"What do they say?" I asked.
"They have found a soldier's body."
"A body?"
"Long dead, Monsieur. The skeleton of one of these who scourged this coast in the old days."
He rose and started leisurely down through the flowering gorse. I followed, and my dog followed me.
In the shallow excavation there lay a few bones and shreds and bits of tarnished metal.
I stooped and picked up a button and a belt buckle. The royal arms and the Regimental number were decipherable on the brasses. One of the peasants said:
"In Quimper lives a rich man who pays for relics. God, in his compassion, sends us poor men these bones."
The coastguard said: "God sends them to you for decent internment.
Not to sell."
"But," retorted the peasant, "these bones and bits of brass belonged to one of those who came here with fire and sword. Need we respect our enemies who slew without pity young and old? And these bones are very ancient."