But Spiridon knew that Radovan was lying. Once Radovan was in possession of a new passport and a new identity, with a house in the Caribbean and a small boat from which to fish, he would not want to return to Europe. Radovan was not a fighter, not like Spiridon, and had no concept of ignominy. He would live out his days in the sun, feeling no shame. Spiridon, by contrast, was a guerrilla at heart. He would do what his ancestors had done. He would gather his people and head into the mountains. He would make ghost villages and abandoned houses his own. Others would join him, because men like Matija Kiš and Simo Stajić did not inspire loyalty. They looked like the future only to those with no comprehension of the past, but Spiridon Vuksan knew different. Serbia’s past was its future. It had been an empire once, and could be an imperial force again. The wars in Croatia and Bosnia had been fought on the basis of that conviction.

Spiridon wondered where Zorya was. He had not seen her since the day before. She would have to be told of his plan, because he would need her by his side. He knew that she, too, wanted to return home, not spend years hiding on an alien island, waiting for enemies to die at the hands of other men. She was a creature of the cold and dark. Zorya had winter blood.

The door opened behind Spiridon. He looked back, expecting to see her, but it was Radovan who entered. Spiridon did not mind. A conversation with Radovan was required, but not about the choice they faced. There was another, more pressing matter to be discussed.

He rose to hug his brother, and they exchanged three kisses.

‘Sit,’ said Spiridon. ‘I have a question for you.’

Radovan took the nearest chair. It left him seated slightly lower than his brother. Spiridon would have avoided placing himself in a similar position of inferiority, even among family, but Radovan had never concerned himself with such details. He was content to let others believe he was weaker than he was because he felt it gave him room to maneuver. Sometimes, though, the perceptions of others concretized into fact. Let people believe you were weak and they might well decide to move against you. No one feared a weak man, or not beyond the potential damage his weakness might cause. Unbeknownst to his brother, recent events were causing Radovan to examine the implications of this.

‘What is it?’ said Radovan.

Spiridon took his brother’s hands in his own.

‘How close are you and Anton Frend?’ he said.

‘You know the answer,’ said Radovan. ‘We have been colleagues, and more, for a long time. He has never given us cause to mistrust him. Why do you ask?’