‘Come here!’ barked Erigone. A slave shuffled in, one of the kitchen slaves. Tisamenos had never seen him before. ‘Tell what you saw.’

‘I was sweeping up outside the prince’s door,’ said the slave, looking at the ground. ‘And I happened to look through the crack. I saw him with this garment. He was holding it up, and he said, “This will do it.” ’

‘What? I don’t know what he’s talking about!’

‘Tisamenos, is this true?’

‘No!’ He looked beseechingly at Orestes.

‘Tell him what you heard him say!’ Erigone said.

The slave, still looking away from Tisamenos, said, ‘And then he laughed, and said, “That’s it for Orestes.” ’

‘What?’

‘What did you do to the garment, Tisamenos?’ said Erigone.

A guard was rooting around in another press. He stood up smartly and suddenly. In his hands were a vial and a brush. Tisamenos recognised them from Erigone’s room.

‘Tisamenos, what is this?’ Orestes’s voice was seething with anger.

‘I don’t know! Father, I don’t know what that is!’ A horrible feeling came over him, as if he were caught in a net.

‘You’ve been blind, Orestes!’ shouted Erigone. She flung the silvery garment over the pig. ‘This garment is drenched in poison. And he – your son, this viper – was going to give it to you!’

With a sudden white spark, the garment burst into flames, and the pig let out a terrible, almost human shriek. Tisamenos grabbed his water jug and threw the contents over the poor creature, but it was no use.

The creature was silenced by a guard, who stabbed it through with a sword.

Maybe that was it. The third beast. A pig, slaughtered. And it seemed now to him that there was nothing afterwards. This was the sign of his own death.

In all the horror, Tisamenos barely noticed the hands placed squarely on his shoulders. He was pushed out of the room, and as he left he saw Erigone, perfectly calm, consoling Orestes.

‘She did it!’ he called, gathering his wits, battling against the guards. ‘She did it! I saw her!’

‘You see, Orestes? Quite mad with hatred against me.’ Erigone’s voice trembled with anger. Anger that Tisamenos knew was feigned.

‘Father, please!’

Orestes faced his son squarely. ‘An accusation has been made, Tisamenos. The evidence is … here. You will have your chance to defend yourself.’ But his voice was shaking, and his hands were curled up into fists.

The guards dragged Tisamenos away through the kinghouse, down to a corner of it he had never seen before, where there was a large, damp room with a barred gate. One of the guards fumbled with a key, and threw him into it.

Tisamenos, bruised and battered, grabbed the bars. He shouted until his voice caught in his throat. But the guard remained immobile.

Eventually, in almost complete darkness, he slumped against the wall.

Blood, came the whispers in his head.