that

use. The baby certainly resembled his presumed father. Like Ludwig, his hair was very blond, his eyes blue. And already he was giving evidence that he might grow to Ludwig’s size.
Gretchen’s eyes came back to Hans. He was relieved to see that his sister’s hostility was completely gone.
“It’s all right, Hans. We do as best we can.” A shout came. Ludwig’s bellow, summoning him. “Now go,” she said. “I will see to the ­family.”
Hearing that word, the sobbing ten-year-old boy at her side was suddenly clutching Gretchen’s hip. A moment later, his sister joined him, clutching Gretchen’s arm. The dazed look in her eyes seemed to lift, a bit.
Hans’ “family,” plain enough, had just grown. He was not surprised. A third of the camp followers belonged to Gretchen. Adopted, as it were.
Ludwig’s bellow came again. Angry, now. There would be a cuffing, sure enough.
“Go,” hissed Gretchen.

The cuffing was not severe. Ludwig was in a good mood, insofar as that innocent expression can be applied to a troll in human guise. His gaiety, of course, was at Hans’ expense.
“A real battle for you, chicklet!” roared Ludwig. “Some of our boys got bloodied

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