The shaking finally ceased, leaving him exhausted and drenched with sweat. It was all he could do to stop himself from tearing off his leather jacket. He passed into black dreams. He was flying and was surrounded by mosquitoes trying to bite him. Then the mosquitoes turned into German planes, tiny vicious planes zooming around his head as he batted at them ineffectively.

“Go away!” he shouted into the darkness. “Leave me alone.”

Then the planes turned into fluid, flying creatures and they left him, swooping across a red sky to where Sofia was walking through the olive groves. And they descended on her, grabbing at her shawl and her dress, trying to lift her up.

“No! Not Sofia!” He was screaming now, struggling to stand up and run to her. But his legs had turned to jelly and collapsed under him. He watched helplessly as they lifted her up and bore her away into the darkness.

“Sofia!” he cried out in despair. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

“Sono qui. I am here,” said a quiet voice beside him. Someone was stroking his hair.

He opened his eyes with difficulty. It was day, and a watery sun was peeping over the jagged edge of the chapel wall. His head was still pounding and he had difficulty focusing, but gradually he could make out Sofia’s sweet little elfin face looking down at him with concern.

“You were shouting,” she said.

“Was I? I was dreaming, I think.”

She knelt beside him. “And your forehead is so hot. You have a bad fever. I am afraid your wound has become infected. Let me see.”

He was too weak to stop her as she unbuckled his belt and eased down his trousers.

“Your clothing is wet with sweat,” she said, shaking her head. Carefully she inched off his makeshift bandage, then shook her head some more. “You need a doctor. This looks very bad.” She stared at his leg, chewing on her lip like a nervous child, trying to make up her mind.

“I think Dr. Martini is a good man . . . He was good to Renzo when he caught measles.”

“No doctor,” Hugo said. “It is a risk we should not take. At the very least he would be seen coming up here.”

“That is true.” She nodded. “But if we do not bring a doctor, I think you might die.”

“So be it,” he said. “I would rather die than risk your life any more.”

She took his hand. “You are a brave man, Ugo. I hope your wife appreciates what a good and kind man you are.”

Even in his fever this made him smile. He didn’t think that Brenda would ever describe him as brave, good, or kind. But then at home he had been a different person: arrogant, selfish, playing at the lord of the manor.

“I will do my best for you,” she said. “Let us try this and see if it can disinfect the wound.” She took the small bottle of grappa. “Good. You have not drunk it all.”

She ripped a strip from the old sheet, then soaked it in the grappa. He screamed in pain as she washed the wound, then was ashamed of himself and bit into his lip to stop from screaming again.

“I have done my best,” she said. “It seems to be clean. Of course I do not know what it is like inside or if the bullet has damaged some blood vessel. We can only hope.”

He watched as she made a pad of clean linen then bound it to his leg.

“You have no more morphine?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not. Just the one syringe, and I used that.”

“No more medicines?”

He examined the first aid kit. There were a couple of small sticking plasters, big enough for a cut on the finger, and a strip of aspirins.

“I have these.”

“Aspirin. They will help take your fever down. That is good. But you should not become too cold.” She reached up inside his jacket. “Your shirt is quite wet, too, but I do not think we should try to remove it. Let us pull up your trousers quickly and then I will wrap you in your blanket and the parachute.”

She eased his trousers over the wound with great care, then up over his hips in a businesslike manner. Then she went to get water and held his head as he sipped it and swallowed four aspirin.

“And I have brought you more of the bean soup,” she said. “You need nourishment. Can you eat a little?”

She took the covering from the basin and held him propped up against her as she fed him. He tried a few mouthfuls, then fell back against her, exhausted.

“You must eat. You must stay strong,” she said.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

She got up then, easing him back against his pillow. “I will go back to the village and see what medicines they have at the pharmacy that I can ask for without causing suspicion. Alcohol for your wound, that will be no problem. I have used all the grappa. I do not think they will give me a sulpha drug without a prescription, but I can try. I’ll tell them that Renzo has a sore throat. It is true that he does, but only with a cold. Nothing serious. Then I will try to come back tonight.”

“You are so good to me,” he said. “If this stupid war is ever over and I reach my home, I will try to make it up to you. I will send your son to a good school. Buy you more goats. Whatever you want.”

“Let us not talk of the future,” she said, giving him a sad smile. “Who knows what it may bring. We are all in the hands of God and the holy saints.”