‘Let me take a look at it,’ Ben said. ‘No, I think you’ve just given it a nasty twist,’ he reassured her after a careful, extremely gentle examination. ‘It’ll be all right in a day or two, if you rest it.’

‘But what about the water?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Who’s going to fetch the water now?’

‘Don’t you worry about that, baby doll,’ Wolf said. ‘You and your friends will soon have all the water you need. And food, too. We’ll take care of all of you, we promise.’ He wiped a tear from his eye. He could be a real softy at times, that Wolf.

The goats all but forgotten now, they hurried back up to the orphanage with Ben carrying Safiya in his arms. As they walked through the scorched, devastated buildings of what had been her home and sanctuary, the child began to cry again. The sound brought Madison and Father Bugnolio rushing out to meet them.

‘Look what we found,’ Wolf announced. ‘You’re not going to believe this, folks.’

‘Oh, the poor dear child!’

‘Hey there, sweetie pie. Where did you come from?’

Inside, the sight of so many more big men with guns was intimidating to little Safiya and she went very quiet, having to be coaxed into speaking to anyone. They laid her down on a soft nest of blankets and Madison sat with her, holding her hand and murmuring soft words that the child might not have been able to understand, but which soon soothed away her fear. Father B was a reassuring presence, hovering nearby with a saintly look of benevolence. Ben fetched a first-aid kit from the Humvee and hurried back to administer a couple of painkillers they had left and get to work binding up the little girl’s ankle. ‘Safiya, these are my friends, Madison and Father Bugnolio,’ he told her as she stoically held out her leg for him to wrap the dressing. ‘They’re going to help me to look after you.’

‘Is the lady your wife?’ she asked, with the direct innocence of a child.

‘No, she’s not my wife,’ he replied.

‘And the man, is he a priest?’ she asked, darting a look at Father B.

‘Yes, he is.’

‘He looks a hundred years old.’

Father Bugnolio cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, my child. I do speak Pashto, as it happens.’

Ben smiled. Then sensing another presence behind him, he looked around and saw that the prince had joined them.

‘I’m good with kids,’ the prince whispered. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Just be your charming self,’ Madison told him.

‘And this is my friend Richard,’ Ben said to Safiya, laying a hand on his shoulder. The prince sat by her and clasped her other hand with what looked like real tenderness. ‘Hello, little lady. Don’t you worry about a thing, now. You’re going to be okay.’