They headed south out of Swindon along the Marlborough Road then joined a short queue at the M4 roundabout. ‘With you,’ said Elias.

  ‘Good. A series of battles took place. The Britons got pushed further and further back, losing ground but gaining toughness and valuable fighting experience in exchange, until finally they managed to give the Saxons such a bloody nose that it put an end to their advance for at least a couple of decades. We know all this thanks to a monk called Gildas, who is pretty much the only surviving British source from the two hundred years after the Romans left. Sadly, he was also a bit of a prick, more interested in scolding his contemporaries for their godlessness than in giving us detail, so we don’t know when this great encounter took place, other than it was in the year of his birth. Unfortunately, that could mean any time from around the second half of the 400s through to the early 500s. All he tells us is that it started as a siege that turned into a battle. The Battle of Badon Hill.’

  ‘Badon Hill?’ frowned Elias, as they passed a signpost to Badbury. ‘Any connection to this place?’

  ‘Give the man a gold star,’ said Anna. ‘Yes, etymologists draw a direct line from Badon Hill to Badbury – though there are plenty of other candidates, to be fair, including Bath. But Badbury makes good historical sense, because this is pretty much exactly where we think the front line between the Britons and the Saxons would have been. And we have some archaeology to support it too.’

  They turned east onto the Ridgeway, a narrow country lane bordered on both sides by high hedges and fields of ripening crops. ‘See that?’ she said, pointing out through the windscreen at the sharp rise in the ground ahead, made to look steeper and higher than it was by the flatness of the surrounding country, like a fruit-bowl upturned upon a table. ‘It’s called Liddington Hill now, but many people think it was the original Badon Hill. We know for sure there was a fort upon it at one point, though it fell into disuse.’ Hill-forts had been common across Britain back in the Iron Age, a way to dominate and defend the surrounding land. But they’d proved no match for the Roman legions, whose siege engines and superior tactics had allowed them to scale their palisades or breach their gates with ease, turning them from strongholds into death-traps. The forts had been abandoned, therefore, at least until the Romans had left again, at which point a few had been rebuilt and brought back into service. ‘They’ve made some interesting finds up there, and from the right period too – though not enough to draw any firm conclusions from. But then it hasn’t been properly excavated, of course. The old story: too many sites; not enough money.’

  They turned right off the Ridgeway down Liddington Way, a single track lane with passing places every hundred yards or so. It was in such poor condition that Elias took it slowly, the numerous potholes being made harder to see by the confusing shadows thrown by the trees on either side. But then it opened up around them, revealing fields sloping away to their right, currently being grazed by sheep, and a grand Tudor mansion to their left, though so well shielded by its front brick wall that all Elias could see of it was part of its tiled roof and a quartet of twisting brick chimneys. And not the friendliest of people, to judge by the great big NO TURNING sign on its front gate, or by the row of limestone boulders on the grass verge to stop people driving up onto it when they encountered other traffic. ‘And that’s where this body-pit is?’ he asked.

  ‘Pretty much. Except not on the hill itself. In one of these fields along here. Or so I understand. That’s where they think the battle might have been.’

  ‘So they’ve found an old battleground,’ said Elias, as they left the high brick wall of the Tudor house behind and passed instead a converted barn before finally arriving at a drive with a badly weathered sign welcoming them to Hillview Manor, their home for the next two days. ‘Is it really worth all this cloak and dagger?’

  ‘The cloak and dagger isn’t for the battle itself. It’s for the man who led the Britons in it.’

  ‘Come on, Anna,’ sighed Elias, as he indicated and then turned up the drive. ‘Do I really have to beg?’

  She smiled across at him. ‘His name was Arthur,’ she told him. ‘King Arthur.’

  FOUR

  Hillview Manor proved to be a charming old farmhouse set in a grassy dell at the foot of Liddington Hill. It had a large cobbled courtyard, one half of which was wet and gleaming, while the other half still sported its winter coat of mud, moss and grass, like the before-and-after shots in a power sprayer advert. The main house was to their right, a half-timbered affair of whitewashed lath and plaster. Its pitched tile roof was covered in moss and lichen, and it had a glass conservatory, south facing to catch the sunlight, while its rear was covered by ropes of ivy so thick and old that they’d burrowed beneath the paintwork.

