He was the only one to choose to stay with the castle rather than come with us and trust to the roads and the supposed anonymity of the fleeing displaced. We understood, and did not try too hard to “persuade him otherwise; the road promised only prolonged privations, while the castle, occupied by others, offered the chance for someone of his years to take advantage of any dregs of respect the warlike young might still bestow upon the innocent old or at worst, perhaps, a quick end.

He sneezes. “Excuse me, sir.”

“Are our guests treating you well, Arthur?”

“Me sir?” The old fellow looks bemused.

I meant it in the plural. "You and the other servants; are the soldiers treating you decently?”

“Ah.” He looks at his handkerchief, then blows his nose in it and folds it away. “Yes, sir, well enough. Though they do tend to make a terrible mess.”

“I think they have lived outside, or in ruined places, for too long.”

“Sir, given it was them and their sort did the ruining in the first, place,” he says, leaning closer and dropping his voice, “perhaps that's where they belong!” He sits back, nodding but looking alarmed, as though he wishes not to take full responsibility for what his lips have just expressed.

“A good point, Arthur,” I say, amused. I swing my legs to the floor and sit up. I lift a glass of tepid milk from the tray and drink. There is toast, an egg, an apple, some preserves and a pot of coffee, which tastes tired just from the length of time it has been stored, but is still welcome.

“D'you know, sir,” Arthur says, shaking his head. “One of them sleeps outside the lieutenant's door each night, like a dog! It's that one with the red hair; Karma I heard someone call him, or some funny name like that. I saw him last night, lying there in the doorway with just a blanket over him. Apparently he always does that wherever she is; at her feet if they're camping in the outside, sir; at her feet, just like a dog!”