‘Thank you,’ said Demetrius and wondered why he felt no better for having spoken about his fears.

The morning went well. Demetrius didn’t ask Misha to help but he was happy to have some company and they worked hard until for no apparent reason his dog began to whine.

‘Quiet,’ said Demetrius.

Then, near the barn where the farmer allowed him to sleep, he saw a man, broad-shouldered, square-shaped. He was watching them.

Misha saw him too and all his confidence left him and it seemed to Demetrius that he shivered to the size of a child as the man approached. Demetrius calmed the dog, thinking there was something menacing about him.

‘How long until you are gone, shepherd?’ asked the man.

‘A matter of days,’ Demetrius replied.

The man turned to Misha. ‘Tell your mother I want her to clean the house. If not her, then her sister.’ Misha didn’t move. ‘Do you hear me, you half-wit?’

‘No, he didn’t,’ said Demetrius. ‘He’s deaf in one ear.’

‘And who are you to tell me what my grandson is?’

The word ‘grandson’ took Demetrius by surprise.

‘This idiot,’ said the man, grabbing Misha by the ear, ‘is daft not deaf. Isn’t that right?’

Misha twisted his whole body so he could hear his grandfather.

‘Yes,’ he said.

His grandfather let go of him. ‘Tell this shepherd what I don’t like.’

Demetrius could see Misha concentrating on every word and piecing them together.

‘I don’t like…’ the man repeated.

‘Strangers,’ said Misha, keeping his eyes on the ground. He knew what was coming, there was no need to read his grandfather’s lips.

‘I don’t like…’

‘Gypsies.’

‘I don’t like… tell him,’ said the man and he clipped his grandson across the head. ‘Tell him!’

‘Village girls marrying strangers.’

‘Out of the mouth of an idiot comes the truth. The sooner you leave, shepherd, the better.’ As he strolled away he shouted to Misha, ‘Don’t forget to tell your mother.’

When he’d gone Misha picked up his coat.

‘Please – stay a while,’ said Demetrius. ‘You’ve been more than helpful.’

‘I hate him,’ muttered Misha. ‘I hate him. He ruins everything.’

‘You’re not an idiot,’ said Demetrius. ‘You’re deaf in one ear.’

‘In this village, I’m an idiot. Born stupid, nothing in my brain, and whatever anyone tells me falls out, forgotten, the second it has gone in. I will instantly forget what he asked me to do. My mother won’t clean his house, anyway. I work for the blacksmith, but he’s wary of me because of my grandfather.’

‘Why? Who is he?’ asked Demetrius.

‘He’s the butcher.’

The word hit Demetrius so hard that he felt it as a physical blow, taking his breath away.

‘The butcher?’ he said, stunned.