Dancer reached down and handed him some money. `That's for all your trouble, er, Tim.'

As the youth stumbled away, chattering to himself, Bolitho shouted after him, `And don't give it to your father!' -

Then he said, `Better tether the horses and give me a hand. The tide's on the make and we'll lose the body in a half-hour otherwise.'

They pulled the sodden corpse up the shelving beach, and Bolitho thought of other men he had seen die, yelling and cursing in the heat and din of battle. That had been terrible. But to die like this man, alone and terrified, and then to be thrown in the sea like some discarded rubbish seemed far worse.

By the time help arrived and the corpse was taken to the church, and then they had all gone to the inn to sustain themselves, it was almost dawn.

The horses made little noise as they returned to the house, but Bolitho knew his mother would hear and be waiting.

As she hurried to greet them he said firmly, `No, Mother. You must go back to bed.'

She looked at him strangely and then smiled. `It is good to have a man in the house once again.'

2. The 'Avenger'

Bolitho and Dancer entered the front door, stamping their boots free of mud and snow, their faces and limbs tingling from a brisk ride across the headland.

It had all but stopped snowing, and here and there gorse or shrub were poking through, like stuffing from a torn mattress.

Bolitho said quietly, `We have company, Martyn.'

He had already seen the coach in the yard where Corker and his assistant were tending to a fine pair of horses. He had recognized the crest on the coach door, that of Sir Henry Vyvyan, whose sprawling estates lay some ten miles to the west of Falmouth. A rich and powerful man, and one of the country's most respected magistrates as well.

He was standing by the crackling fire, watching Mrs Tremayne as she put the finishing touches to a tankard of mulled wine. She had her own receipt for it, with carefully measured ingredients of sugar, spice and beaten egg yolk.