“Do you intend to stay long?”

She frowns, takes a deep breath. “How long,” she asks, “have your family lived here?”

I hesitate. “A few hundred years.”

She spreads her arms, “Well then, what difference can it make if we stay a few days, or weeks, or months?” She digs between two teeth with a ragged fingernail, smiling slyly at you. “Even years?”

“That depends on how you treat this place,” I say. “This castle has stood for over four hundred years, but it has been vulnerable to cannon for most of that time and, nowadays, could be destroyed in an hour by a large gun and in a moment with a wellplaced bomb or rocket; from inside, all one might need would be a match in the right place. The effects of our tenure here as a family unfortunately has no bearing on yours as occupiers, especially given the circumstances prevailing outside these walls.”

The lieutenant nods wisely. “You're right, Abel.” she says, rubbing one index finger beneath her nose and staring at her smudge grey socks. “We are here as occupiers, not your guests, and you are our prisoners, not our hosts. And this place suits our purposes; it's comfortable, defendable. but it means no more to us.” She picks up her fork again, inspects it minutely. “But these men aren't vandals. I've told them not to break anything and if they do it will assuredly be clumsiness rather than insubordination. Oh, there are a few extra bullet holes about the place, but most of any damage you might see was probably caused by your looters.” She wipes something from the tines of the fork, then licks her fingers. “And we made them pay quite dearly for such… despicable desecration.” She smiles at me.

I glance at you, my dear, but your eyes are averted now, your gaze cast down. “And us?” I ask our lieutenant. “How do you intend to treat us?”

“You and your wife?” she says, then watches keenly. I display, I hope, no reaction. You look away, towards the window. “Oh, with respect,” the lieutenant continues, nodding, expression serious. “Why, with honour.”