  The creosoted barn to their left had clearly once belonged to the Manor back when it had been a working farm, only to have been separated off by a tall wooden slat fence when being converted into a private home. A row of other outbuildings – stables, perhaps – had also been converted, this time into three self-contained holiday apartments, each with its own front door, painted respectively blue, green and red, and each with a little paved area out front with chairs and a table for eating breakfast at, or simply for enjoying the sunshine, all of which were separated from each other by high trellises of climbing plants. But no one was using them right now.

  Parking bays had been painted onto the cobbles at some point, but the whitewash was so badly faded that they’d been completely ignored by the several vehicles present: a pair of Range Rovers, one silver and brand new, the other old, battered and navy blue; a dark red Ford Fiesta; a white minivan; and a racing green Jaguar XJ-S of that awkward age, too old to be stylish, but not yet old enough to be a classic.

  Anna got out to stretch her legs. The Manor’s back door banged open and a woman in her mid forties came hurrying out, trying to work her feet into a pair of muddy black gumboots. If this was their hostess, Anna could see instantly why Quentin might have fallen for her – not just because she was pretty, but also because of how cheerful, charming and fun she looked, with her trim figure, her welcoming smile, her lively bright blue eyes, and her fair yet freckled complexion. She was wearing little makeup or jewellery: only a dab of lipstick, a gold wedding ring and a silver chain around her neck whose pendant was hidden away inside a blue-and-gold rugby shirt that was at least a couple of sizes too big for her, so that it fell like a miniskirt down over her thighs, which were encased in faded black jeans tight enough to show off the leanness of her legs.

  She paused before she reached them to finish pulling on her gumboots, hopping first on one foot and then the other. But finally she managed it, and greeted her success with a smile of such self-deprecating good humour that Anna warmed to her even more. ‘It is you two,’ she said, wiping her hand dry on her shirt before offering it to them each to shake. ‘I thought it had to be, what with your names; but you never know, do you, not for sure?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Anna.

  ‘I’m Samantha, by the way. Samantha Forrest. Though my friends call me Sam, so you must too, or I’ll be terribly insulted.’ A light breeze was coming from over her left shoulder, blowing strands of her frizzy straw-coloured hair forwards over her face, so that she was constantly brushing it back behind her ear. ‘Welcome to my home. Oh, and do please forgive the mess out here. I started on the spray cleaning, as you can see, in honour of your arrival, only something else came up. That’s the trouble with running a place like this virtually by yourself – something else is always coming up. Then I heard on the radio that we’re in for a terrible big storm tonight, and it hardly seemed worth the effort, not just for a few hours. I’ll finish it off tomorrow, if I get a moment. And everything inside is spotless, I assure you – except for where my dogs go, of course.’ She bit her teeth anxiously together. ‘You do like dogs, I hope?’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ asked Anna.

  ‘You’d be surprised.’ She dropped her voice a notch, threw a dark look at the green-painted door. ‘Between you and me, I never altogether trust people who don’t. I mean, my two are the friendliest you could ever hope to meet. Not that you’ll even have to meet them, if you don’t want to. They have their own spaces indoors and out. And they know better than to annoy my guests.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ said Anna.

  ‘Good. I’ll show you around, then.’ She offered to take one of the bags, but Elias assured her he had them, only to frown a little with regret when he picked up Anna’s suitcase and remembered how heavy it was. Sam led them to the back door, clearly the preferred way in and out, close to the courtyard and the cars as it was. It took them directly into a small sitting room with several rattan armchairs around a coffee table on which lay a selection of tattered old magazines. A parish newsletter was lying on the mat. Samantha picked it up and threw it down on the coffee table as she kicked off her boots to reveal the thick grey woollen socks beneath. She led them up a steep back staircase to the pair of rooms at the top, one on either side of the passage. They were spacious and freshly painted in white and pastel blue, and each of them had a desk, a fridge, a wall-mounted TV, a pair of comfortable leather armchairs and a solid king-sized bed with fitted sheets, winter duvets and lots of pillows. The first looked out over the conservatory and a narrow strip of front lawn to the hedge and the lane, while the second looked onto a large back lawn studded with various pieces of garden furniture, a badminton net and a gated children’s area with a swing and a slide and an inflatable paddling pool. Two horses – one chestnut and the other piebald – were grazing in a large, white-fenced paddock beyond, in which a number of practice showjump fences had been set up as a course. Beyond that, Liddington Hill itself rose steeply to a wooden viewing point on its peak, from which a pair of hikers were gazing back down.

