He must have drifted off into dreams because he awoke with a start at a loud sound close by and reached for his weapon.

“It is only me, Ugo,” said a gentle voice. “Do not be afraid.” And he watched her lantern bobbing toward him across the floor.

She placed the lantern on the bench and dropped to her knees beside him, her face glowing with joy in the candlelight. “You are awake and sitting up. That is such good news. I was so worried. Each time I came back I expected to find you dead. But I entrusted you to the care of Saint Rita.”

“Saint Rita? Who is she?”

“She is the patron saint of wounds.”

“This is the medal you tied to my wrist?”

“Of course,” she said. “She did well for you, did she not?”

“I’m feeling much better,” he said. “The fever has gone and the wound is beginning to heal. I can’t thank you enough, Sofia. You have taken such good care of me. You have even changed my clothes, like an infant.”

She smiled. “I could not let you lie there in such a state. I took your own clothes away and have cleaned them. I will bring them back next time.”

“And what I am wearing now belongs to Guido?”

“Of course. He is not here to use them. Rather you than the moths.”

He took her hand. “I will make all this up to you, I promise. When I am home I will send you money for new clothes, good clothes. Good soft wool.”

“Let us not talk of such things,” she said. “Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Nothing good, I feel. But eat. I’ve brought you soup. You must be hungry.”

She unwrapped the bowl and he ate it eagerly. It wasn’t much of a soup, really. Some cabbage and carrot leaves and a few beans. As if reading his thoughts, she said, “I know it is not much. We haven’t had any meat for days now. But it is warm.”

“You are too good to share what little you have with me,” he said.

She turned away. “I do not know how long I can keep on coming here,” she said. “The Germans were in my village today. You heard the church bells?”

“I thought it was Sunday.”

“No, each village rings the bell when Germans approach. That way the young men in the village know to go and hide in the woods, and the young women hide wherever they can. I was up in my attic all day hidden in an old wardrobe.” She paused, her eyes holding his, begging him to understand her. “These men are animals, Ugo,” she said. “The war has turned them into animals. We women fear for our honour every time they come near. They took the baker’s daughter once—a young girl of fifteen—and they violated her, one after the other. She has never been the same since. Her mind snapped at the horror of it.”

“How terrible. I’m so very sorry. I can assure you that British soldiers would not behave in that way.”

She gave a wonderfully Italian shrug. “Who can say? Some of these men were undoubtedly good boys at home. They helped the family in the fields, or they worked in banks and took girls dancing. But the war has changed them, ruined them.”

“Are the Germans still there?”

She shook her head. “No, saints be praised. They came to see if our village was a good place to wait out the winter. Their army has established a line just north of here, and they are looking for places where they can defend the roads from the south, from where the Allies will come. But I am glad to say that the views from our village did not meet their liking, and as we have nothing worth taking anymore, they left. Actually, that is not true. They took the mayor’s remaining chickens . . . may their souls rot in hell.”

A gust of wind swept in, making the candle in her lantern flicker and sending shadows dancing. “So you are safe for a while?”

“Maybe. We hope that they will have news of the Allies advancing and they will flee back to Germany and leave us in peace. But some say the Allies will not advance until the spring now. The snows will come and the roads will be impassable in the mountains.”

“That means I will be trapped here until the spring, too?”

“We do not often get snow. Our hills are not so high. But there are very high mountains between here and the coast. Maybe when your leg is strong enough we can find a way to get you to the south. We have no motorcars and no petrol, but there are farm carts, and those who grow produce take them to market.”

“What produce do they grow in the winter?” he asked.

“Root vegetables. Turnips. Potatoes. Cauliflower. Cabbage—although the Germans have helped themselves to all our cabbages. They love cabbage for some reason. I have some turnips and parsnips almost ready for harvest on my small plot of land.”

“That’s good. And how is the search for mushrooms going?”

She sighed. “I fear I cannot use that excuse any longer. There will be no more mushrooms now, and I think I have found every single one. I will have to sneak out in the middle of the night as I have just done.”

“I am feeling better now. Really, Sofia, you do not need to come so often. If you could come once in a while and leave me a little something to eat, I will get by.”

“Don’t be silly. How will you get well and strong if you don’t eat? There is a new moon in the sky. Soon it will be easy to walk without a lantern, and I wear dark clothes. Nobody will see me, don’t worry.”