‘Everything’s a sign of something.’

‘Too true, Ruthie.’ He looks sideways at her, wondering if she’s noticed the nickname. ‘Is this where the body was found?’

‘Over here. Clayton thought it would have been below the altar.’

Cathbad lifts a corner of tarpaulin. ‘There’s a really strong presence here.’

‘You reckon?’

‘Yes.’ Cathbad straightens up. ‘You know, I understand some of what Pendragon must have felt. The druids were a real focus of resistance to the Romans. To know that King Arthur was buried here, in such a Roman spot …’

‘After the Romans had left, though.’

‘Yes, but it’s a Roman place. It still feels like a Roman place today. A Roman cavalry fort. To Pendragon, Arthur was a mystical British figure, a pagan, a shaman. To find him here, in a Roman grave, to think that he might just have been another Roman cavalryman. It must have been like discovering that Merlin was in the SS.’

Ruth smiles, but the mention of the SS reminds her that Pendragon, for all his harmless mysticism, had some very strange bedfellows, people who, presumably, believed in the master race and the subjection of others. She remembers Dan’s diaries and the letters calling him an ‘upstart Jew’. Somewhere along the line the shamans have got mixed up with the bad guys.

She turns to check that Kate isn’t trying to eat the soil and finds that the little girl is standing stock still, staring at something across the river.

‘Funny lady,’ says Kate.

Ruth follows her gaze and sees a figure moving steadily along the riverbank. Contrary to Kate’s description, it’s impossible to tell if it’s a man or woman because the person is dressed in a long white robe and hood. As Ruth, Cathbad and Kate watch, the robed figure turns to look at them. There is a black void where the face should be.

CHAPTER 26

‘A mask,’ says Cathbad. ‘It was obviously a black mask.’

It is evening and Kate is in bed. Ruth and Cathbad are eating a Chinese takeaway in the kitchen. Neither of them had wanted to alarm Kate so it’s the first time that they have discussed the sinister figure on the riverbank. Not that Kate had seemed frightened. Both Ruth and Cathbad had found her silent acceptance of the apparition rather chilling. She had simply put her hand in Ruth’s and said ‘Home now’. And they had all, the two adults, the child and the dog, turned for home. Even Thing had seemed subdued. Now Kate is asleep and Thing is happily eating prawn crackers under the table. Cathbad refills their glasses.

‘It gave me a bit of a shock,’ he admits.

‘Me too,’ says Ruth, taking a gulp of wine. ‘The cloak, the hood, the mask. The way it appeared so suddenly. It was terrifying.’

‘Do you think the show was for our benefit?’

‘How could it be? No one knew we were going to Ribchester this afternoon.’

‘Do you think it was – what do they call him – the Arch Wizard?’

This is exactly what Ruth has been thinking but she feels the need to squash this idea. The idea that the leader of the White Hand should materialise like that, right by the grave of King Arthur, it’s too spooky to contemplate.

‘Of course not,’ she says. ‘It was just some random druid. Someone like you. After all, you must give people shocks sometimes, wandering around in your cloak. It probably wasn’t anything to do with the site or King Arthur.’

‘I don’t know,’ says Cathbad. ‘It felt staged to me. The way it turned and stared at us.’

Ruth shivers. ‘Do you know what, Cathbad? I think we should go home.’

Cathbad is silent for a moment, medatively chewing sweet and sour pork. Ruth says, almost apologetically, ‘It’s just getting too scary for me. The text messages. Pendragon dying. Now the bloody Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come following us around. I don’t want Kate to stay here any longer. I want to take her home.’

‘I thought you wanted to look at the relics from the site.’

Ruth has made an appointment with Clayton Henry to see the tombstone and the raven inscription.

‘That’s on Tuesday morning. We could go home straight afterwards.’

Cathbad sighs. ‘OK. I’ve got to go to Clitheroe on Monday to see Pendragon’s solicitor. Then we might as well go home.’

Cathbad had been surprised to hear from Pendragon’s sister that his friend had made a will and that he had been named as the executor. Ruth is planning to spend the day with Caz.

‘Good,’ says Ruth. She feels relieved but also rather sad. She can’t rid herself of the thought that by running away like this, she’ll be abandoning Dan and his great discovery. But the police are investigating Dan’s death, and while she doesn’t much like Sandy she imagines that he doesn’t give up easily. Sandy and Tim will infiltrate the White Hand and will discover who stole the bones and set Dan’s house on fire. Then Dan and King Arthur will both be able to rest in peace.

‘I can’t wait to see Flint again,’ she says.

*

Sunday may be a day of rest but, for DCI Sandy Macleod, it’s business as usual. He decides that Terry Durkin needs a shock so he pays him a visit, causing quite a stir in the quiet street of lawn-mowers and car-washers by drawing up outside the house in a marked police car, driven by Tim.

Terry appears on the doorstep in his slippers.

‘What the hell’s all this about?’

‘Few questions we’d like to ask you,’ says Sandy, smiling pleasantly at Terry’s next-door neighbour, who is blatantly peering over the fence.

‘Can’t it wait until Monday?’

‘Not really. We’ve had an interesting bit of information about you.’

Terry backs away slightly, which gives Sandy the chance to barrel over the threshold. Tim follows, looking apologetic.

‘I didn’t say you could come in!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Sandy pauses. ‘Do you want to do this down at the station?’

Terry looks at the large man who seems to be taking up most of the hall. He is clearly weighing up whether to order them to leave, or to co-operate and complain later. After a moment, he says, ‘Come through to the front room.’ Adding, ‘Mr Greengrass will hear about this.’

‘Always glad to hear from my old mate Pete,’ says Sandy genially. He leads the way through the hall, which smells strongly of roasting meat, and into a room dominated by a flat-screen TV and flowery sofa and chairs.

Sandy lowers himself into an armchair with a sigh. ‘Sit down, lad.’

‘What’s all this about?’ asks Terry, remaining standing.

‘Live with your mum, do you?’ asks Sandy.

‘What’s it got to do with you?’ says Terry, adding in a slightly awed voice, ‘How did you know?’

Even Tim has to admire the speed of his boss’s deductions, while deploring his methods. OK, the Inside Soap and Chat magazines on the table are a bit of a give-away, as is the knitting on the arm of the chair. Tim noticed the stairlift as soon as they got in and there are also headphones for the TV and one of those grabbing arms for picking objects off the floor. The whole room is old-ladyish really – white lace covers on the chairs, framed Bible tracts on the walls, a gas fire with fake coals, china horses, and a complete set of Catherine Cooksons. The interesting thing is how little of Terry’s personality seems to be reflected in the house. The only signs that a young man lives here are a set of dumbbells in the corridor and a copy of Cycling Today lying open on the sofa. Of course, Tim reflects, one doesn’t want to be sexist or ageist: both these items could belong to old Mrs Durkin.

‘Where’s Mum now?’ asks Sandy.

‘At church.’

‘Is she a Catholic?’

‘C of E,’ says Terry, sounding shocked. ‘What do you want anyhow?’

Tim leans forward. They agreed in the car that he would be the one to take the lead. As Sandy so charmingly put it, ‘Being questioned by a black copper is sure to piss him off big time.’

‘Terry, are you a member of the English Defence League?’