One of the cheese sellers was an old man. Tisamenos watched him, his slow movements as he packed up the cheeses in leaves and straw and parcelled them out to the buyers. It didn’t matter to that man who was in the kinghouse. It only mattered that he made his cheese, and sold it, and kept his house safe.

The old man’s little grandson was playing underneath the stall, and Tisamenos caught his quick, bright smile as he went by.

The sun was drawing back the shadows, and the market was filling up with cries.

A girl was tumbling in the streets, her brightly coloured clothes falling around her in waves. She was mesmerising, graceful, yet powerful. Her skin was a rich dark brown, tanned by the sun, and her gleaming black hair was loose, flowing with her garments.

A large man with a short sword at his fat waist was also watching the tumbler. He had a hog-like face and small eyes, and a peculiar grin.

She tumbled as if she were on her own, thrilling to the movement of her own body. When she finished, she simply dropped to the ground before righting herself, but she walked away with a rippling, liquid gait. The large man grinned. He grabbed her by the arm and spun her round with a rough heave. Her expression was stony.

‘You’re coming with me, my pretty,’ said the man. The girl scowled, and the man forced her forwards a few steps.

And suddenly Tisamenos was rushing towards him, knocking him on the head with the flat of his own sword. The man yelped, letting go of the girl, and turned to face Tisamenos.

‘What fly is this? Buzz off, little fly!’ He spat at Tisamenos, hitting his tunic.

Tisamenos, enraged, hurled himself forwards and began to beat him, with all the skill of the wrestling grounds, and all the hatred that had been building up inside him. His mother’s death, his father’s hasty new marriage, the son born so soon afterwards. He smashed the man on his nose, and a satisfying stream of scarlet blood came out, spotting the man’s hands and the street.

His opponent stood still for a second, appraising him, and then punched Tisamenos with as much force as he could muster. It came suddenly, right in his stomach, and, winded, he was knocked over into the dust. The man gripped the scruff of his neck and pushed his head down.

‘You’re not worth it, little fly.’ He pressed Tisamenos’s face down into the dirt, before releasing him with a dismissive grunt.

Tisamenos’s head was spinning. He managed to pull himself upwards, but the man had already gone. Then he blushed, as he noticed that the girl was watching him steadily.

‘I didn’t need you,’ said the girl, flatly, reaching out her arm.