Did that mean his own personal conscience was unstained? No. It was stained alright, stained and spattered. But it was the duty of the strong to suffer those stains, like crusaders who had to break the commandment against killing. The taking on of sin was one sacrifice among many, gladly given. And sacrifice was ennobling. He would accept the peerage. He would use it, as he did everything, for the public good.

*

Some of this public was at that moment gathered at the Cottage Inn, condemning Brython’s beloved Beast. One of the policemen who’d been on duty at the compound – and was from Bucklebury himself – relayed what those hypocrites were up to now: they’d unsealed the doors and were having a party outside, with no regard for the terrorists it might attract, not to mention the obvious stupidity of building a fire in the middle of a wood. And even that wasn’t all of it: when Chris, the night commander, had asked them nicely – very nicely, even – to put it out and go back inside, that same vicious little foulmouthed fat man who’d been making trouble in the pub had told him to F-off and go back to patrolling the fence.

The landlord gave the judgment he’d been refining to his patrons all afternoon and evening: ‘They’re not worthy to be called a British newspaper. To speak the way they did to me, to someone who’s served this country, served against the IRA. And the way they treated Ayub as well, it’s unacceptable.’

Ayub, who had not, as it turned out, gone home after the subs’ visit and had now heard this many times, lifted his half-pint to pre-empt any more praise.

Gilbert clapped him cautiously on the shoulder and said, ‘Really, though, it was disgraceful.’ They’d all lied to the police on Ayub’s behalf and said that he’d gone home to Thatcham, making Gilbert feel a little like someone bravely hiding a Jew from the Gestapo. But things still weren’t quite right between them. ‘The way they got us all riled up, that’s their stock in trade, isn’t it?’ He didn’t quite dare ask Ayub whether he agreed, so directed himself to the landlord. ‘Really, Barry, it’s not right. Why don’t we get the police back and tell them the whole story?’

The landlord shook his head dismissively. ‘There’s no point bothering the lads in blue. They’re handcuffed themselves.’

The off-duty policeman put in, ‘You should see what it’s like in there. Their Editor says, “Do this,” and we all have to do it. They’ve got us right in their pocket. It’s fucking embarrassing.’

The landlord said, ‘And the thing is, too, they haven’t technically committed any crimes. The law’s got nothing to say against someone being a nasty piece of work.’