They stand, staring at the spattered pile, remembering the dead woman. Amara thinks the stones look like all the kindnesses Cressa heaped up in her life, insignificant, yet touching the people closest to her. She tries not to remember Cressa’s last day, the sight of her standing at the water’s edge, watching the waves.

“How much?”

It’s a thin, wheedling voice, right behind them. Both women jump. A man is hunched in a craven position, like a beggar, but something about his eyes frightens Amara.

“We don’t have any wine to sell you,” she says, pulling her cloak around herself.

“How much to suck me?” He paws at his crotch.

“Have some respect!” Victoria snaps, shooing him away. “Can’t you see we’re mourning?”

The man reaches out to her. “Take pity!” he whines.

Amara can feel Victoria’s fear in the way she snatches her arm. They hurry over the field of ashes, back toward the narrow road. The man is too quick, darting in front. “Why won’t you fuck me?” he pleads. “Please fuck me!”

They walk even faster, stepping over the amphoras’ dead lips. The beggar keeps pressing closer, and his voice is getting deeper, losing its thin whine. Amara calls out to the old mourner, still stooped over his mound, but he ignores her. He must have heard the other man pleading for sex and has no interest in helping a couple of whores fend off a customer.

The beggar starts to run, and at first, Amara thinks her cries for help might have scared him off, but then she realizes he has only gone ahead to block the road. The stone walls of the vineyard are on one side of him, a large tomb on the other, making it almost impossible to get past. They edge closer, trying to decide on which side to break through.

“Come with me,” he says, staring straight into Amara’s eyes. He is like a snake, poised to strike. She stares back, too frightened to look away. He lunges forward, grabbing for her arm, but she anticipates his move. Victoria seizes her hand, and they run back to the field, heading for the old man. The beggar skirts round again, forcing them toward the tombs, toward the opening of another, unfamiliar path. There is nowhere else for them to go.

They flee, their pursuer close behind, driving them on through the necropolis. Amara trips, looks down and realizes grass is growing through the paving stones. With a flash of fear, she understands that this is not only a quiet road but a deserted one. He has trapped them. She gasps, lurching forward in panic and stumbles again, only just catching her footing.

“Keep going,” Victoria yells.