Later, in the marketplaces and harbours of the ancient world, in temples and sacred groves, in Athens and Sicily, in Megara and Italy, they would whisper the stories to each other.
Did you know, they said … have you heard …
Someone would lay another log on the fire, flames rising, the fire alive, crackling with blood and grease, the sacrifice rising to the Gods.
Later still, as the world grew up, as the ancient world gave way to Christ and Mohammed, as the light faded and the long darkness began to fall, to be found around such a fire, telling such stories, with such people - eventually all this was a passport to a slow and very painful death.
But still they told the stories, because some things matter more than pain.
And still they listened, because some things matter more than staying alive.