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realized, everything she did would be a question of life or death for someone. This was the moment in which the sentimental disappointment she had felt in being unable to work with British soldiers fell away from her mind and never returned. The need for a doctor here was as great as it could be anywhere else in the world. Within a short time she would have a little girl’s life in her hands, and it was a life just as important as that of a soldier in Flanders. To be a doctor, nationality must never be of any importance.
    The one-armed man made a third attempt to communicate with her and this time he spoke in French. Kate had learned the language only from books, but she had anatural talent for languages and could both understand what he said and answer him. Recognizing the anxiety in his voice, she paused for a moment to answer although there was so much to do.
    â€˜Can they be saved?’ he asked.
    â€˜Three are already dead. We will do our best for the others. But the gangrene is very serious. Why were they neglected for so long?
    â€˜They are not my children,’ said the tall man. ‘They are orphans. All of them: no mother, no father. I am a Russian. My name is Sergei Fedorovich Gorbatov. A woman gave me shelter on her farm. When she died, there was no one left alive on the farm except her son there.’ He pointed to a three-year-old whom Kate had already marked out as the most likely survivor of the wagonload. ‘I heard of your hospital and set out to bring him here. All these others I have found on the road as I came, or they have been brought out of their houses by neighbours. Their fathers killed in the army, their mothers dead of disease. Who will look after them?’
    Kate was already sufficiently dismayed by the enormity of the medical task which she faced. This was no time for her to consider how a ruined social order should rebuild itself. She repeated her promise to do her best before turning away more decisively to make the necessary new arrangements.
    â€˜May I give you help?’ Sergei was at her side as she crossed the field. He made a gesture towards the empty sleeve of his shabby military coat. ‘I’m no use to any army now, praise be to God. But I can work as a nurse or a messenger. As your orderly, I could help with any problem of language, between French and Serbo-Croat or German. If you will teach me a little English as well, you will find I learn quickly.’
    Kate had been too greatly concerned with the children to pay much attention to their escort. Now she looked at him more closely. His tangled beard had given theimpression of an older man, but he might not be more than thirty. His eyes, unnaturally bright, glittered out of a face which was too pale, almost grey. His clothes were ragged and he himself was dirty. Nevertheless it was immediately clear that he was not a peasant, but an intelligent and perhaps even an educated man.
    His offer was tempting. Kate had known even before she arrived that she would not be able to communicate in Serbo-Croat, but she had not realized what a disadvantage her lack of German would be. So many of the Serbs had lived under Austrian rule that this was their second or even their first language. Without Muriel, problems of interpretation could arise with an irritating frequency. Kate’s knowledge of the political situation in the Balkans was too vague to explain why a Russian should be here. Perhaps he had deserted and now saw the hospital as a kind of shelter. But it was true that his amputated arm must have turned him into a non-combatant, and he had shown compassion by accepting responsibility for so many sick children. It was time to make another quick decision.
    â€˜You may stay as long as the children you have brought are patients here,’ she said. ‘First you must move your wagon from the road. Then present yourself at the admission tent. Your beard must be shaved. You will have to be stripped and bathed