  ‘Are those yours?’ asked Anna, nodding at the horses.

  ‘Sadly, no. I had to let mine go when we converted the stables. I rent the paddock out to the people who bought the barn. Their daughter is a wonderful rider. She’s won all kinds of ribbons and rosettes and what have you. Do you ride yourself?’

  ‘I used to, a bit, when I lived in Lincolnshire. But that was a long time ago.’

  Samantha nodded, as though suspecting there was a story in there somewhere, but too polite to ask. ‘You don’t have en suites, I’m afraid,’ she said instead, ‘but it’s only you two down this end of the house, so the bathroom is all yours to share. I trust that’s okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Anna. ‘Do you have many people staying?’

  ‘A fair few. The old stables are all taken. They always go first. People do like their privacy. And we sold the barn some years ago, like I say. But there are three other guest bedrooms down the other end, only one of which is occupied at the minute. Lovely Orlando, in the room next to mine.’ She gestured vaguely at the passage then dropped her voice to a whisper, even though there was a heavy fire-door between here and there, effectively turning this part of the house into a self-contained two bed apartment. ‘He’s the perfect guest, to be honest – quiet as a mouse and always paying cash in advance without even having to be reminded. A writer, here to finish his latest book. Orlando Wren.’ She raised an eyebrow to see if either of them had ever heard of him. They shook their heads. ‘It’s a time-travelling love story, from what I’ve been able to gather, set in Wiltshire during Edwardian times and the near future. But he hates to talk about it, and I’m not sure that it’s going very well, to judge from the way he mutters to himself, so probably wisest not to ask. Not that you’ll see much of him anyway, except maybe at breakfast. He stays in his room all day, tap-tap-tapping away. Or he goes off on long walks, gesticulating like a madman. It would drive me nuts too, being alone all the time. Oh, and speaking of breakfast, it’s downstairs in the dining room from seven-thirty onwards. Though I can do earlier on request.’

  ‘Seven-thirty will be fine,’ said Elias, heaving Anna’s case up onto the bed in the back bedroom – the one, noted Anna with quiet appreciation, that offered her the view of Liddington Hill, rather than the front lane.

  ‘You each have kettles and teabags and fridges, of course,’ said Samantha, ‘but you’re also more than welcome to use my kitchen of an evening, if you don’t fancy going out. I have a terrible weakness for buying all the latest gadgets I see on cooking programmes, so you’ll find everything in there you could possibly want. Honestly, you could film your application videos for Masterchef in there – though I’d rather you didn’t. All I ask is that people clean up after themselves. It’s amazing that I even have to say this, but you wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve come down in the morning to find the place a bomb site. People are strange, aren’t they? Oh, and you mustn’t mind me being in there, if I’m cooking for myself. I have to eat too. And you may have to put up with my dogs as well. Tristan and Gertie. It used to be Tristan and Isolde but then poor Isolde got hit by a car and I was so heartbroken that I couldn’t bring myself to call her replacement Isolde. So Gertie it is. Shut them in the utility room if you don’t want the company, but they’re liable to whine piteously if you do. Though it’s not much better if you let them in, to be honest, because they’ll sit at your feet and stare up at you with the biggest, saddest, wettest eyes you’ve ever seen, beseeching you for treats. I beg you to resist. They have sensitive digestive systems, especially Tristan, my Lab. Solids I don’t mind so much, they’re part of the deal with dogs. It’s scrubbing up all that melted chocolate after it’s got deep into the carpets that gives me the shivers.’

  ‘Message received,’ Elias assured her.

