We take our glasses. “To a pleasant stay,” she says, clinking crystal with us. We sip; she gulps.

“Quite how long do you intend to be with us?” I ask.

She says, “A while. We've been too long on the road, in fields and barns, dossing in half burnt houses and damp tents. We need some leave from all this soldiering; it gets to you after a while.” She swills her drink around, gazing at it. “I can see why you left, but we can defend a place like this.”

“We could not,” I agree. “That's why we chose to leave. May we leave now?”

,You're safer here, now,” she tells us.

I glance at you. “Still, we would like to leave. May we?”

“No,” the lieutenant says, and sighs. “I'd like you to stay.”

She shrugs, makes to inspect her fine tunic. “It's my wish.” She adjusts a cuff. “And rank has its privileges.” Het smile is quite, if briefly, dazzling as she glances about. “We are your guests, and you are ours. We are willingly your guests; how willing you are ours is up to you.” Another shrug. “But however that may be, we intend to stay here.”

“And if anyone turns up with a tank, what then?”

She shrugs. “Then we'd have to leave.” She drinks, and moves the wine around in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. “But there aren't that many tanks around these days, Abel; there isn't much of anything organised, opposition or otherwise, hereabouts just now. A very fluid situation we have at the moment, after all this mobilisation and waging and prosecuting and attrition and…” she waves one hand airily, Just general breakdown, I suppose.” She puts her head to one side. “When did you last see a tank, Abel? Or an aircraft, or a helicopter?”

I think for a moment, then just nod to accede.

I sense you looking up. You grab my arm.