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long ago, she had thought, but now surfacing in her consciousness to torment her. Stories she had read of human sacrifice to wild animals hi arenas not so very far from this spot; of Theseus waiting in the dark of the Cretan labyrinth for the bull-man Minotaur.
    In spite of herself, she shuddered. Whatever hidden secret Saracina held, she wanted no part of it. She could bear anything—Tony's anger, Paul and Mary's recriminations—if only she was safely out of this.
    She told herself she was being ridiculous—letting her imagination run riot to feed her fear. And yet wasn't the fact that she was here, a prisoner in the hands of these men, equally ridiculous?
    'Come,
signorina
.' She was being urged not altogether gently towards the cliff path, stumbling in the sodden ruin of her expensive sandals which she hadn't had time to kick off before her abortive escape bid. Her dress clung to her in clammy discomfort, and water dripped from her hair down her face and neck. How far were they expecting her to walk in this state? she wondered numbly. At the top of the cliff, she was answered. A small jeep stood waiting, the driver at the wheel.
    'Get in,
signorina
.' The leader, his lips slightly compressed, spread her own towel on the seat for her to sit on.
    Joanna silently complied. She had no choice. The only cheering thought was that the men who had dragged her back from the sea were equally wet and uncomfortable as their uniforms steamed in the sun One of them sat on either side of her and the leader climbed into the front beside the driver, giving some orders in his own language to the remaining men who presumably had to walk to wherever she was being taken.
    The jeep set off with a jerk which threw her sideways. She recovered her, balance with as much dignity as she could. She still had no idea where they were going, she realised in dismay, but guessed it had to be the town of Saracina itself.
    She gazed around as they drove along the narrow road, white with dust that led away from the sea. In many ways it was little better than a track, she thought, gritting her teeth as the jeep jolted over a particularly deep rut. But it seemed as if she was to see something of the island after all, which had an irony all of its own.
    What she could see was rather as the guide book had described, rocky and rather arid, but the lower slopes were thickly covered in a bushy undergrowth, growing almost to the height of a man's waist in parts. Numerous flowering plants were to be seen amongst the greenery and a warm, pungent smell wafted into the jeep as it sped along. There were few really memorable landmarks to guide her, however, even supposing she did manage to escape again. And if she did, was this necessarily the best way to come? Presumably the town of Saracina itself had a harbour. She tried to reckon how much money she had left after her payment to Pietro. Supposing she could get her hands on it, would it be enough to bribe someone to take her back to Calista?
    The scenery was gradually becoming more rugged, and the hills on each side were becoming steeper and developing a kind of grandeur. One of them, lying ahead of them slightly blurred by distance and heat haze, was almost tall enough to qualify as a mountain, Joanna thought, shading her eyes to look at it.
    But there were no people about, and not even any real houses, just a few tumbledown stone shacks with empty sheep pens attached to the side of them.
    She turned to one of the men sitting beside her.
    '
Dove tutti?
Where is everybody?' she asked haltingly.
    The man shrugged and burst into a long excited speech in which the only really comprehensible word seemed to be '
palazzo'
.
    Wasn't that a palace? Joanna wondered dazedly. Did a tiny island like this really warrant such a place, or had she misunderstood? But before she could inquire further, the leader had turned angrily from the front seat.
    '
Silenzio
!' he barked, and her informant subsided, looking hot under the collar to