The Marshal would not look me in the eye. Instead he looked over my shoulder. His lips were a thin line. I remember the touch of his hand as he briefly shook mine. It was soft – the grip, the skin. No doubt mine was too. The life of a Marshal in our outpost was not a physically demanding one. In years gone by we were fighters. But peace made us softer. It gave us more time for contemplation, more time to consider what we did.

I imagine the people on the mainland, those I have left behind.

They stand on the rocky beach in the sun staring out to sea, the waves lapping at their feet. I wonder what they might be thinking. I wonder, if we could see far enough, if we would wave to each other or whether we would simply stare in silence. But no one can see that far. I was on the raft for three weeks before putting to shore here.

Many of my people I can no longer picture. I have memories involving them but their figures are a blur, fading pictures, ghosts. They talk, they gesture but I cannot see their eyes.

The woman though, her I can remember. She was not particularly beautiful. She was thirty-five when I left but looked older. I think we all did. A lifetime working in the kitchens, washing up, standing for twelve hours a day had aged her. She had hands that were callused and dull skin. Her eyes though, when she looked at you, stared through you. There was no hiding from her. To have someone truly know you is to be complete no matter what it is they know, even if what they know is the darkest thing of all.

We had been seeing each other for twelve years. We would spend Wednesday nights together, her night off. That was almost the only time we could see each other. I worked during the day, she finished late at night. We missed only two Wednesdays during those years. The first time was my fault, although there was little I could do about it. I was at a peace conference with the leader of Axum – there were plenty of men there in coats like this – finalising the details of the Programme.

The second time was because of the death of her mother. She told me she needed some time alone. I did not expect to see her again. I thought that what I had done might preclude this. But the following week there was a knock at the door at seven, our time, and it was her. I could tell she was sad and she was distant from me but to see her back made my heart leap. I could not share this with her. I could not. How could I?

She stood in the doorway, would not look at me and said simply, ‘We will not talk about her.’ I nodded. And we did not.

The woman’s name was Tora. She lived in a flat close to the kitchens.

It was small, basically furnished but always clean with nothing out of place. In her bedroom there was a bed, a dark wooden wardrobe and a dresser. I do not know whether she cleaned the flat when she knew I was coming or whether it was always tidy. I suppose I will never know.

Two years into our relationship I asked her to move in with me and to make it official. She refused. I did not understand why at first. She said it was unnecessary. I never asked again and I grew to understand what she meant. We had all we needed and all we wanted. Any more would have thrown the balance out. She was a level-headed woman, a quality I admired. She did keep me at a certain distance throughout but perhaps the pressures of our time meant that very few people were capable of deep feeling.

When we were together in bed she would close her eyes and bite her lower lip. The final time I closed mine too as I could not bear to look at her, as I could not bear to look. There was a chasm between us.

I did not know for certain it would be the last time but the trial had not been going well and I was expecting it not to go my way. In the end the sentence was not death but worse. It was banishment for life, a death in life. A life in death.

And she was no longer completely with me by then.

I suppose I had my standing to thank for not being executed and perhaps a sense of complicity. When I left, sailing away from the beach, I fixed my eyes on them willing them to look. Very few of them did. A minor triumph.

My relationship with Tora, while not exactly frowned upon by the townspeople, was viewed as unconventional. But it did not cause many problems. The rest of my life was conventional. I performed my duties rigorously, kept in touch with my lieutenants, wore my medals on the anniversaries of key battles and the peace agreement and saw the same woman for twelve years at the same time in the same place. I had routine.

I cultivated the aloofness that people sensed. With the role I had to fill it was a necessity. Even when I ran for the position of Marshal on the back of the Programme, the big idea, and I managed to persuade three-quarters of the population to back me, I knew that it was not me they were voting for, it was not me they were following. It was the order I could bring, the promise of an end to needless killing.

I was never a man of the people. Even Abel, the person I spent most time with, I kept at a distance. I think he preferred it that way though.

He was not exactly jovial either. I went to his house a few times on social calls but not many. I introduced him to Tora. We were walking by the kitchens, Tora was outside sitting in the sun. It was early in our relationship. I went up to her and kissed her. I was uncertain what to do, I will admit, with Abel looking on. She leant away from me a little.

I introduced her to Abel and we went on our way.

Once after this he asked me if I would like to bring someone with me when I visited him. I said no. We did not mention her again.

On the beach that day I kissed her again. Everyone was watching.

There was no noise from them, no disrespect. They just watched. My going was a quiet affair. Everyone wanted me gone but everyone knew the role they themselves had played. For the most part people stayed in their houses, stayed in the town, while the old Marshal was put on a boat with the most basic of provisions and implements.

I kissed her. This time she did not pull away. I am still grateful.

About half a mile off the coast I looked around at them for the last time. The two of them, Abel and Tora, were left. They had half turned towards each other. They may have been talking. I still wonder what they were saying.

When I kissed her she smelt of the harsh soap they used on dishes.

I can smell it now.

I wonder if the townspeople would recognise me. I have a beard and long hair. I cut the hair occasionally but it is impossible to get a close shave using just a knife. I am also brown, like the island, and lean.

Though I eat regularly it is not the sort of food that puts meat on your bones. In Bran I grew pale from a mostly sedentary life and slightly overweight, a flabby man living a soft life. Though we did not have much food, it was often very fil ing. Now though, I have broader shoulders, strong legs and carry no extra weight. Altogether a fitter man.

They might have wanted me to die on the way here. There is no guilt if a man drowns alone miles from anywhere. But I didn’t. I survived.

I drank dew and rainwater. Ate seaweed. I caught some fish. Once I pulled a dead one from the surface of the barren ocean. I arrived on the island and have eked a living from it. Alone. I imagine people. I imagine others. Faces of others. Voices. But I know they are not real. I know they are not alive.

But now this coat. It has been worn recently. Food and fuel will have to wait today. I must set out on a tour of the island. I have to check if I am still alone.

I have been sitting in the cave for a long time and it is afternoon by the time I set out. After just over an hour of walking the cliffs come into view. They would be close enough to see from much further off but you have to round a bluff. It is an impressive sight, at least by the standards of this island. They stand vast, grey and crumbling, like a derelict monument to a forgotten leader. Though their decay represents the erosion of my time here, I feel awe, not trepidation, when I’m near them. The sea around the cliffs is tainted with the mud and is always rough. I sometimes think it looks like blood.