But he was glad it was MacConnachie, and not he, who had to carry the suitcase and the gun.

As they picked their way up the gully, the day died. Shortly before nightfall they reached its end, to discover that it did not in fact extend all the way to Little Ridge, but petered out in a rash of scrub and rocky outcrop.

‘Sit tight?’

‘Till night, yes.’

MacConnachie considered for a moment.

‘We’ll eat. Soon as it’s dark, we’ll cross Little Ridge, and get the hell out of this valley.’

It was as though MacConnachie blamed the valley for his own defection. Ansell had had time to appreciate, and thoroughly to examine, the fact that while he had lain under the bayonets, MacConnachie had watched from a place of safety; and further, that he had achieved that safety only at the risk of jeopardizing their entire escape. Yet Ansell was unable to generate any emotion about this, either anger or a sense of betrayal. In war, what you got away with was good; what you didn’t was bad.

He remembered that in every battle he had ever fought in, some men had hidden, or run away. In the next, they hadn’t, but others had. At different moments, in differing circumstances, what one man found acceptable another found intolerable. The normal conventions of praise and blame did not apply. He thought it an admirable system. Both he and MacConnachie were tired, and had enough to carry as it was.

Having eaten the meat left over from breakfast, they drank and rested, waiting for night.

At MacConnachie’s word, they set out again to traverse Little Ridge. Compared to previous climbs, it was a simple ascent, and in less than two hours they were on the peak, lying flat and peering forward into the night. Of the enemy they saw and heard nothing, though they knew him to be close. Of the country ahead they saw little more, save patches of shadow accentuated by the pale glow in the sky. MacConnachie put his face close to Ansell’s.

‘We’ll go as far and as fast as we can, then rest.’

Ansell nodded exaggeratedly, to be sure MacConnachie caught the movement.

Very quickly it became apparent that they were leaving the range of hills. Counting tomorrow, they would have made the march in five days, two less than estimated; MacConnachie was pleased. The ground continued gently and steadily downhill, and they made fast time.

Then came the moment when MacConnachie’s feet told him that the nature of the earth had changed; and shortly afterwards his nostrils confirmed it. They were not far from water. They must stop. Before he led them out of the hills, he needed to see the ground ahead.

At the next gentle rise, he cast about for a place to sleep; once he had found it, they bedded down.

He was concerned. The next day, he knew, he could feel, would face them with their second area of maximum danger, and he had a great need to feel that both his hands were free; but the suitcase had to be carried. So he looked down at the boy who slept peacefully in the security of his trust, and fretted.