Cornwall – eighteen months later.
The farmer swings his arm back and lands a mighty punch in the bearded man's chest, sending him down onto his knees. Another punch to the jaw sends him sprawling onto his back.
‘Stay away from my wife you b*****d or I’ll kill you,’ the farmer shouts before, for good measure, he kicks the prone man hard in the legs and storms off.
Slowly, slowly the man on the ground drags himself up into a sitting position and rubs his hand through his long, lank hair. He smiles ruefully.
‘I definitely need another drink,’ he says. ‘I felt that last kick.’
Standing up, unsteadily, he pulls his battered black leather jacket further around his shoulders and limps down the road to the inn. He has some coins left and this is one of the few places in the area that hasn't thrown him out on first sight. He is hopeful he can buy a little more oblivion.
He is right. They take his money and serve him, but it is done with a sneer and he is ordered to drink his beer outside. He limps back out into the cold, and sits down on the ground.
The famer’s wife hadn't even been worth the beating. Still she’d seemed satisfied and it had meant a few hours of warmth for him. She did, he remembers wryly, make a few comments about how ripe he smelt.
He scratches his beard .‘Too b****y cold for washing in a stream, just have to wait until the spring and the warmer weather.’
He downs the ale in a few desperate gulps, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then rises unsteadily to his feet and heads back into the inn. And as he stands waiting to be served once again, a giant of a man enters the inn with three companions. By the look of his muscular forearms and huge chest, he is, in all probability, the local blacksmith.
He'll do, the bearded man says to himself and quickly slams his empty tankard on the bar and in a loud voice with a lot of snarl in it, says to the inn at large and the giant in particular, ‘Finally your wife has got a smile on her face … well she did have when I left her in bed just now. Seems you're not built like a bull all over.’ Then he laughs and makes an obscene gesture with his little finger.
The giant's companions step away from him, and the inn becomes quiet. Tense.
And then one of those giant arms with a hand the size of a shovel reaches out, grabs the bearded man, shakes him violently and throws him down on the floor. When he is hauled up again, the giant punches him in the mouth. There is a sickening squelchy noise and the bearded man falls to his knees. He doesn’t appear to be making any effort to fight back.
The giant hauls him up again and drags him towards the door. Outside he punches him two more times and then when he is on the ground, spits on him.
The bearded man makes an 'oofh' noise and then lies still and the giant disappears for a while before returning with a pail. He throws the contents over the man. It is the slops from the inn.
That makes the bearded man raise his head but he soon lets it fall back again.
The giant, satisfied that he had taught the foul-mouthed tramp a lesson, goes back into the inn where the youngest of his companions congratulates him.
‘Well done, Joseph,’ he says, ‘you showed him what's what.’ Then he pauses. ‘Mind you, I don't know whom he mistook you for - you haven't even got a wife.’
They all nod and then forgot the bearded man who at this moment is stirring and groaning out in the dirt.
‘Was that the best you could do? Is that it?’ he cries out. Then softly, very softly, he starts to weep.
