Father Bugnolio laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder and stepped forward to introduce himself. ‘Sister, in God’s name I give you my word that we come in peace. We found this poor child hurt by the river, and have tended to her minor injury. We come to offer you protection, sustenance and, God willing, rescue.’

Father B’s words had their effect, winning enough of Francine Blanchet’s trust that she put the revolver away. Now that the tension was relieved the children came running out from behind her skirts, greeting their friend with laughter and tears of happiness. For all their excitement at seeing Safiya again they looked thin and pale from lack of food.

Ben handed the child to Francine Blanchet, who took her in her arms with surprising strength. ‘Bless you for taking care of her. And I apologise for the manner of my welcome,’ she said with a smile. ‘But one never knows who might coming knocking on one’s door these days. Please, please, come inside, all of you.’

She led them a little way further along the craggy passage and through an inverted V-shaped cleft into a wide, high-ceilinged grotto where more candle lanterns flickered in the darkness. More children were gathered inside the grotto, children everywhere. Ben tried to do a rough head-count, but it was immediately obvious there were far more of them than the forty they’d expected, at least half as many again. Some of the kids swarmed around Safiya as Francine set her down on a blanket; others were hiding in the shadows, the braver or more curious ones coming closer to peer at these strange visitors. They seemed especially fascinated by Madison, possibly the only western woman they’d ever known apart from Mère Blanchet.

‘Welcome to our humble home,’ Francine said. ‘It isn’t quite what we have been used to these many years past, but we are safe here, for the moment, if He so chooses. Now, please, sit with me. Yes, Gulnaz, what is it?’ – speaking kindly to the small girl who was tugging at her sleeve. She bent down and listened as the child whispered in her ear, darting sidelong glances at Madison.

‘She wants to thank you for helping her friend, and she also wishes to know if all western ladies are as beautiful as you are,’ Francine told her.

Madison laughed. ‘Tell her nobody in my country is as lovely as she and all her friends are.’ She stroked the girl’s hair. ‘Gulnaz, that’s a pretty name. What does it mean?’

‘It means as cute as a flower,’ Francine said.

‘I never saw a flower half as cute,’ Madison replied, smiling.

The child whispered again into Francine’s ear. ‘And she also wants to know if you have seen Vida.’

‘Who’s Vida?’