Gaius nodded slowly, folding his alderwood notebook shut and tucking it away into the leather bag on his shoulder with his stylus and pens and wax tablets. It had been a good year for trade. He was well satisfied. He smiled as he saw the ship owner approaching in a small tender. The sailors tied it to the ladder and he climbed up stiffly to stand on the quay beside Gaius.

‘It has gone well, my friend.’ He held out his hand. Gaius clasped it. Joseph was one of his regular customers, arriving almost every year on one or other of his ships. Of sturdy build, with grizzled hair and bright intelligent eyes Joseph from Arimathaea was one of the owners he most looked forward to meeting each year. In his early sixties, wealthy and extremely well read, the man was a fascinating conversationalist and a mine of information. Gaius always hoped there would be time for a drink or a meal together and a chance to gain news of the wider Empire beyond this distant outpost.

‘You sail on the tide?’ Gaius led the way to the mansio, one of the cluster of tabernae and cauponae which had mushroomed around the little port. This was the most respectable of the buildings and served, besides ale and the local cider, passable imported wine.

Joseph shook his head. ‘Not quite yet. I am waiting for my nephew. He left word here that he is ready to go home. I sent messengers yesterday to tell him my captains say we have to sail within the next few days. The weather is about to change. Hopefully he will take the hint and leave at once.’ He glanced up at the lowering skies with a shiver, noting the wheeling gulls with a professional eye.

Gaius smiled. ‘Your nephew has been causing a certain amount of excitement in our community.’

‘Really?’ Joseph smiled fondly. ‘Why does that not surprise me!’

The two men commandeered a table near the fire and Gaius beckoned a serving girl over. He ordered wine and, with a regretful sniff at the luscious aroma of roasting boar which permeated the building, asked for fish stew in deference to his guest’s religion.

‘There has been a problem, to my enormous regret. My brother Flavius arrived from Galilee.’

Joseph’s eyebrow shot up. ‘I didn’t know you had a brother, never mind out there.’

‘No.’ Gaius pulled a wry face. ‘Not something to brag about. We don’t get on. He works for Herod Antipas and it appears that your nephew has been targeted by the Roman authorities. You need to get Yeshua away from here as fast as possible. It is a blessing from the gods that you are here now, and in a position to take him home.’

Joseph frowned. ‘I thought he would be safe so far away from Galilee,’ he said with a sigh. ‘But I suppose am not surprised to hear he has been followed. He was destined to catch the attention of the authorities since he was born. His mother, my niece, fears for him every moment of the day. We hoped that if he went away to study he would be safe and allowed time to prepare for his destiny in peace.’

‘His destiny?’ Gaius reached for the jar of wine and poured two beakers. The two men clinked them together.

Joseph pulled a face. ‘If the prophecies are to be believed, it appears God has a very special mission for him.’

Gaius studied him over the rim of his beaker for a moment. He saw a mixture of emotions flit across his companion’s face. Sorrow. Pride. Regret. Determination.

‘So, that is why you brought him here. To get away from the Empire.’

Joseph smiled. ‘I didn’t exactly bring him by force. He has travelled all over the world in the last few years. But he recalled these islands from when I brought him as a boy, do you remember? He loved this land and he wanted to study with the druids. Their reputation as philosophers and theologians stands very high amongst men of learning.’

‘But not with the Emperor, I gather.’

Joseph shook his head. ‘The Emperor won’t tolerate any stratum of people who are organised enough to oppose him. It is very hard in Gaul.’ He sighed. They fell silent as the girl brought their plates. The stew, thick with leeks and flavoured with chives and mustard seeds was excellent. It was served with chunks of bread and savoury bean and mushroom fritters. For several moments the two men ate in silence.

‘I take it that it was no coincidence that your brother came here,’ Joseph said thoughtfully at last. ‘He had information about Yeshua’s whereabouts?’

Gaius nodded. ‘He wasn’t paying a visit out of fraternal affection.’

Joseph noted the grim line of his friend’s mouth and nodded slowly. ‘As you say, Yeshua is in danger. We must leave as soon as he arrives.’ He shrugged. ‘I have to go soon anyway. Another day or so and it will be too late to sail this year.’

‘Is your crew trustworthy?’

Joseph nodded. ‘They have been with me for years. I can vouch for every man and boy on the ships.’

