It was a friendly little inn, and the landlord hurried to greet Bolitho, his head almost brushing the ceiling. A fire burned brightly in its box, and there was a smell of freshly baked bread and smoked hams.

“You sit down there, Lieutenant. I’ll see to your men presently.” He saw Bolitho’s expression. “Begging your pardon sir, but you’re wasting your time hereabouts. The war took too many away to follow the drum, an’ those what came back went elsewhere to the big towns like Truro an’ Exeter to get work.” He shook his head. “Me now, if I was twenty years younger I might have signed on.” He grinned. “Then again…”

Some while later, Richard Bolitho sat in a high-backed chair beside the fire, the mud drying on his stockings, his coat unbuttoned to allow for the excellent pie the landlord’s wife had brought for him. A big, elderly dog lay by his feet, pulsating gently as it enjoyed the heat and dreamed of some past exploit.

The landlord whispered to his wife, “Did you see him? A King’s officer, no less. Lord, he looks more like a boy!”

Bolitho stirred from his drowsiness and yawned. Then his arms froze in mid air as he heard loud shouts of anger interposed with laughter. He jumped to his feet, groping for his sword and hat and trying to button his coat at the same time.

He almost ran to the door, and when he stumbled into the keen air he saw the seamen and marines falling against each other, convulsed with laughter, while the little barker screamed, “You cheated! You must ’ave cheated!”

Little spun the gold guinea and caught it deftly in his palm. “Not me, matey. Fair an’ square, that’s Josh Little!”

Bolitho snapped, “What’s going on?”

Corporal Dyer said between gasps of laughter, “ ’E put the big prize-fighter on ’is back, sir! Never seen the like!”

Bolitho glared at Little. “I’ll speak to you later! Now fall the men in, we’ve miles to go to the next village!”