  ‘Good. What else? You each have keys on your bedside tables, along with codes for the Wi-Fi and my other house rules, which aren’t terribly oppressive, I don’t think. No curfews, exactly, though I do ask for consideration about making noise after it gets late. Honestly, that’s about it. Though, before I go, may I be rude and ask what brings you down here? Is this some kind of tryst?’

  Anna laughed. ‘No. We’re just friends.’

  ‘But didn’t I read in the papers that you were engaged?’

  ‘I had to tell the hospital that,’ said Elias, ‘or they wouldn’t have let me into the ICU to see her.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Samantha. ‘How very disappointing.’ But her eyes twinkled and she gave Elias an openly flirtatious look. ‘Then what does bring you down here, may I ask?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Anna. ‘We really shouldn’t talk about it.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Elias. ‘In fact, maybe Sam can help. I mean if this storm’s going to be as bad as it sounds, going out tonight won’t be much fun. How about we stay in and cook instead? If I buy enough for the three of us, we can pick Sam’s brains while we eat.’ He turned to her with a cocked eyebrow. ‘If that’s okay? Unless you’re already doing something?’

  ‘No. Free as a bird. That would be lovely, if you’re sure?’

  ‘Excellent. It’s a date, then. Any allergies? Any foods you won’t eat?’

  ‘If there are, I haven’t discovered them yet. But tell me, what sort of thing would you want to know?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Anna, dropping her voice a little. ‘This mustn’t go any further, but we’re developing a series on lost British treasures for the BBC. The Time Detectives kind of thing, with me being the time part, and Ben here being the detective.’

  ‘How thrilling!’

  ‘Yes. Well. Nothing’s been signed yet, so we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. Our problem is that it’ll take more than King John and Beowulf to make a proper series. And I’ve heard intriguing whispers about some discoveries being made on what I think must be the farm next door? I don’t know if there’s anything to them, but—’

  ‘Oh, there is, there is,’ said Samantha, seizing Anna by her arm. ‘There absolutely is. I knew that was why you were here. I just didn’t want to say. Come with me. Let me show you.’ She led them through the fire-door to the far end of the house and her own bedroom, her pillows and duvet mussed up and a pair of field-glasses on the windowsill. She drew her curtains all the way open so that the three of them could see. ‘That’s Grove Farm there,’ she told them, gesturing at the patchwork of fields the other side of a high hawthorn hedge that clearly marked the end of her own property.

  The nearest two fields lay side-by-side, separated from each other by a drainage ditch and another, lower hedge, set at right angles to Samantha’s own. Both were thickly carpeted by a straw of tall grasses, nettles and the like that had been mown down several weeks ago, to judge from their washed-out pallor. And each had a number of pits and trenches dug in it. A yellow mechanical digger with caterpillar treads and a large bucket on the end of its hydraulic arm was adding another trench in the right-hand field even as they watched, while half a dozen people stood around, eyes peeled in the hope of being the one to make some great discovery. There were two other men in the left-hand field, setting up a canopy with tarpaulins, rope and tent-poles, presumably in anticipation of tonight’s storm. ‘You won’t believe this,’ said Samantha, ‘but they’re planning to put up a whole lot of great big chicken barns right here. Incredible, isn’t it? Just imagine the noise! The stink!’

  ‘They’re really building them that close?’ asked Anna, startled.

  ‘Not the first ones, no,’ admitted Samantha. ‘They’re more over towards the house.’ She pointed vaguely at a roof and a pair of brick chimneys just about visible behind a line of firs on the far side of the fields. ‘But you know what these people are like. Once the first ones are up, they’ll argue it isn’t an area of outstanding beauty any more, what with all these hideous chicken barns. Before you know it, it’ll be nothing but barns as far as the eye can see. And the cruelty of it! Don’t get me started! I can’t bear to see animals mistreated. Look at my own run.’ She pointed down and to their left, at a large wire-mesh enclosure in which a few chickens were pecking the ground. ‘Only healthy, slow-growing breeds, with all the corn and space and water and sunlight they could wish for. And eggs to die for. You can have some for breakfast tomorrow. Talk about taste the difference. The only sad thing is having to cage them up at all. We used to let them roam completely free, only a fox took them, damn it to hell.’