Roeloff was glad of the time alone, to grasp fully everything that had happened. A son. Zokho. The sheep. If Zokho was gone, he’d caused it. She’d warned him, begged him to take her away. Her fears had been right: he had cheated on her with his thoughts. But that hadn’t been so when they’d talked. Now, she had drawn the line between them, and her actions were beyond his experience. A mother leaving her own child. Nothing could justify that, but it was possible that she had been captured. He had to know.

He found the cow, heavy with milk, standing uncomfortably in the stall. She hadn’t been milked, and mooed gratefully at his approach. He was glad that the barn had been overlooked by the raiders and that at least they had milk. Drawing the bucket underneath the huge udder, he set to work. A thick froth quickly filled the container. When the stream thinned to a trickle, he patted the cow affectionately and led her out of the barn to the back of the house where there was grass.

He took the milk into the kitchen. Neeltje already had warm water in a basin and was washing the baby, who was crying at the top of his lungs. He watched while she dried and wrapped him in soft flannel cloths, fashioning something to wrap around his little bottom from an old towel she’d torn in half.

‘Tomorrow I’ll think of how to dress him so that he doesn’t kick everything off. Did you get milk?’

‘Yes.’

‘What will we put it in?’

The thought occurred to him for the first time: they had milk, but nothing to put it in to feed the baby.

‘Do you have any medicine bottles?’

‘We bought druppels last year from Stoffel. I’ll have a look.’

‘Do it quickly. Look at him, his face is red with his efforts, he’s hungry. I’ll fit something over the bottle.’

‘What?’

‘Something that can stretch over the mouth of the bottle, with a hole in it.’

‘You have something like that?’

‘I’ll make it out of a piece of soft hide. In the meantime, let’s see what you have.’

Neeltje disappeared behind the partition and came back with several small bottles. He selected one and examined the cork.

‘I’ll make a small hole in this. Just make sure it’s on properly, otherwise the milk will seep out onto his face.’

‘It’s too hard, it will hurt his mouth.’

‘I can’t do anymore tonight. Tomorrow he’ll have a proper bottle. Neeltje?’

‘Yes?’

‘I would be grateful if you could keep him here for the night, if it’s not too much trouble. I must look for Zokho.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be happy to look after him. What will you call him?’

‘Harman.’

She looked down at the child in her arms.

‘Harman,’ she tried the name out. ‘Harman’s a good name for him. Strong.’

‘It’s the name of my grandfather. You will look after him, then, tonight?’

‘Yes.’

He looked at her one last time with his child in her arms. It was what he wanted, only not this way.

‘Good night, then. Here’s the bottle. Don’t make the milk too warm, and mix some water with it.’

She smiled.

‘Don’t worry.’

The baby had fallen asleep, tired from crying, and she put him down while she prepared something for her father. She had just finished feeding her father when the infant woke up. She picked him up and sat down with him on her bed, putting the bottle to his mouth. The cork didn’t feel the same as a nipple, and he turned away, crying, the milk dripping onto his face. She didn’t know what to do. What if she couldn’t feed him? In desperation, she opened the front of her bodice. Her breasts were small, the nipples erect. She was willing to do anything. She stuck one in his mouth. He sucked greedily, and the suction caused strange sensations in her belly and breasts. She could see that the baby would soon discover that the breast was dry, and she let a few drops from the bottle trickle down onto her breast towards the nipple, where his lips sucked them up. She didn’t know if it would help, if it would be too little or too much, or if he would choke. But it worked, and she sat with the bottle poised over her breast, trickling just the right number of drops over her breast. Finally, Harman’s eyes closed, and he slept. She looked down at the soft hair, the small mouth still fastened to her breast. She’d never held a baby in her arms before.

‘You are beautiful, Harman,’ she said softly. ‘One day old, and already you have stolen a heart.’

That night she had little sleep. She did not know where to put Harman—next to her, on top of her, under her arm. And he was awake several times, crying for milk.

Next morning, she was hanging out washing when Roeloff came towards her leading his mare.

‘Did you find her?’ Neeltje asked.

‘I found her tracks. But there’s no good news about the sheep. The raiders divided the flock and went off in two directions to confuse us and to move faster. Twa went north-west after one lot. I told you he would have gone after them. A smaller party went east. Of course, they could have doubled back and be right here in the vicinity.’

‘Which way are you headed?’

‘I’ll go after Zokho, then north. How’s your father?’

‘He drank some soup this morning. I think we’ll hear him talk before the end of the week.’

‘That’s good. And Harman? I hope he wasn’t too much trouble. How did the feeding go?’

She blushed.

‘Not well?’

‘He wouldn’t take the bottle.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Well—I—you will have to make something to fit on the bottle when you come back. I managed. He has a little swelling and redness around his navel, but he slept well. He’s hungry every few hours.’

Roeloff smiled.

‘He sounds greedy. He has his mother’s mouth, yes? And her eyes?’

Neeltje turned back to wringing out clothes and spreading them over the branches of a tree.

He realised he’d said the wrong thing.

‘Neeltje?’