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was Aeglingleigh in the Domesday Book. It would have been Aegl-ingas-leah in Anglo-Saxon, the clearing of the tribe of Aegl. Whoever Aegl was, he obviously decided it was a place to settle, somewhere to plant his generations.”
    Clare pronounced the name ‘ ay-gul’ as if it were as familiar a name as ‘ Day-vid’ , and he found himself grinning at her. The elfin woman in the dirty jeans and wash-and-go hair was transformed by her passion for her subject, but she caught his look, blushed, and sat down. When Clare spoke again her voice was more controlled, her academic persona now keeping the romantic streak in check.
    “Anyway, we got the body out in November, and pretty much stopped then.” Clare took off her glasses and polished them. Now she looked like a schoolmistress on a field trip. “The trenches kept filling with water, see? We waited for drier weather in case evidence was washed away in the rains. Ideally we’d leave it longer but the owners want their garden back now they’ve finished restoring the house. My professor has done a deal; we send in busloads of volunteer students over the Easter vacation, and they get their marsh excavated and landscaped free of charge. We’re planning how to do it today.”
    “What are you hoping to find?” Fergus wanted to reignite her excitement.
    “No buried treasure, if that’s what you mean.” Still the academic. Clare pushed her spectacles back onto her face and wrinkled her nose to make sure they were in place. She left a streak of mud across her cheek and Fergus found that slight vulnerability appealing. Clare’s small, gamine face made her look younger, but the first, faint signs of lines around her eyes told him she was at least a decade older than her students. “There wasn’t even a buckle with the body, but that isn’t unusual for finds like this. He was ritually sacrificed, you see, so they wouldn’t have needed to honour him with grave goods. We’ve found some human bone fragments and teeth from the same period, so we know there was once at least one other body in the vicinity, a female.” Clare touched the pocket of her jeans with one hand. The movement seemed instinctive, and perhaps connected with her mention of the female. “And if there were two bodies then there’s a good chance there’ll be more. The dig will tell us.”
    “Why the chicken wire?” Fergus nodded at the trench.
    “There’s a pair of swans who’ve been a bit aggressive, almost like they’re defending the place. Hey, I’ve got to go. Let me run you back to the village.” Clare stood up, throwing her coffee dregs towards the dig. Fergus gathered his crutches and stood to follow.
    “I don’t suppose you know a local woman called Eadlin? Red hair, rides a horse?”
    “I remember seeing a redhead on horseback, but don’t know her name. Try the shop or the White Hart, they’ll know.”

Chapter Eight
    F ERGUS DIDN ’ T NEED to ask again. As he lurched his way towards a pub lunch in the White Hart, he paused in the hotel reception to scan a large rack of handbills advertising local attractions. He pulled one out that had a silhouette of a horse and rider alongside the heading ‘Ash Farm Stables’ and which was, he read, ‘Only 2 Miles from Allingley’ and offered ‘Riding Lessons for All Abilities with our BHSII Qualified Instructors’. He didn’t know what BHSII stood for but it sounded impressive. ‘Escorted Hacks in our Beautiful Countryside’, it said, ‘Contact Eadlin Stodman telephone…’ There was even a map. Bingo.
    Ash Farm Stables looked a fairly run down place at first sight. Or perhaps at first smell would be more appropriate, Fergus thought, sniffing the wind in its muddy car park. Two dilapidated barns beside the farmhouse presumably provided accommodation for the horses, while a third barn had been converted into a covered arena where a small group of women were having a riding lesson.
    The front door of the farmhouse itself had an