‘As soon as the road was open – about two weeks ago. His brother and an undertaker came to collect the body. After they’d gone the butcher didn’t hesitate to tell everyone that the matter was closed. There would be no investigation. I’m sorry.’

‘You have nothing to be sorry about.’

‘I do. I should have told you something, and I didn’t. I said to myself that when I had the answer, I would.’

Edith said nothing. She imagined she was holding a bowl into which secrets could be safely poured without fear of anyone hearing them again.

Staring at his hands, Misha told her of the evening he’d met Demetrius on the mountain and about the letter, the unread words that had been weights on his heart.

‘I think he knew he was going to be killed. Just before dawn broke he recited a poem, the words to a melody he’d been playing.’

Full moon, high sea,

Great man thou shall be.

Redding dawn, cloudy sky,

Bloody death shalt thou die.

‘We’d spoken of many things that night, and he’d told me that words can chain us. I asked what he meant and he said I had let my grandfather’s word for me define me as a simpleton. He said, “You know it’s not true and you mustn’t let that word haunt your life.”’

Edith knew this about listening: that it became harder to hold the bowl. It would be easier to put it down, to question, to comfort. But instead she let the silence gather him in.

‘That’s not what I meant to say. I wanted to tell you about Demetrius’ brother. The following morning when I left with the letter, I met a huntsman coming up the mountain. He asked where the shepherd was. I saw Demetrius’ brother when he came to collect the body. He was wearing glasses but with or without glasses I knew it was the huntsman I’d met on the mountain.’ He looked at Edith and said, ‘You know all this, don’t you?’

‘Demetrius told me his brother had taken up hunting,’ said Edith. ‘And I know the butcher was hired to guide the hunting party.’

‘He was on the mountain that morning too – it was then he took the letter from me,’ said Misha. ‘As for the rest, I have my suspicions – my grandfather would have been on hand if…’

He paused for a moment. ‘I think you are a shaman,’ he said, ‘a magical woman who can save us. It’s been a hard winter and your father and I are not the only ones the butcher has made life hell for. The butcher has become…’

‘…a monster?’ said Edith. ‘He always was.’

They sat for a while in silence before Misha asked, ‘What are you going to do?’