She handed the pack to Marius and he panted to the top of the ridge after her. He looked down on the crowded river below and across to Mont Saint Quentin. ‘Three broken bridges,’ Aimee said quickly. Meet me at the one in the middle.’

Marius crouched down so he could look back down the hill they’d just climbed. When he turned back he saw Aimee racing across the long ridge, pigtail streaming behind her. Angry German voices were carried on the west wind.

But she was right. The line of fifty followers had swung around to follow her. One man broke away from the line. A slim, young soldier who was fitter and faster than the rest. He headed along the bottom of the ridge. If he got to the drovers’ road before Aimee he’d surely cut her off or drive her back into the arms of the other hunters.

It was a fair race. Aimee in her light boots running along the top. The soldier in his clumsy uniform keeping pace with her along the bottom. The young man threw off his helmet, then his belt and his jacket.

There was a wood a kilometre ahead. Aimee talked to herself as she ran, the beat of her words keeping time with her flying legs. ‘Reach the woods. Go to earth. Hide beneath a fallen tree. Let them think I’ve run back home. When they’re gone I’ll double back. Look for Marius. Cross the Somme.’

Then she remembered she wasn’t supposed to cross the Somme. This was where she’d say goodbye to the boy. She’d use General Bruce’s letter to make sure the boy got a passage on a troop carrier. He’d have to catch up with the fleeing German army without her help.

But thirty of the German army were after her at the moment. The young soldier was definitely closer – half a kilometre now... maybe less. Four hundred metres.

His comrades were baying like hounds after a fox. She didn’t understand all of the German words though she’d learned a little in her time with Marius. But she knew what they meant. ‘Get her.’

The soldier reached the head of the valley and now he just had to climb up to meet the path that Aimee was running along. He’d cut off her escape. His worn boots began to slip and he had to avoid shell-holes full of muddy slime. He was panting hard now as the poor German army food had left him exhausted.