‘He named her.’ She says suddenly, pointing at Amhara. ‘At least, he suggested the name. He left before she was born. A long-dead people who once ruled the world only for time to turn their monuments into ruins. That’s what he said anyway, I have never heard of them. There was much knowledge of the past he claimed to have.’ She was beginning to sound bitter.

‘Still,’ she says more calmly, ‘without the history, it is a beautiful name. It is like the wind at night.’

I smile at her quaint expression. The Amhara people are indeed another of our rumours. I remember telling Tora about some evidence I discovered: a stone monolith engraved with a phrase. There were two scripts. The one I could decipher read, ‘We, the Amhara…’ The rock was chipped at that point and the rest of the sentence lost. I scratched around in the dust but could find no more.

‘You laugh,’ she says, smiling herself. Her gaze meets mine for a moment, then we both look at the child.

She changes the subject, ‘You say you too have been away. Where, with whom, doing what?’

I take a deep breath. I decide to play along for now. ‘I left ten years ago,’ I begin. ‘Ten years ago I lived in this town. I was an important man. It seems people have forgotten me. Our people have always had a lot to think about so I do not begrudge them their forgetfulness.’ I want to make sure she knows I do not blame her for the town’s collective memory loss.

I continue while we eat. ‘I left… The truth is I was asked to leave. The settlement had changed. They thought I was no longer able to lead them into the next phase of the recovery. They thought there was a need for a change. Or they were made to think that way by treacherous people close to me. They thought the policies that had served us so well for the previous ten years were no longer warranted. Or so they said. The fact of the matter is they could not admit that I had saved the settlement with these policies and given them all a sense of meaning and that they had been right behind the policies when it suited them. They could not admit their culpability for the deaths that took place beyond the city walls where the orange groves now stand. An interesting point that, I think. Where people previously lost their lives for the greater good now stands a fertile grove of fruit trees. Is that remembering the dead properly? Maybe it is.’

I realise I have gone off topic and Elba is looking at me strangely with her head cocked to one side.

I continue: ‘I went to an island just inside the settlement limits on the border we agreed with Andalus of Axum. And there I stayed for a decade. I found I could live off the island well enough. Though it rained nearly every day and I do not believe I saw the sun once, it was not too bad. It was never very cold and I found enough peat and enough food to keep myself going. I did not cultivate anything as there was no point, it being just me. I also realised that the island was winding down. Like an old man it had a number of years left to live but no more. In the north the cliffs were falling rapidly into the sea. Virtually every day a section would collapse. The water round that end was always black with the mud. I would fancy that it was like blood, that the cliffs were men falling one by one to be broken by the sea.

‘After a while I realised that the trees were infertile and weren’t replenishing themselves. I realised the fish were becoming more scarce, that the peat bogs were not as extensive as they seemed. I calculated – and I made many calculations – instead of planting. I made notes and wrote down observations and sums. I worked out that the island had about as many years left to live as I did. My death would coincide with the end of the island as a viable source of support. And I preferred it that way. I was, I thought, resigned to the island being my resting place. I was resigned to never seeing this place again. There was a pace of life that appealed. The routines, the endless rains, the wet grasses brushing against my skin, the silence of the forest. Though I was alone it was a better life than you might think.’

‘Why then did you leave the island?’ Elba asks.

‘Why did I leave?’ I repeat her question almost to myself. ‘I left because something happened that changed all that. One day I came across a man who had washed up on the shore. He was lying on the beach, almost dead. I gave him back life, took care of him but he had been through a trauma of some kind and would not speak. He did not say a word. As silent as a stone. To this day he has not said anything and it has been several weeks since he first appeared on my island.

‘But this was no ordinary man. Though I did not recognise who it was at first, after a while I realised that this was no less than Andalus, General of Axum, with whom I had negotiated our peace. I then realised the significance of why he might be there, of the immense danger our people might face. There were always those factions within the Axumites who disapproved of the Peace Treaty. If they got the upper hand and ousted Andalus, there would be no doubt where they would turn their attentions next and I feared our people had become weak after years without war. Or, though it seems fanciful, what if there were other people entirely who ousted him? Even if he wasn’t overthrown, what was he, a General, doing out there? Exploring? Looking for new territories? Something which is strictly against the terms of the treaty.

Something had to be done. Our people had to be warned.’

Out of the corner of my eye I notice the child looking at me, staring at me in fact. Elba notices too and says quickly, ‘Bedtime.’ She takes Amhara by the hand and leads her through to the back of the apartment without a word to me.

When she returns, she says simply, ‘She seems to like your stories.’

I do not say anything.

Then she says, shaking her head quickly as if remembering something, ‘You’ve come into my home, told me a story, met my daughter and yet I don’t even know what you want me to call you.’

I can’t help but scoff. I hold my hand up to apologise. She sits down again and I lean in to her. ‘You have been very kind to me but I must ask, I must know.’ I pause. ‘You surely know who I am?’

She shakes her head. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Bran of course.’

She smiles again. ‘Like our town, I like that.’

I lean back again and sigh. ‘Elba, I would like you to help me understand what is going on. I would like you to tell me why it is that no one here has acknowledged me, why no one has admitted to recognising me? I was the ruler of this settlement for a long time, a man many grew to despise, and yet nothing. And where is everyone?

Everyone I knew. Is this a town of ghosts?’ I realise my voice is slightly raised. Again I hold up my hand.

Elba looks at me from across the table, then gets up and stands with her back to me, her arms folded.

After a few moments, when it seems like she is not going to answer, I ask, ‘How did you know what happened this morning? I did not tell you.’

‘People talk.’ She shrugs her shoulders. Then, ‘I heard it mentioned that someone was chasing someone else through the streets. I assumed it was you.’

This is not a reasonable explanation but I cannot push her too hard, not yet. She is my best potential source of information so far.

‘The man I was chasing was the judge at my trial. He is the first person I’ve been able to put a name to. Some people here seem vaguely familiar, like the Marshal, who I think was someone I used to know. Though some are familiar, it is like everyone I knew well has disappeared.’

She says nothing.

‘And what of the person who lived in this flat before you? I cannot believe you wouldn’t know her. And Abel, the man who became Marshal after me, the one who led the campaign against me? You must know them. Where are they?’