Churchill's gaze shifted to the boy. 'Is this true?'

'He deserved it, sir,' replied the boy stoutly.

'I didn't ask you about his deserts. I want simply to establish the facts. Did you or did you not kill Sergeant Hoskins?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And do you regret your action?'

'No, sir,' said Daniel firmly. 'I'd do the same again.'

'What's your name, boy?'

'Daniel Rawson.'

'His father is held prisoner at Westonzoyland,' said the soldier.

'There's no disgrace in fighting for a cause in which you believe,' said Daniel boldly, quoting his father word for word. 'Had I been old enough, I'd have joined the Duke's army as well. My father is Captain Nathan Rawson and he has great respect for you, sir. He served under you in Flanders.'

Churchill's eyebrows rose. 'Really?'

'That's where he met my mother.'

Juliana nodded sadly. They were in the parlour of a house that Churchill had requisitioned for his private use. Though he was not a tall man, he still towered over them. They stood before him with the armed soldier beside them. The bloodstained sword belonging to the late Sergeant Gregory Hoskins lay on a table nearby. His mother was cowed by the presence of so distinguished a man but Daniel met his searching gaze without flinching. Churchill looked from one to the other before glancing at the soldier.

'There's something you haven't told me,' he said quietly.

'I gave you a full report, my lord,' claimed the other. 'Sergeant Hoskins went into the house to inform this woman that the property would be seized from her in due course. She reviled him and the sergeant tried to remonstrate with her. While they were arguing, the boy rushed in and killed him.'

'And he did so with the sergeant's own sword?'

'Yes, my lord.'