Overnight, the coals in the brazier had burnt low. With infinite care, Barbad blew them into life. When they were glowing, he placed new coals by hand, one at a time, careful to make no noise that might wake the sleeping boy next door. The fire tended, he washed his hands, then set out the clothes that Sasan would wear that day. The Prince had three changes of costume. It was almost the only thing that demarked one day from another in the Castle of Silence. Once a month the supply convoy came, a wagon and half a dozen outriders climbing the trail to the main gate. Every time Barbad watched them from the high window with a mixture of excitement and utter dread. The former was a measure of the monotony of their existence. The latter, he knew, was rooted in his cowardice. When the order came from the distant royal court, it would not arrive in a supply cart. Instead it would be carried by a single rider travelling fast. A golden chain on the harness of his horse or dromedary would mark him as a messenger on the business of the King of Kings. A man not to be detained on pain of death.

Barbad heard the key turning in the lock. It was nothing to fear, only the start of yet another monotonous day. A day just like all the others.

The outer door swung open. A guard brought in a tray. Another guard stood on the landing. From his demeanour it was obvious that he had been stationed there for hours. When closed, the door shut out any noise. No footfalls could be heard. It was impossible to tell how often the guard was changed, yet Barbad was sure a soldier was always on duty.

The guard placed the tray on a table and left. The door was locked again. He had not spoken a word. They never did. Even when Barbad made a request – for more oil or coals or whatever – they did not reply. Later the things might appear. Sometimes they did not. The books had never arrived. The warden of the Castle of Silence did not look like a man who would keep a library.

On the tray was flatbread, cheese and fruit, a jug of wine and a pitcher of water. A meagre repast for a prince. Barbad tipped some of the wine into a bowl and set it on the brazier to warm. He had no fear that Sasan would be poisoned. When the order came, it would be something far worse.