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dusk slowly fell, the trees ranked densely to either side of them seemed to close in, to squeeze the green shadows in their dim, dusty depths. Somewhere close by, an osprey made its shrill, piping call. It was a cold, menacing sound, and it lingered long in the otherwise silent forest.
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    The barrow was a ten-minute walk up through the woods, located on a truncated spur overlooking the crashing waves on the island’s northern coast.
    It was perilously close to the cliff-edge, and exposed to the elements on all sides. As with many tumuli, it was little more than a rounded, grassy hummock, about 10 or 12 yards in length, but two things gave it away at once: the low tunnel dug several feet into its western end, and only partially sheltered by a small canvas awning, much of which flapped in tatters from its flexible aluminium frame, courtesy of the Cork University team’s unsuccessful expedition in the January of that year; and the sentinel form of the megalith, a vertical granite obelisk standing 10 paces to the west. This was about nine feet tall, and covered in mosses and lichen, though it had clearly been squared off at the top, indicating that, by origin, it had been hacked from its own bedrock, probably for the very purpose of being put here. Additional evidence of this was the vague inscription on its surface. Further examination revealed Icelandic-style runes, though even after tearing away much of the vegetation and getting in close with her eye-glass, Professor Mercy was not immediately able to decipher anything.
    â€œI think there’s a reference here to Halfdan,” she said, pointing out one particular passage. “He was one of Ivar’s brothers, of course. But I can’t be sure what else it says.”
    Alan and Craig glanced at each other curiously; to come across a piece of Viking writing that Professor Mercy was unable to translate, was a new experience indeed.
    A moment later, they were surveying the barrow itself.
    â€œI wonder how deep the Cork lot actually got,” said Linda, raising her voice to be heard over the wind.
    Craig crouched down. “Let’s check it out.”
    A moment later, he had ventured forward under the awnings, and had thrust his head and shoulders into the dark mouth of the passageway. A second passed, there was some grunting, then he began to wriggle his gangling body forwards, until only his legs were visible.
    â€œIt’s not bad,” came his muffled voice. He squirmed his way back out, and stood beating soil from his clothes. “They got a fair way – about three or four feet, which, if it is hollow, must be fairly close to the central cavity. There’s a heavy stone up, blocking any further access. Probably a portal.”
    Professor Mercy considered this, then nodded. “Good, very good,” she said, unslinging her pack.
    Barry sneered. “Imagine doing all that work then sodding off, just because of the weather.”
    Clive shook his head. “It can get pretty wild round here.” He licked a finger and held it up in the stiff wind. “This is nothing, believe me.”
    â€œLet’s not waste the valuable sunshine, then,” the Professor said, kneeling on the grass and laying out her tools. Though it was now late evening, she was clearly eager to get started.
    They debated briefly, finally deciding that while there was still a couple of hours of daylight left, it wouldn’t do any harm at least to try to enlarge the space around the portal-stone. As the previous party had already set timber struts up inside the tunnel, most of which appeared to be solid, this seemed a reasonable proposition. Among the Professor’s various tools, she had a small hand-axe and a pick. Only one person could get into the access passage at a time, so Craig took these, along with a torch, and went in first. While he was doing this, the others busied themselves finding a flat area on which they could erect the