Edith could hardly think of anything except Demetrius coming home to her. She was lost in a daydream when the miller’s wife took her aside and told her she was lucky that the butcher was willing to wait so long for her.

‘He can wait as long as he likes,’ said Edith. ‘I won’t be marrying him.’

‘I heard you made a promise,’ said the miller’s wife, ‘in front of the mayor.’

‘I made a promise to Demetrius, and it is he who I’m marrying,’ said Edith. ‘He’ll be back tonight – you’ll see.’

Edith had never much liked the miller’s wife or the miller’s son who had married her best friend. Lena’s mother, a widow, had given her no choice but to marry a suitor chosen for her by the village elders. Lena was twenty, the same age as Edith, and now there was a sharpness about her that hadn’t been there before.

‘Edith,’ Lena said, ‘do you honestly think your shepherd, with his midnight looks, gives any thought to you? I doubt it. I imagine that wherever he plays his violin, there’s a girl waiting.’

‘You’re just jealous because I’m marrying a man I love, not someone the elders say I should marry.’

‘It’s tradition,’ said Lena. ‘To make sure we keep outsiders out.’

‘Perhaps we should welcome a few more in.’

The butcher’s granddaughter, Sorina, teased her. ‘Did his kisses taste of strawberries? Did he steal your gold coin?’

‘Don’t be so silly,’ said Edith. ‘You’re far too young to know what you’re talking about. Now go and help with the cooking.’

‘Grandpa said you’ll be marrying him,’ she said.

‘Your grandpa is wrong because I won’t,’ said Edith.

Three times that day, she saw Demetrius, felt his hand on her shoulder, spun round to find nothing there but wind and shadow.

The night came. The full moon stared down on the small village nestling in the arms of the mountain, the church at its centre surrounded by fortified walls, the houses close together in their gabled splendour, all brightly painted, each with an inscription rendered in neat lettering. The verse on the cabinet maker’s house read:

Tell me for what gold is fit?

Who has got none longs for it.

Who has got it, fears for thieves.

Who has lost it ever grieves.

A truth Edith’s father had never heeded.

The bells rang out into the mountain, and the women sang, as they had for centuries, to call the men in from the fields. The long table in the middle of the village hall was covered in an embroidered cloth, jugs of wine, painted plates piled high with food. One by one the men entered, took off their hats and took their places at the table, until there was only one empty seat: that of the shepherd.