‘Let the falcon go,’ said Pirra. ‘It’s me you want.’

Telamon stared at her in disbelief. She was huddled at his feet with her ankles bound, her arms pinioned behind her back, and a large bruise ripening on her cheek – and yet she was barking orders at him as if he was a peasant.

He’d always known she was brave. Just now, she’d walked fearlessly past his grandfather’s body – while he, Telamon, was still reeling from the shock of what had so recently happened.

I never touched him, Telamon told himself. The gods did it for me. Just as they gave me the idea to search his chambers, in case he’d lied about sending the dagger to Pharax. The gods kept me here, so that I could capture Pirra.

All this flashed through his mind as he stared down at her. Then he said quietly: ‘Who do you think you are, to give me orders? Do you think you’re still the daughter of the High Priestess of Keftiu?’

‘I’ll always be that.’

‘You’re nothing!’ he shouted. ‘You’re in my power! See this?’ He tapped the scar on his forehead. ‘Remember Egypt? That bird of yours striking me with its talons? You’re lucky I didn’t kill it outright! Shall I do it now, eh? Snap its neck between my fingers?’

‘No no please – don’t touch her!’

‘Ah, that’s better. You need to beg more, Pirra. It’s what women should do.’

Turning his back on her, he strolled down the hall and took his place on Thestor’s throne – no, his throne.

It’s true, he thought in amazement, and at last it began to sink in. With Koronos gone, all this belongs to me.

At the end of the hall, Pirra was struggling with her bonds. She’d gone clammy and pale, clearly trying not to panic.

‘You can’t bear being tied up, can you?’ he called. ‘I remember that. It’s your worst nightmare, isn’t it? Being tied up for ever. Well there’s no one to help you now.’

‘Or you,’ she shot back. ‘You’re all alone, Telamon. Did you know that Lapithos is deserted? That all your men have fled?’

‘Callow youths, I’m better off without them! Now why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here, and where’s Hylas?’

She hesitated. ‘He’s here in Lapithos. Very soon, you’re going to feel his knife in your guts.’

Drawing his sword, he slashed at the shadows. Then he realized his mistake. ‘Your filthy Keftian tricks can’t fool me! If Hylas was really here, he wouldn’t have stood by and let me hit you. So I’ll ask you again, and if you don’t want me to rip your bird’s head off, you’ll tell me the truth. Where is he?’

‘He’s on the battlefield,’ she said quickly. ‘Fighting alongside the High Chieftain – the real one. Oh yes, it’s true,’ she added. ‘I’ve seen Akastos myself. The Lion of Mycenae has returned, and the rebels are flocking to his call!’

‘Much good will it do them,’ he flung back; although inside, he was deeply shaken. ‘Have you forgotten that we have the dagger? That we can’t be beaten!’

‘Pharax has the dagger, not you.’

‘But I can take it whenever I want.’

‘You? Take it from Pharax?’

‘The gods mean me to have it, not him!’ He ran to loom over her, making her flinch. ‘I should kill you now and have done with it,’ he panted, ‘but I don’t think I will. You’re my reward for after the battle. Now I’ll ask you again: what were you doing here?’

She stared up at him with those fathomless dark eyes. ‘Pharax will never give you the dagger.’

‘Why do you go on about Pharax?’ he yelled. ‘Pharax is an obstacle, nothing more! Koronos is dead, the gods have chosen me to rule!’

‘Did you kill Koronos, too?’

‘I never touched him,’ he snarled. ‘I didn’t need to, the gods did it for me!’

As if he was watching it happen all over again, Telamon saw himself staggering down the hall with Koronos’ laughter ringing in his ears. He heard that laughter break off in a choking cry. He turned to see Koronos clutching his arm and gaping like a fish. He seemed to be having a seizure. There was something weirdly wrong with one side of his face: eye, cheek and mouth sagging grotesquely, as if dragged down by the unseen finger of a god.

The guards had run to help, but Telamon had ordered them back. ‘No one touch him! The gods have struck him down, we must not interfere!’

In fascination, he’d watched his grandfather topple forwards with his face in the silver bowl of wine. A dreadful bubbling gurgle, one hand clawing ineffectually at the bowl … The massive shoulders shuddered as Koronos began to drown. Then the black fingernails twitched – and went still.

Telamon had stood there a long time, while word had spread and the last of the guards had fled Lapithos in terror.

Finally, he’d summoned the will to approach the corpse. He’d taken it by the shoulders and yanked it upright. Its head had lolled back, and he’d stared down at the slack, wine-stained ruin of an old man’s face.

Why was I so terrified of him? he’d wondered.

He’d unfastened the belt from the corpse and let the body fall forwards into the wine. He’d fastened the belt about his own waist, and felt instantly stronger and braver. The High Chieftain is dead: long live the High Chieftain.

Turning, he’d scanned the walls, where his painted Ancestors hunted and slaughtered their enemies. All those years, he’d thought, when I feared I’d never be as brave as them … But the truth is, I will surpass them! I will be greater than any of them!

Pirra’s sharp voice pierced his dreams. ‘If it’s all the will of the gods, why are you so frightened of the Angry Ones?’

‘I’m not frightened,’ he muttered.

‘But you are, I can see it. Pacing up and down, twisting that iron ring of yours. Hylas told me about that. And Koronos has another; are you going to take that, too?’ Her lip curled with scorn. ‘You can collect as many rings as you like, Telamon, but you’ll never have enough. I think you’ll be afraid for the rest of your life!’

‘I’m not afraid!’ roared Telamon.

His voice echoed round the great hall – and from the walls, his painted Ancestors stared back at him.

He gave a startled laugh. He passed a hand over his face. An idea had come to him of such brilliance that it could only have been sent by a god. ‘I’m not afraid,’ he repeated in wonder. ‘I know what to do!’

Now Pirra was the one who was alarmed. She’d gone white to the lips, and her skin glistened with sweat. ‘What do you mean? What are you going to do?’

‘At one stroke,’ Telamon said to himself, ‘I will make the dagger safe for ever. Yes, that’s it! The gods will help me take it from Pharax on the battlefield – and then I’ll give it to my Ancestors, and they will keep it safe for all eternity!’

And that way, he continued in his head, the Ancestors will finally be appeased – my father, and Alekto, and Koronos … And the Angry Ones will leave me in peace.

‘Where are you going?’ Pirra shouted after him as he strode off down the hall.

‘To the battle, of course!’

‘What about me and Echo?’

He laughed. ‘You’d better get used to being tied up,’ he called, ‘because you’re going to stay like that for a while! And when I’ve won the battle, and the dagger is safe with my Ancestors for ever – when I’ve crushed the rebels and fed Hylas’ still-beating heart to the dogs – you’re going to spend the rest of your life here at Lapithos, shut up in the women’s chambers. Although maybe – if you beg very hard – I might let you have one glimpse of the sky, perhaps every other year!’