“It was the boy again, Thompson. He was more urgent now, his voice shrill. I hated him. I wished him dead. But at last I got to my feet, went to the door and unbarred it, my one honourable act of the entire campaign. The instant the door was open I could see the fires. The houses had thatched roofs and even with snow on them they burned well. The light must have been visible for miles. Well, I was sober enough then, sober and awake. The boy ran, I followed. He led me along the edge of the village to a large house beside the track we had come in by. The door was open and we went inside. It was a room much like the one I’d been sleeping in, though this, I remember, had a large crucifix on one of the walls. The men were in there, about half our company. A few of them carried burning sticks, though most of the light came from the flames on the roof of the house opposite. They were gathered in a circle and in the centre of the circle were two chairs. On one of these a girl was standing. She had on a petticoat but above her waist she had nothing and had crossed her arms to cover herself. On the other chair, a little behind her, was a soldier with a pair of shears, sheep shears, I think, though they might have been for cloth. He was cutting off the girl’s hair, cropping it close to her scalp, one hand working the shears, the other holding her head still. Most of her hair had already gone, black hair in a pile on the floor, enough to stuff a bolster with. Her eyes were shut. She did not weep or call for help. She had withdrawn herself, had sent her spirit away somewhere.

“The men, when I first went in, were rapt. They had foolish grins on their faces and yet they looked horrified. As they became aware of me, my presence, so their expressions changed. They started to be uneasy and looked about themselves like people waking from a dream. But not the soldier on the chair, not him. He was one who had joined us the previous day, met us on the road, alone. He had been wearing a greatcoat then. Now he had taken it off and I could see his tunic and his corporal’s stripes. When at last he did look at me it was because he was ready, because he chose to. Looked, looked away, went on with his cutting.