Page 52 of Villa of Secrets

‘That’s because of the phoenix,’ he said. ‘She builds her nest with branches from the cinnamon tree.’

‘The phoenix bird?’

He nodded. ‘Dies in flames, and rises again from the ashes.’

‘Do you really believe there is such a thing?’ I don’t know why I thought about my family at that moment.

‘Got to be. Stands to reason. When something’s destroyed, then it’s always a better thing that takes its place, right? I mean, look when there’s a fire. Everything’s charred, all the trees and grazing burnt to ash, but six months later the pasture’s stronger and lusher than ever.’

The shepherds were often blamed for fires on the island, and Giovanni’s words made me wonder if those suspicions were correct. I held the sliver of cinnamon to my nose and inhaled its intoxicating scent while he slotted the rectangle of bark back into the tree.

‘There,’ he said. ‘The scars will heal over and nobody will ever know I’ve taken a piece of her heart.’

Our eyes met and, suddenly shy, I felt the heat of a blush. Giovanni the poet. Too much time on his own, I thought.

At the hut, we placed the rabbit and all the other ingredients into a cauldron on the fire. I washed myself, brushed my hair, and then followed Giovanni through the woods. At a point that looked like everywhere else, he told me to stop, and he disappeared into the trees.

Moments later, two rough-looking men appeared and led us down a steep track. We emerged in a small clearing surrounded by dense woodland. A band of men seemed gathered for the meeting.

‘Wait here!’ our escorts ordered Giovanni.

They ushered me towards the group, which parted to reveal a mountain of a man wearing a black shirt and beige jodhpurs. Everything about him was big. Huge hands, and long hair almost touching his collar. He had a neat, dark beard and strong even teeth, rather like our horse. I noticed a muscular Alsatian tied to a tree behind him.

The Andartes leader balanced a frying pan and a chunk of bread on his knee, and I guessed he had just finished eating. He put the pan aside and asked my name and where I lived. I did the same, which clearly surprised him.

‘Not information for you,’ he said. ‘So, why are you here, little one?’ He seemed impatient.

‘I want you to stop the ships leaving and set my family free.’

‘Ha! Such a small thing.’ He smiled and tossed the bread to his dog.

‘You are my only hope!’ I cried. ‘You’re the Andartes, the secret army. You must help them. Get the boats to turn around!’ I grabbed his sleeve and tried to pull him up.

He didn’t budge. ‘I can’t. It’s impossible.’ He grinned at me. ‘Who do you think we are?’ Then he laughed as if I’d made a huge joke and everyone joined in.

How dare he! My temper boiled until I was so furious I snatched the big frying pan with two hands and with all my strength, whacked him over the side of his head.

‘You’ve got to help them!’ I shouted. Shocking pain raced up my arm when the pan connected.

‘Hell!’ he yelled, cradling his face. ‘You little rat!’

‘Aaah!’ I cried, dropping the pan and hugging my wrist to my chest. Although I knew I’d hurt him, he roared with laughter. I lunged for the pan again.

Somebody grabbed my collar and lifted me off the ground. Blinded by fury, I fought like a tomcat, scratching and spitting, then I swung my leg forward and back with all my strength. My heel whammed into soft flesh and a howl sounded in my ear. The bandit let go of me.

The scruffy rebels, red-faced and hysterical with laughter, only made me madder. Another reached for my hair, but I snatched his hand and bit as hard as I could. He yelped, slung his other arm around my waist and lifted me off my feet. Clutched under his arm, I was helpless.

They dropped me into an olive sack. I was petrified they’d put rocks in and drop me into the sea, which was how locals got rid of kittens. I kicked and writhed, but it was no good. They closed the top and hung me up, probably from a tree branch.

Trapped in the mouldy olive sack, my broken wrist on fire, pain throbbed up to my shoulder. I thought about all the people squashed together on the ship, suffering the July sun. I had to do better. I had to get out of there.

I wailed as pitifully as I could. Nobody likes to hear a child cry.

‘Please!’ I sobbed, ‘my arm hurts too much and my hair’s caught in the top. I’ll behave, I swear!’ Someone pushed the sack and it swung violently. ‘No! I’m going to be sick. I was just crazy with worry about my parents. I miss them . . .’ I felt ashamed of using my parents, considering their predicament was far worse than mine.

The laughter died and I heard the leader’s voice. ‘Will you behave, little girl?’

Little girl! I hate being called that. I’ve been teased and bullied all my life because of my size, and before I could stop myself anger overcame me.