A spray of purple and pink heather was pinned to their coats, one of the local customs of Midsummer’s Eve.

The village was alight with torches. Green foliage was tied to the well and draped over every doorway, along every window sill and pushed into every eave and crevice.

Gathered outside the Crabber’s Port, the fiddlers were ready and the drummers, men and boys, were making the last adjustments to the leather straps or rope that bound their instruments to their bodies. Some players had tied greenery to themselves, others had streaked their faces with green dye. All had bunches of strong-smelling wild garlic pinned to their hats.

‘Looks as if you’re all set to see off this pirate, Kinver,’ Luke said eagerly. ‘What was his name?’

‘Tobias James, sir,’ Hal replied, twirling his drumsticks in his chunky fingers. ‘Was a nobleman, come over from Ireland, so we believe. Stole from merchant ships and murdered fishermen just for the fun of it. Came ashore and took the women and they was never seen again. Put mortal fear in this part of the coast from 1662 till 1669, then we got the bugger! His ship run aground on the reef just out to sea there on this very day. He and bravish few of his men got ashore but we showed ’em no mercy. Hung Tobias James within the hour, then threw his remains back in the sea. He died cursing and we’ve been drumming him back out ever since. There’s no women about, as you can see. They stay indoors for their own protection till we’ve drummed round all the boundaries.’

Luke produced a flute out of his coat. ‘Jack’s brought his pipes. I take it we are welcome to join in?’

‘We’d be honoured indeed, Mr Pengarron,’ came a different voice. ‘Did you know that safely locked away in the church is a gold ring of Tobias James’s?’

‘Oh, it’s you, Reverend Thake,’ Luke returned bitingly, spotting the simpering curate on the periphery of his vision. ‘What do you play?’

‘Nothing, nothing, nothing, sir. I’m here to start the proceedings with a prayer on what we often simply call James’s Day.’

Luke looked up, inland. Light was showing its first beginnings in the eastern skies. He gave the curate a curt nod.

‘May God the Father and God the Son and God the Holy Ghost bless this special day in Porthcarne’s calendar.’

The Reverend Thake had good reason to rattle through the prayer, for Davey Endean, a sharp-faced youth, now in regular work as cowman for Luke’s new herd, drawn by lot for the right to beat the first drum and head the procession, wasn’t going to wait more than a second or two. He walloped wood to animal hide, and to roars and whoops and whistles, marched off towards the seashore.