He had seen the prize bull a hundred times charging across the golden sand of the Arles and Serriac arenas, a black tornado in pursuit of the local young razeteurs who dared to try to steal the cockade from its horns. Himself included. The cockades were a symbol of manhood that tempted young men to risk their lives, because in the course Camarguaise, unlike the corridas of Spain, no blood is shed. The true star of the show is the bull, not a matador. The bull’s name and its manade, the farm from which it comes, gain great fame and respect. For years Goliath was a magnificent celebrity and could draw an audience from all over Provence.

‘I’ll wait outside,’ he said quietly, ‘until you’re ready.’

‘Ready for what?’

‘I’ve already interviewed your father and brother. I need to ask you a few questions too.’

For the first time her gaze left the animal and she studied his uniform thoughtfully as if she had forgotten the job he was here to do. ‘What did my father do?’

She stopped. Léon saw her eyes fix on something behind him. He turned and in the gloom at the far end of the barn beside what looked like grey bins of livestock feed there was a shape, indistinct and unmoving.

‘André!’ Eloïse leaped to her feet.

Léon looked closer. She had good eyes. It was indeed her older brother, seated in a wicker chair with a pair of wooden crutches lying on the floor beside him. Across his knees lay a hunting rifle. Léon felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck, but André gave him a reassuring nod. His sandy hair had grown down over his collar during the last few months and he was wearing a soft checked shirt that had been scrubbed too often, as if he were trying to pretend he was a simple country boy again. But his eyes said otherwise.

‘I’m keeping watch,’ André said softly.

He had always been good at that, Léon recalled. Taking you by surprise. He and Léon had been through school together and too many teachers had been caught out by his slouching shoulders and soft voice.

‘I thought you were resting in your room,’ Léon commented, eyeing the rifle.

‘I changed my mind.’

‘André!’ Eloïse cried out again.