He waited until a semblance of a voice returned. When he was able to call out, he did so in faltering Welsh.
“Are you there!” There was no answer. “I come as a friend!” Still there was no response. “I bring a gift for you!” he cried. “Come and see what it is.”
His voice rang down the valley, but it seemed to reach no human ears. Gervase paused to rest further. He studied the circle of stones again and tried to fathom their meaning. Stonehenge had been vastly larger in scale and set on an open plain. Was that to make its statement loud and clear? Or was it to catch the sun and to use the movements of the heavens? This circle was small and private and hidden away at the heart of a timbered valley. Why had such a secluded spot been chosen? If it was a temple, what was the object of worship?
When he had walked among the sarsens on Salisbury Plain, he had felt the throb of a primitive power that stretched back endlessly in time. The clearing had resonance more than power, the hum of recent activity, the distant echo of a religious service that had been performed there. And yet it was not a religion that Gervase knew or understood. Stonehenge was a place of light and affirmation. This was a darker manifestation of the human soul. He felt like an intruder from another world.
The sky was filming over now and shadows lay across the ground like felled trees. He became aware of the potential danger. Gervase was relying on his own instinct and ignoring that of his friend.
Ralph Delchard had sensed hostility in the clearing and struck at a wild animal. The figure they had seen was certainly big enough and strong enough to overpower men like Alric and Wulfgeat, especially when it had the advantage of surprise. Even a battle-hardened veteran like Ralph had been shocked by its unexpected arrival out of the undergrowth. Two armed men might put the creature to flight, but one tired Chancery clerk might be deemed more easy prey. Gervase looked up at the fading light and the chill hand of fear touched him.
It was time to flee.
“Who are you!”
The voice boomed out in Welsh and seemed to come from behind every tree. Gervase was being watched. He stood in the middle of the clearing and rotated slowly as he tried to work out where the man was standing. It was a deep, rough, and uncultured voice, but it belonged to a human being.
“Who are you!”
The question battered at his ears and he gave answer.
“A friend.”
“What is your name?”
“Gervase.”
“Why are you here?”
“To bring this stone for you.”
“Keep away!”
“It is my gift to you.”
“This place is sacred.”
“Put my stone in your circle.”
There was a long pause, followed by a rustling among the leaves.
Gervase had the impression that the man was circling him to make sure that he was quite alone and did not have any confederates hiding in the undergrowth. Earlier, two armed men had treated him as an enemy. One of them was now claiming to be his friend. He was right to be sceptical.
“I need your help,” Gervase shouted.
“Leave me alone.”
“You dwell in the forest. You know its ways.”
“Go now while you still can.”
“This is your home. Teach me to understand it.”
“My world is not yours.”
“Answer my questions and you will be left in peace.”
“You will come back with others.”
“No!” promised Gervase. “I give you my word. Nobody will hear of this; nobody will search for you and drive you out. You will tell from my voice that I am not Welsh, but neither am I from this place. I will soon leave Bedwyn. You will never see me again.”
There was another long pause and the bushes were parted. Gervase felt the intense scrutiny and tried to meet it with an affable smile.
The voice was still cynical.
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because I brought that stone all the way here.”
“Who knows you have come?”
“Nobody.”
“Why do you wear a dagger?”
Gervase took it out of its sheath and threw it a few yards away. He was now quite defenceless. Against a man as powerful as the one he had glimpsed at their previous encounter, he would have little chance.
Common sense told him to brace himself against attack, but he knew it was important to show no fear. The stone he had lugged there was not simply a present to the man but an act of apology. He waited patiently until the voice boomed forth again.
“What do you want?”
“Guidance. Two men have been killed in Savernake.”
“I know.”
“Was it your doing?”
A roar of protest came from the bushes and they shook violently.
Gervase tried to retract his question, but his uncertain grasp on the language let him down and he had to resort to placatory gestures.
There was wounded pride in the undergrowth, but it was eventually soothed.
“You are a hermit,” said Gervase. “I respect that.”
“Then go your way.”
“You love peace, but it has been disturbed by this strife in the forest. I can take that strife away.” He took a step in the direction of the bushes. “A wolf was caught here yesterday. Did the animal savage those two men?”
“No.”
“Can you say who did?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
Such a long pause ensued that Gervase began to wonder whether the man had quietly withdrawn and left him alone. He took another step in the direction from which the voice had come.
“Stay where you are!” came the warning.
“Why are you afraid of me?”
“I live alone.”
There was a rugged dignity in the way he said this that was an explanation in itself. The hermit had created his own private world in the forest and he survived there with the guile of an animal. No other human being could enter or share his leafy domain. Darkness was now threatening and Gervase did not wish to be lost in Savernake.
He made one last attempt to get through to the invisible listener.
“Help me, my friend. I must find out how these two men died.
Something was stolen from the place where they fell. That, too, must be found.” A third step took him closer to the bushes. “Please help me. I am staying at the hunting lodge near Bedwyn. Help me in my work and we will move on. You will be free to roam the forest as before.”
Gervase strained his eyes to peer through the foliage, but it was too thick to admit his gaze. As he leaned forward to take a closer look, he heard a rustling noise behind him and turned. Strong muscles were pulling on the rope so that the rock was being dragged into the safety of the trees on the other side of the clearing. Gervase was content.
His strange interview was over, but it had ended with a small measure of success.
His gift had been accepted.
Eadmer the Moneyer was in a testy mood when Ralph Delchard called on him without warning. He admitted the unwelcome visitor to his inner sanctum and shut its fortified door with a thud to show his displeasure. His day’s work was now over and he was ready to douse the candles that flickered in their holders, then leave. Ralph was keeping him there against his will. The slight figure grew combative.
“Have you reported to the town reeve?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“But you were here with the man’s wife.”
“That was a separate transaction,” said Ralph with a nostalgic smile.
“Saewold is due home tomorrow and he will be told of the forgery in due course.”
“There is no time to waste, my lord!” insisted Eadmer.
“I delay out of policy.”
“Policy?”
“Yes, my friend. These counterfeit coins are no stray accidents.
They have been steadily minted over a period of time. I believe that the forger is still busy at his nefarious trade. If I raise the alarm through Saewold, then the criminal will be frightened away and may escape our net completely.”
“You know, then, who the villain is?”