Though I feed him little, my island companion does not grow thinner.

I have not seen any more evidence of food that he might have gathered but I surmise he might be finding some somewhere. Also, he does not move much. For the weight to go he would have to exercise. It is now weeks since he washed up on shore. Weeks and he has not spoken a word, not communicated with me in any way. Sometimes he follows me around the island. I have seen him sitting on the rocks where I fish.

But most of the time he appears to remain in the cave lying on the bed, staring at nothing. While I smoke the fish or carve an oar I watch him watching nothing.

The three days before my planned departure are agony. I cannot sleep and think only of the journey.

The mast is lashed into place. It is not strong enough for very high winds but we are unlikely to encounter those. I have already stored much of the food on the raft, wrapped in plastic to protect it from the rain and tied on securely. I have made one of the tarpaulins into a sail.

It is makeshift but it will do.

Andalus seems to catch my agitation as well. During the night he gets up from the bed, opens the door and stands in the entrance to the cave, silhouetted against the night sky. He stands there for what seems like hours and then walks slowly back to bed. He does this for the final two nights. On the last evening I approach him after we have eaten. I have fed him well and prepared as much food as I could as we will be on rations now for three weeks. I take his face in my hands, squeezing so he feels pain and make him look at me. ‘You. Andalus.’ I say. ‘Yes, I know who you are. I know you.’ He continues to look straight at me.

‘Do you understand what we are doing?’ I have told him but I don’t know how much he understands. ‘We are going back to Bran. You remember Bran. You have been there years ago when you dealt with us.

We fought a war, we made a peace. You and I. Andalus and Bran. You remember.’ Silence. ‘I am taking you there so they can send you back to where you come from. You cannot stay here. It is not allowed.’ With this he pulls his face away, turns his head. I think he understands now.

I go and sit at the opposite end of the cave, my back to the wall, looking over at him sitting on the other side of the fire. ‘Are you ready to tell me what happened? It has been four weeks since you arrived. I have done you no harm. What has happened to change you so much? You used to be the most talkative man I knew. I sometimes think we stopped fighting just so you would no longer have an excuse to keep on talking.’

The joke gets no reaction.

I wait for a minute before proceeding. ‘You will have to talk in Bran. We are not a vindictive people but you have broken a condition of the treaty. You know what the punishment is. We agreed on it in fact. You and I. They are sure to spare you if you can explain yourself: a mutiny, a rebellion, a banishment. I think that is what has happened to you. Banished, like me. But if you were you did not take enough care, were not lucky enough to avoid Bran territory. If you do not talk, if you do not explain yourself you might well be executed.’ He says nothing.

He sits against the cave wall, his head slightly cocked. The fire flickers against his skin. Dies down. It grows darker in the cave.

‘It’s a rope we use. Death by hanging. It is easiest. There is no blood. Vomit, urine yes but no blood. It is quick too and with our limited resources, practical. You can reuse rope. We blindfold them of course. We are not dogs.’

He looks at me now but still says nothing. I think he looks at me. I cannot see his eyes.

‘We blindfold them and tie their hands so they cannot move. We place the noose around their neck and there is a man whose job it is to kick away the stand when it is time. We do not allow people to watch.

Just the hangman and one to make sure the victim does not escape.

Then we bury the body. Just below the surface. Their faces have to be covered last. It is not a job people like doing, the burying of the dead.

‘If you do not talk I fear that may happen to you. Perhaps they will launch a mission to Axum to seek an explanation but why would they bother? It will involve much expense and to what end? The remote possibility that their borders are under threat? The presence of one man, one bloated official, is unlikely to convince them of that.’

I realise I have raised my voice. I realise too that I might be right, that Bran might not care about this one man, that they might not see the potential significance. If they do not know who he is, if they do not recognise him – and I who knew him best took a while to do so – then he and I will encounter the same fate. Then there will be nothing to stop the hatred that has had ten years to fester. Ten years for the families of those put to death to foment revenge. I realise too there is no turning back. I have gone too far.

I stare at Andalus, willing a response. I sit there for hours, looking at him looking at me. It grows so dark he melts into the cave wall, becomes black, an outline. His eyes are sockets. If I half close mine he disappears altogether, disappears into the cave, into the rock, into the dirt. He is silent.

4

I have placed all the provisions and equipment on the raft already and lashed everything securely to the boards. I sit Andalus in the middle of the raft while I push it out to open water. When the water is up to my waist I climb on board. I row us out a few more metres, then hoist the sail. The wind is strong but I do not think it will be too strong for the mast. As the sail fills with the breeze I am exhilarated. We set off at a pace that belies the makeshift nature of the raft and its weight. We soon reach the end of my swimming range. The wind is coming from behind us, sweeping over the island. For a few seconds I close my eyes.

I can feel the water surging beneath me, the wind and the spray.

I see Tora standing on the beach. She raises her head now. She is too far away for me to see her face.

There is a wake behind us, a stretch of calmer water leading back to the shore. I look back at the island and smile.

I feel something is wrong a second before it happens. The mast bends too far, a corner of the raft dips into the water and the opposite end lifts out. Andalus slips, the mast splits and falls forward. I seem not to hear it. I open my mouth to shout at Andalus but nothing escapes. He does not react. The mast falls across him and all I can see is his form draped in the sail, like a shroud, as I am flung overboard.

The water is warm, warmer than expected. I feel for a moment like going to sleep, like sinking to the bottom, to the golden sand, to be wrapped like a baby in fronds of seaweed. It is quiet here: no wind, no flapping sail, nothing.

Through the water I see Andalus in his white cloak. I see the shape of him, crouching forward in the bow, the edges breaking up, shimmering like a mirage.

Then I am on the surface coughing, spluttering. Jerking my head around the first thing I see is Andalus, having managed to shake free of the sail, standing on the raft looking over at me. The raft bobs on the waves. The mast lies broken across the bow. I swim over, grab hold of the raft and, still in the water, rest my head on the wet planks. I retch seawater, then close my eyes.

I hear him move. He holds a hand out to me. I look up at him but the sky is too bright to see clearly. I try to pull myself up but my grip on his arm slips. It is like he is not there. I wave him away.

The tide takes us in. When we reach the shore I lie down on the sand exhausted. Andalus also lies down, arms flung out above his head.

The raft floats in the shallows. I do not move for hours. When I do it is to lash the raft to the rocks, take some food from it and head up towards the cave.