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he thought, just waiting to be gathered from the ground .
    Cleofan looked back toward his mother’s hut, then glanced at the smaller hut he shared with his wife, Odely. She’ll be expecting a stack of firewood as well , he thought bitterly.
    But it was all right. He had plenty of time. He could walk to the pit and be back with an armful of firewood before the sky began to darken.
    He checked his knife was at his waist, and then he turned away from the village and set off toward the pit.

Chapter 7

    2021
    CALLY BARGED INTO THE PORTAKABIN they were using as a site office, and slammed the door behind her. “Simon! I’ve just seen the script, and it’s no good at all.”
    The cabin’s only occupant stood up and came out from behind his desk, a clipboard in his hand. “Calm down, love. It’s all fine.”
    “No, it is not all fine,” Cally insisted. “How many times do I have to tell you? There is simply no way those menhirs could be some sort of astrological calendar. I get tired of all this pseudoscience—it’s just nonsense. You may as well say the whole thing was built by aliens.”
    Simon frowned and pressed his clipboard against his chest. “Listen, love, as long as I’m the producer, I say what goes. This isn’t just some dry documentary. No one wants to be lectured. They want to be entertained.”
    Cally rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t mean you can say anything you want. You can’t just make this stuff up.”
    “No, perhaps not,” Simon said. “But people don’t mind a bit of speculation. They like a bit of mysticism.”
    Cally folded her arms. “If you’re not dealing in facts then what the hell do you need me for?”
    “That is a very good question, Ms. Freeman.”
    “That’s Doctor Freeman to you,” she said. “Unlike your pretty little star, I’m actually qualified to be here.”
    Simon shook his head. “I don’t have time for this. We’re recording this piece in half an hour, and the script is already written.” He pointed toward the door. “Now, I suggest you get out there, find a corner where you’ll be out of everyone’s way and look busy. It may have escaped your notice, but we are not stuck out in the middle of nowhere just to satisfy your academic interest. We are here to make a TV programme, and that’s all that matters.”
    Cally stared at him for a moment, her chin held high, then she turned around and marched out, leaving the door wide open.
    “Shut the door,” Simon called. But Cally took no notice. She walked across the site until she reached the trench where she’d been working then she climbed down carefully, making certain she didn’t disturb anything. Her tools were where she’d left them in the bottom of the trench. She picked up her trowel, let out a sigh then crouched down and began working.
    “Stupid man,” she muttered. But she pushed her angry thoughts aside and concentrated on her work: moving her hands methodically across the bottom of the trench, scraping away the hard, dry earth with the tip of her trowel and collecting any interesting fragments in the plastic container at her side.
    She lost track of time, so when she heard someone approaching, she assumed it was one of the crew coming to tell her that the filming was about to start. But when she looked up, two unfamiliar men were standing over her. They were both smartly dressed: dark suits, white shirts, and brightly patterned silk ties. And they were both staring down at her. Cally stopped what she was doing and stood up slowly. “Can I help you?”
    One of the men, the shorter of the two, stepped forward. “You are Doctor Freeman?”
    Cally looked from one man to the other. “Yes, I’m Doctor Freeman. Is something the matter?”
    “I do not think so,” the man said. “My name is Bernard Azoulay, and this is my assistant, Giles Husson. We are from the Ministry of Culture and Communication, and we would like to discuss a few things with you.”
    Cally tilted her head to one side. “You