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the way – he saw with horrified eyes just what Florian of Southfrith had done.
         He had desecrated a venerable and beautiful area of ancient forest for what Josse firmly believed was entirely his own gain. If it was true that he had come across something of genuinely grave importance, if they really were Merlin’s bones lying there in the tomb, then surely there was a better way of sharing the discovery. Florian ought to have first reported his find to Hawkenlye, Josse thought angrily, possibly also involving the secular authorities, and someone should have brought the forest people in on the discussions. That way, arrangements could have been made for the people to visit the tomb in a controlled manner and there would have been no need for this violence against the forest. As it was, one selfish man thinking only of his own pocket had forged ahead with such ruthless speed that it had left the rest of them breathless.
         Horrified, furious, he walked on.
         The felled trees at the forest edge were only the start of it. At the place where the path terminated, some twenty or thirty paces within the woodland, many more trees had been roughly cut down and a great swath of undergrowth had been swept away, the leaf mould of hundreds – thousands – of years untidy with heaps of sawdust, bits of broken branch, leaves and twigs. Despite the fact that a considerable sum of money must have been spent on the place, everywhere there was a depressingly rough, uncaring look, markedly in contrast with the mature and dignified nature of the native forest.
         A raw-looking fence had been erected, split chestnut rails nailed to uneven uprights. It had all the hallmarks of something done in haste and not very well. Where the path met the fence there was a stout gate, now standing open. The heavy chain hanging from it suggested that it could be firmly locked when necessary; nobody, it seemed, was going to visit Merlin’s Tomb unless Florian of Southfrith said they could.
         A thick-set man in a leather jerkin stood by the gate. As each visitor approached, he was demanding something  . . .
         Just as I expected, Josse thought.
         Florian had gone one step further than merely to make money from the refreshments and accommodation he was offering. He actually had the nerve to demand an admission fee.
         Josse reached into his pouch and prepared some coins. When he was face to face with the mean-looking man on the gate, he offered a couple of clipped silver half-pennies, hoping that one of them would suffice. Both were quietly taken from his open palm. The man gave him a quick grin that was no more than a stretching of his lips and curtly nodded him through.
         Within the enclosure another man came to take the cob; he, too, was heavily built and he bore the facial scars and flattened nose that suggested a life of fighting. Reckoning that it was no doubt the large amounts of money being made that necessitated so many guards – for that was surely what they were; there were three more of them loitering just inside the fence – Josse handed over the horse’s reins.
         He edged along the path behind an old woman supporting an even older man. Turning, she gave him the time of day. Her expression was tense, her sunken blue eyes bright with excitement.
         ‘What’s up with you, then?’ she asked.
         ‘My back.’ Josse adopted a crouch and put a hand to the small of his back.
         ‘Ah-ha!’ She grimaced understandingly, as if she knew all about bad backs. ‘My old man here’ – she gave the man beside her a nudge in his skinny ribs – ‘he’s all but blind.’ The old man turned to peer at Josse through cloudy eyes and gave him a nod. ‘But that’ll soon change!’ the woman added happily.
         Josse felt a stab of pity for her hopeless optimism. ‘You expect a miracle?’
         ‘Oh, yes,’ she said confidently. ‘It’s Merlin, isn’t it?