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explained. “The final part of the causeway leads directly down to the heart of the ringing stones themselves. Belanus, The Shining One, rises on the summer solstice directly in line with the solitary stone which we passed, and the light floods down to fill the cup made by the central ring. The outer circle which surrounds them, the ringing stones themselves, represent the circle of life. At midwinter the sun sets directly in line with the sacred way and the energy captured and held within the circle at midsummer drains away, returning to Belanus, restoring the god's strength for the coming year and completing the circle.” She crossed to the nearest of the upright columns and fished out a small iron rod which hung at her neck. “Listen carefully,” she said as she leaned closer to the stone. Spearhafoc rapped the surface with the pendant and a high-pitched ringing sound carried to the awestruck men. She ushered in one of the warriors and handed him the pendant. “Let's see who has the gift among us.”
    The men shuffled their feet nervously, exchanging sheepish looks until Imma Gold shook his head and threw a look of pity around the assembled warriors. “I will go first. Wyrd decides the days left to you, not god stones.”
    They strained their ears as the duguth took the pendant and gave the column a sharp tap but no sound came. Imma shrugged and shot them a grin. “I'm not spooky. Who's next?”
    One by one the men came forward, and the reluctance to volunteer receded as it became plain that none of the men possessed what the girl had called 'the gift'. Finally only Eofer remained and, confident now that he would not cause the stone to ring, the eorle took the iron shank and struck the upright squarely.
     
    Eofer glanced back across his shoulder and cried out to his banner man as the dyke came into view. “Keep that herebeacn high Hræfen. I have ridden far too far to end the journey impaled on the point of an English spear.”
    Back in familiar territory, the men of the eorle's war-band exchanged smiles and happy banter as they grew nearer to the great earthwork of fleama, its high ramparts bringing back memories of distant Sorbiodunum to the travel-weary column. As faces began to appear along the palisade which ran the length of the dyke and the great wooden doors were hauled inward in welcome, Eofer's mind ran back through the journey which they had just undertaken. It had taken them three days to wend their way along the great chalk spine which carried the ancient path called the Iceni Hill Way, and he chuckled at the memory of the first night. They had pitched up at another of the hill forts which seemed to litter the countryside in the southern part of the island as the sun sat low on the horizon. The bright glow in the west had hidden their identity for long enough to enable them to enter the fort before the small force there could close the gates to them, and they had spent a safe and comfortable night among the party of Saxons who had been tasked with defending the outpost by their Atrebatic overlords. Eofer snorted with amusement as he recalled the wariness of the garrison that evening as the Engle cavorted around them. They had had the look, as Hemming had described them full of beery cheer, 'of mice caught by a party of cats', knowing that at any moment the captors could tire of the game and the claws would slide from their sheaths. Eager to have them on their way, the Saxons had promised to show the English the great white horse which had been carved into the hillside below the camp as it caught the dawn sunlight and, despite their doubts, the figure had proven to be a thing of wonder.
    The vistas from the highest points of the chalky hills had been impressive, and Eofer had come to realise that he must be among the very first of the English to see so deeply into the heart of the new lands. If he had harboured any doubts before, he was certain now that this island of rolling hills and trackless