‘You had better take no more passengers then, my friend,’ Gaius said grimly. ‘Collect your nephew and go on the first tide.’ He stood up. ‘I will head back home tomorrow. If he is still at the college when I get there I will speak to Fergus Mor and precipitate matters and in the meantime try and delay my brother, much as it pains me to think of him for even another minute under my roof.’ He paused with a grimace. ‘Yeshua will be much missed. From what I gather he has made many friends here.’

Joseph nodded. ‘He is a very special young man.’

‘Then we will do our best to look after him.’ Gaius reached out to clasp the other man’s hand. ‘I shall see you next spring if the gods are willing.’

Joseph nodded slowly. ‘If God wills,’ he echoed, but so quietly his friend did not hear him.

Greg Solway was tall, completely bald and wore rimless glasses. He arrived at Ben’s door at midday in a bright red open-topped MG and, climbing out, leaned in to extricate a shabby overnight bag, a laptop and a rucksack.

He turned as the door opened behind him and raised his hand in greeting. ‘Sorry. I expect you heard the old girl. Bit noisy these days. I shall have to get rid of her. My carbon footprint must equate an entire small country but I try and make up for it in other ways.’ He strode forward and held out his hand. ‘Greg. I take it you are Ben?’

Ben nodded, wincing under the force of the man’s handshake. He led the way in and took Greg straight to his study where Janet had set a tray with a decanter of sherry, another of whisky and an array of glasses. Greg rubbed his hands together appreciatively as he headed for the fire. ‘A bit colder than I expected with the lid down, in spite of the sun. Whisky please, Ben. No water. OK, tell me everything you know. I take it Abi is not here?’

The two men talked for an hour, then continued their discussion over the cold lunch which Janet had laid out in the dining room. She had tactfully left them alone. It was when they went into the kitchen to brew themselves some coffee afterwards that Ben reached for the phone and put in a call to Abi. There was no reply from Woodley or her mobile.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Greg said easily. ‘Why don’t I go over to your brother’s house on my own, if he doesn’t mind, and take a look at the places all these things have been happening. The ruins; the little church. The orchard.’

He found it easily and left his car in front of the house. There was no-one else there as far as he could see. The back garden was warm, ablaze with autumnal colour in the sunshine. He strode towards the far end of the lawn, looking about him with interest. So far he had felt nothing untoward.

Heading up the deliverance team which served part of David’s diocese, he had a wealth of experience in dealing with the paranormal. Before his ordination twelve years before he had been a practising psychologist for ten years, then he had quit to study parapsychology at Edinburgh. He had been psychic his whole life. Most of the stuff he had to deal with was low key; unhappy souls, restless spirits, egos trapped by the power of their refusal to let go. He had visited houses and public buildings, pubs, the scenes of fatal car crashes where the deceased hung around in confusion and misery, not sure what to do, even on one occasion a supermarket plagued by a poltergeist, but never yet a Roman ruin, nor yet an active church.

He found the ruined arch easily and sat down quietly on the wooden bench to pray.

Abi had climbed the Tor once more, inexorably drawn to it and its strange powerful energies. This time she had sat alone, staring out across the levels, her back to the other people up there, trying to imagine herself into the distant past. It hadn’t worked. The day was still and bright. The sound of voices carried round her, dragging her back to the present. On the flanks of the Tor the grazing cows were restless. She could hear them mooing disconsolately. On a road in the distance she saw the glitter of car windscreens. In the end she climbed to her feet and began to descend.

The first thing she saw when she reached the drive was the bright red car. She stared at it dubiously as she let herself into the house. There was no sign of Mat or Cal or the dogs. She was just going out into the garden when the phone rang.

‘Abi?’ It was Ben. ‘Have you met Greg yet?’

The church was empty. She went back outside and looked round the churchyard once more, walking slowly between the ancient graves, listening to the gentle sad song of the robin perched on a lichen-covered elder bush. The air was unnaturally still. And then she heard it. Far in the distance the sound of monks singing. She stopped in her tracks, listening hard. The sound was very faint. She looked back at the church, but the sound was not coming from there. It seemed to be shifting, now coming from the orchard below, now from the flat green fields of the levels with their straight watery rhynes. Slowly she made her way back towards the lych-gate, following the sound. She could feel the skin prickling slightly on her arms.