He talked to the horses, explaining what had happened up on the cold inhospitable cliff top and why they were there. Conomor’s sleek black coat shone in the light of a small bonfire, giving the stallion the warrior-like appearance that appealed to Jack’s youthful sense of adventure. He occupied himself by telling a story out loud, urged on by the eerie surge of the invisible sea below, describing danger and doom heroes and wickedness overcome. Conomor became Jack’s own horse and Meryn the pony he’d brought with him on his adventure to rescue a beautiful maiden imprisoned in the treacherous clifftop castle of the evil Lord Pendragon. Jack was getting to the heart of the colourful tale when a pair of long clinging arms were thrown about his neck and he was almost toppled to the ground.

‘Thought ’twas you,’ Heather Bawden purred into his neck.

Thrusting her away, Jack said breathlessly, ‘What on earth do ’ee think you’re doing of, maid?’

‘Can’t see no one ’ere but you,’ Heather said, pouting her lips and moving up close again, ‘so who the ’ell were ’ee talking to?’

‘No one,’ he replied gruffly. To hide his embarrassment he turned to Conomor and stroked the stallion’s strong velvety neck. ‘Was just thinking out loud, that’s all. The horses like it, it soothes them. What do you want anyway?’

‘I wanted to thank ’ee fer goin’ fer the doctor. When they pulled out my tas he was nearly done fer, bleedin’ buckets, got a proper ’ard bash on the ’ead, poor bugger. The doctor told that tall fair man, you know the one I mean, the good-lookin’ one who ’ankers after Lady Pengarron, well, the doctor told un ’ow to stop the bleedin’, saved ’is life, I d’reckon.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear he survived all right. Who’s your tas?’

‘Carn Bawden’s ’is name. It was on ’is pitch the accident ’appened, a thousand feet down. ’E’s a tributer, works on contract, not like the tut workers. ’E’s more skilled, you see,’ she ended proudly.

Unaware that he was supposed to be impressed by this information, Jack said, ‘Never heard of him, but then I don’t know many folk up here. Don’t come up this way too often.’

‘Don’t ’ee now? My name’s Heather. What’s yours then?’

The screaming from the makeshift hospital started again. The boy who had lost his fingers was terrified and in agony. If he was able to go down the mine again, his days of racing the other boys up the ladders were over. Jack would have pressed his hands over his ears if he hadn’t had company.

‘Well, what’s your bloody name? Or are ’ee too stiff-necked to tell me as you work fer ’is Lordship?’

The screaming stopped; the boy had passed out.