`I have never before beheld a people so poor, so broken!' Those lining the street, to a child, were unshod. Their feet, legs and hands, were bound with rags, their clothing so patched that it was difficult to tell where hand-me-down rags began and patchwork rags ended.
At that instant, the shrill scream of a little girl cut through his reverie like a knife, causing him to start involuntarily. As in a nightmare he found himself reining in his horse to avoid trampling the little girl, who came running out into the street, straight towards him, her eyes desperate, crying, "Papa! Papa!"
Niles watched speechlessly as the child's older brother caught up with her, picked up the hysterical child, and began carrying her away. And still the child stared at him desperately and cried, "Papa! Papa!"
"Your pardon, Sire!" the boy apologized from the side of the road, intimidated because Niles had brought his column of riders to a stop. "But with your beard, and the way you look and ride, you do look very much like our papa."
The little girl, still muttering a weak "Papa" every so often, was weeping inconsolably now, clutching her little arms around her older brother's neck. For several, long, heartstopping moments, Niles found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the pain he had inadvertently caused; but at last he nodded in tired comprehension at what the boy had said. "Your father is off fighting, then?"