When her rage was exhausted, the farmer’s wife gave way to tears. It took him minutes to console her. Their son, meanwhile, was trying to tidy the place up. He noticed that some apples had been stolen from the table. Leaving the two of them in the house, the farmer ambled across to the sty. The pig had just finished the meal.

‘You can come out now,’ he said. ‘They’ve gone.’

Covered in muck and reeking of excrement, Daniel emerged warily from his hiding place. Nobody would take him for a wine merchant now. His clothes were soiled and his face filthy.

‘How did you know I was in there?’ he asked.

‘It was the way the pig behaved. You’re a brave man. He has a vile temper. If he’d been upset, he could’ve bitten clean through your leg.’

‘I was born and brought up on a farm,’ said Daniel, giving the pig a friendly pat. ‘I know how to handle animals.’ He grinned. ‘And that was the one place where they wouldn’t have searched. I’m indebted to you, my friend. You could easily have given me away.’

‘We hate the French.’

‘What if they’d found me?’

The farmer chuckled. ‘Then they’d have smelt almost as bad as you,’ he said. ‘Let’s find some water to clean you up. My wife won’t let you into her kitchen like that.’

It was two days before Daniel was able to return to the farm and he took the precaution of riding with a detachment of cavalry at his back. He was in full uniform now. Seated astride a black stallion, he used a lead rein to tow along the old horse he’d borrowed from the farmer. It had done good service and been well fed in camp. Daniel enjoyed the ride but his companion was a reluctant horseman.