‘The memory plays tricks sometimes. It can tell you you’re one thing when actually you’re another. Sometimes you discover you have an entirely different past to what you believed.’

‘Is there something going on I should know about? Is there a plan being cooked up for how to deal with me? I realise I have probably brought confusion to your midst. I am not asking to come back as Marshal. I am not even asking to come back. I am asking for… There are things I’ve done…’ I stumble.

‘What are you asking for? What have you done, Bran?’

‘I need to be able to speak to the Marshal about this. But he was not at his post yesterday even though we had an appointment. It’s irregular. The world is broken, Elba. You will not survive without strong leadership and a man who abandons his duties is not a strong leader.’

‘The strong sometimes know very little about strength.’

I do not know what she means. She turns around quickly and says,

‘It is late. I have an early start. I think you should go now.’

I am being dismissed, perhaps a bit curtly too. At the door though, she takes me by the arm. She speaks softly, ‘Though I cannot help you, you will have your answers one day. I’m certain of it.’ With this she closes the door and I am left in the cool night.

I wander slowly back towards the shelter. The town is dark. There is no moon. Around me a few shapes flit through the dark, their heads buried in cloaks. I grab one by the shoulder as he shuffles past. I spin him around and the hood falls from his head. A blank face. ‘Do you know me?’ I ask. I speak from the back of my throat. He shakes his head. ‘Do you know Bran?’ He shakes his head, tries to pull away. ‘Ten years ago–’

He interrupts me. ‘I was not here.’ He wrenches himself free and slides back into the dark.

When I am within sight of the town hall I see a figure hurry into the courtyard. I don’t think he sees me. I recognise the gait and stature of the Marshal and I hurry after him. When I reach the courtyard there is no one in it. A glow from a lamp in the centre illuminates, dimly, the surrounding buildings.

I walk up to the Marshal’s door and am about to knock but I lower my hand and try the door instead. It is open.

My eyes have to adjust to the gloom inside. Once they do I see that the floor is coated in a thin layer of dust. It is on everything. The dust gets everywhere in this town. I look down at the floor and try to make out the Marshal’s prints. But there is nothing. He must have gone through another door. Most of the offices connect so I could still find him. I will be quiet though. I might be able to find evidence of what’s going on if no one knows I’m here.

If I walk through the building now they will know from the footprints that someone has been in. But that is alright. They should know. I head up the stairs. They creak, but so lightly someone standing a few paces off would not be able to hear. I pass the landing with a window overlooking the courtyard. I freeze. There is a man standing below looking at the door. He would not be able to see me.

I cannot make him out, cannot see his face. He stands there for what seems like minutes, not moving, just staring at the door. Suddenly he turns and walks out of the courtyard. I wait for a while but he does not return.

I walk up to my old office. The door is closed and locked. I carry on down the passageway. The next room is one I used for my assistants.

This too is locked. The third room was used in my day by Abel. The current Marshal does not seem to have a deputy. This door is wide open. Inside everything is covered by sheets. I pull one off the desk.

It is the same. I know because I had it made. It was a present to Abel when I made him deputy. I try one of the drawers. Locked. I pull at it but the handle breaks off.

I must face the possibility that both he and Tora are dead. That would be unlucky certainly, for both of the people I know best to die within my period of absence. Perhaps they were together when they died. They would have been together quite often I suppose after I left, sharing what they did. But with no wars anymore, little crime, enough food so it seems, why would they die? They were both young. Younger than I am anyway. They cannot both have died.

There on the side of the desk, the motto of Bran: In unity, strength.

The wood is worn from use.

I pull off the sheet from the bookshelf. There, a copy of the constitution of the settlement. Abel and I wrote this together.

I walk out of the room after replacing the sheets. Further down the corridor are more offices. Because we built in a random fashion and added bits to buildings when we needed to without regard for a grand design, the corridor is not straight. It turns, doubles back on itself. With no windows it is dark inside. You could lose yourself in here if you didn’t know what you were doing. I walk through the building trying all the doors. Abel’s office is the only one unlocked. I regret leaving my knife in the shelter. I usually have it. With it I could have forced a lock.

I could push in the doors but that would make a lot of noise.

I return the way I came and instead of going through the front door, turn left. I push open the doors to the hall. There is something I want to see. The room is empty. This is not unusual, it often was. Only for big meetings would we spread out the chairs. I walk towards the far end. There is a stage and to the left a wall panelled with wood. My footsteps, though cushioned by the dust, echo round the room. Gold lettering appears out of the gloom as I get close. At the top it reads, simply, ‘Marshals of Bran’. Below are just two names. I peer closely at them. It is like my heart stops. My name is not there. The first entry should be ‘Bran’ followed by the years I ruled but instead the first entry is Madara. The years are the same, b1 to b10. The second name is Abel.

That is right but then what of Marshal Jura? Why no inscription for the current Marshal? And if the decision was taken to expunge the name of a Marshal convicted of wrongdoing, why replace my name with a fictional one? No matter what they thought of me, they cannot forget my achievements. And besides, they all know they are guilty too. Yes I was banished but out of guilt, not hatred. There were some who hated of course but it was mostly guilt. I feel a rage inside me, something I have not felt for years, not since the battlefield and even then infrequently. In a battle the angry lose, the detached win. I calm myself as I walk through the door and out into the cold air, though I notice I have been sweating. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.

I decide against exploring further tonight. Tomorrow I will make sure I have an audience with the Marshal.

Madara. A name. A fictional name. A word whose presence means that the settlement has an imperfect history. Why not keep the true name? Even if you hate the name and what it stands for, at least recognise it, stare it in the face.

Madara. It is familiar somehow. A name I once heard. A person I once knew. I am not Madara.

I walk around the town for hours. I walk past Elba’s windows. There is a light on in one. I watch it for a few minutes. A shadow moves across the yellow blinds, floats across the space, back and forth, back and forth as if in a dance.

I walk past Abel’s house. That, in contrast, is still dark. It is very late, however. It means little.

I walk past the courtyard entrance. Twice, three times.

The third time I look up at the windows. Behind one there is a movement. I am almost certain there is someone, a pale figure deep in the shadows, staring out, looking at me. I stare harder but there is nothing more. I go further into the courtyard, look up. The window is black.

I think back to the figure I saw in the courtyard earlier. He too was looking up at the windows. Was he waiting for a signal from a figure behind one? Was he looking for me?