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covered her with a light blanket. Arete fell asleep almost instantly and Dionysius stayed to watch her for a little while. A neighing startled him and he went back downstairs to take care of his horse.

 
2
     
    A RETE AWOKE AND was gripped by panic for a moment, not realizing where she was. The room was sunk in darkness and not a sound came from outside. She got up and went to the window that opened on to an inner garden. She saw the pomegranate and almond with its still tender leaves and remembered. She must have fallen into a deep sleep for many hours; evening was falling. She found a basin filled with water and was relieved to be able to wash and put on a fresh gown. Curious now, she looked around; a stair with a dozen stone steps led up to a landing and she walked up barefooted without making the slightest noise.
    When she reached the terrace, she was confronted by a spectacle that left her amazed and moved: all of Acragas stretched out before her, the lamps being lit now in each of the houses. To her right, on high, she could see the Athenaion on the top of the acropolis, a wisp of smoke rising, perhaps from the altar. To her left, scattered over the hill which faced the sea, were the other temples of the gods: one was right on top, another halfway up the slope, a third a little further over at the same distance. They were painted in bright colours, adorned by friezes and sculptures, with beautiful trees and gardens all around. At the bottom of the hill, in the western part of the valley, was a gigantic building still under construction, a temple the likes of which she’d never seen. So tall that it towered over any other structure, the entablature was held up by stone colossi at least twelve feet high and the pediment was animated by huge statuary groups bulging with heroes involved in titanic struggles. She could see the walls surrounding the whole city, with armed sentinels marching back and forth on the battlements and, beyond them, the plain that stretched out to the sea, already the colour of iron. Two more temples arose in the distance towards the west, white with stucco work and glittering with the gilded edging on the pediments and acroteria.
    Dionysius was sitting in an armchair, contemplating the sight in the last faint light of sunset. To his right, hanging from one of the arbour posts, was his armour; his shield and spear were leaning against the parapet. He was wearing only a chlamys over his nude body and he must have bathed, for as Arete drew closer, she could smell none of the stink of horse sweat that had made it hard to distinguish him from his steed.
    ‘The most beautiful city of mortal man . . .’ said Dionysius without turning.
    Arete couldn’t understand how he had sensed her presence since she’d come up in absolute silence, but she imagined that the long vigils he’d kept in war must have honed this sense of alertness. ‘It’s enchanting,’ she answered, continuing to let her gaze roam over the stunning countryside.
    ‘That’s what Pindar said in one of his poems. Do you know his work?’
    ‘Of course, although he’s not my favourite. I like lyric poetry better.’
    ‘He composed an ode to celebrate the victory of Theron, the lord of Acragas, in the chariot races of Olympia seventy years ago.’
    ‘They must have paid him well. He certainly couldn’t say anything bad about the place.’
    ‘What a foolish thing to say. Money can’t buy inspiration, and the spectacle you see before you has no equal in Sicily, or anywhere else in this world.’
    ‘Unforgiving, aren’t you?’ observed the girl in a resigned tone. ‘Everyone says stupid things sometimes. And I still have the splendour of my lost home in my heart . . . can’t you understand that? I look at all this, and can’t help but think that the city I loved has become nothing but a heap of ruins.’
    ‘Not for always,’ replied Dionysius without turning. ‘We’ll go back and build it up again.’
    ‘We’ll go back?