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He’s magic, he is, and he’s one of us.’ Lowering her voice, she added in a whisper, ‘He and his magic were here long before the other lot came. They may have their fine abbeys and their holy springs but they can’t stamp out the old ways, now, can they? And now here’s our Merlin returned to us and back in his rightful place!’ She smiled her satisfaction. ‘ Now we’ll see some wonders!’
         Not entirely sure what she meant by the other lot – it sounded disturbingly as if she was referring to the Christian church and perhaps Hawkenlye in particular – Josse murmured a meaningless acknowledgement. Just then the line moved on several paces and he said, ‘I wish you luck!’
         ‘You too!’ the old woman called.
         He shuffled slowly on, one hand on his back, face screwed up in pretend pain, letting a gap develop between himself and the elderly couple. He wanted to take his time in studying the whole area. The path led on to a second, higher, fence, also gated; this second fence was solidly built with hazel hurdles and underbrush and Josse could see neither over nor through it. By the open gate stood a man.
         He was younger and far less heavily built than the toughs on the outer fence. He was also much better dressed, in a tunic of bright scarlet velvet trimmed with heavy gold braid. His boots were of soft leather, fitted him like a second skin and looked brand-new. His hair – bright chestnut and gleaming with cleanliness – was neatly cut and his light grey eyes shone with health. He was clean-shaven and extremely handsome. He was, undoubtedly, Florian of Southfrith.
         Josse approached him and gave him a low bow, as befitted an impoverished man with backache greeting a young and wealthy lord.
         A long, pale hand was extended, resting on Josse’s shoulder in a brief touch. ‘Rise up,’ intoned an educated voice, in the tone of a priest bestowing a blessing, ‘for your suffering will soon be at an end.’ Josse straightened, looking the young man in the face. Florian appeared taken aback at such a bold stare; hastily Josse lowered his eyes.
         ‘Thank’ee, Master,’ he muttered.
         ‘When I tell you to do so, you may walk on to the sacred spot,’ the soft voice went on. ‘Make your appeal, leave whatever offering you have brought, and then make your way past. You will be shown where to go.’
         ‘Thank’ee,’ Josse said again. He very much wanted to have another look at young Florian, but he had learned by his earlier mistake. The poor, the humble and the afflicted did not habitually meet the eyes of their lord.
         There was a short wait, and then Florian tapped Josse on the arm and said, ‘You may go on now.’
         Josse walked forward along the path.
         It turned abruptly left, and then right; whatever lay at its far end was designed to be out of sight until a visitor reached it.
         Stepping out into the open, Josse was faced with a stunning sight.
         The ground had been cleared and stamped down and the forest floor here was now bare earth. The trees and the undergrowth had been cut back for some four or five paces in each direction, so that the sun shone down into the glade. There was a trio of thorn trees standing on the perimeter; pieces of coloured rag and ribbon had been tied to the lower branches. The ground sloped gently, higher to the far side of the clearing, falling away to the near, southern side. Right in the middle of the open space was a long, deep scar.
         Josse went closer.
         Now he could see over the lip of the steep-sided hollow into its dark interior. The pit had been walled with stones and its base appeared to be one vast slab. Stretched out on the slab, arms by its sides and fingers gently curved over the wide palms, was the huge and intact skeleton of a man who must in life have been a veritable giant.
         Whatever else might be a lie or a false claim, these bones