of us. It was his destiny. We all had to do it.’

They sat for a moment in silence. Tisamenos was grey in death, but with the same determined expression that Silvius had last seen on his face. Once more he wept, and Orestes too. Elissa, wiping her eyes, went off on her own.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Silvius, watching her go. ‘I’m sorry that you have lost your son.’

The old king grasped his hand. ‘I said when I met you that he was about your age.’ And then Silvius saw the expression on his face change, as he registered something happening behind him. Silvius turned around.

All of a sudden, Silvius was facing his father Aeneas.

He was pale, with enormous black bags under his eyes. His hair was much greyer than it had been. There was a deep gash on his cheek, which made his face look even more severe. And the wolf skin that was slung around his shoulders had lost none of its fierceness. Silvius’s heart was thrumming in his chest, his nerves straining.

‘You disobeyed me,’ said Aeneas.

‘Father, please …’

‘You put yourself, and Elissa, into the greatest danger. You could have been killed.’ His jaw clenched. ‘Your mother is beside herself, and your little brother calls for you every day.’

‘I …’ Silvius felt himself deflating. The tears now starting behind his eyes were not of grief, but of anger. Even his father did not understand.

Aeneas pulled his hand back, as if about to hit Silvius around the head. Silvius braced himself for the impact.

But it did not come.

Instead, those arms were around him, and he was lifted up in the air, his father embracing him, their tears mingled as his father whispered, ‘You did well, my son. You did well, better than I could have done, and you have saved our family honour. And,’ he placed Silvius back down on the ground again, ‘you have given us new alliances.’ He glanced at Orestes. ‘Perhaps we can now seek to build a new world.’

It was true, thought Silvius. But he had lost his own ally, Tisamenos, and he had lost him through his own fault. Silvius could not say anything.