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Merlin and that the bones are therefore capable of working miracles – then it would be wrong to close down a source of comfort and relief when our people so badly need all the help they can get.’
         For some time the Domina did not reply. Tiphaine, who knew rather more about what lay behind the affair than she had revealed to her Abbess, waited.
         Eventually the Domina said, ‘They are not the bones of Merlin. If miracles have happened, then this may be because of people’s expectations.’ Tiphaine could detect the care with which she was choosing her words. The Domina continued, ‘For one such as Florian of Southfrith to make money out of the exposure of bones that he falsely claims are those of Merlin is not only cruelly dishonest; it is also dangerous, for there is a force in that place that has been desecrated with which it is folly to meddle. For both reasons he must be stopped.’
        ‘Dangerous?’ the Abbess echoed, and Tiphaine saw her eyes widen in alarm.
         ‘Be assured, Abbess Helewise,’ the Domina continued implacably, ‘that the entity known commonly as Merlin has nothing whatsoever to do with either the bones or the miracles.’
         And with that, it appeared from the Domina’s demeanour, the Abbess was going to have to be content.
         After some time the Abbess spoke. ‘How do we prove it?’
         ‘I believe,’ said the Domina, ‘that, as far as the people are concerned, it is a matter of proving that Merlin is in truth entombed elsewhere.’
         ‘ Is he?’ demanded the Abbess.
         ‘They say so,’ replied the Domina enigmatically.
         ‘And his tomb is there for all to see?’ the Abbess pressed.
         ‘Oh, yes. I have seen the spot where they say Merlin lies entombed with my own eyes. There is a spring that bubbles out of the ground whose water is ever cool and sweet. Above it is a great slab of granite, shadowed by a thorn tree. It is told, is it not’ – she had fixed the Abbess with a penetrating stare – ‘that Nimü penned the enchanter up beneath a hawthorn tree?’ Before the Abbess could speak, the Domina pressed on, her voice now low, hypnotic. ‘There is a long white banner tied to the thorn bush and it floats and dances in the breeze. They come to worship and they scare themselves, daring one another to stamp on the great granite slab and then running wild in horror when the power is unleashed.’ There was a pause as the echoes of her dramatic voice faded and died. ‘But,’ she concluded in her normal tone, ‘they come to no lasting harm.’
         ‘And this – this place of which you speak, it is in truth the burial place of Merlin, magician to King Arthur?’ The Abbess pressed the point.
         ‘So they say, lady.’
         ‘Is it nearby?’
         ‘No.’
         ‘But it is possible to visit there?’
         ‘Yes.’
         ‘Then – then I should go and see for myself,’ the Abbess said decisively.
         The Domina eyed her and Tiphaine thought she saw a certain admiration in the look. ‘It is far away and to go there necessitates a voyage over the sea,’ she warned. ‘You would be absent from your Abbey for considerably more than a matter of a few days, Helewise.’
         ‘Oh. I see.’ The Abbess’s face fell. ‘Then I shall ask another.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘One who I know will agree to accept the mission.’
         ‘You speak of Josse,’ the Domina commented.
         ‘Yes.’
         The Domina nodded. ‘I believe that he is a wise choice,’ she agreed, ‘and I in my turn will propose a guide who will ensure that he reaches his destination safely.’ She was watching the Abbess closely; Tiphaine, who had a shrewd idea what was coming, thought she could guess why.
         ‘Who is this guide?’ the Abbess asked. ‘Josse will not be in any danger, will he?’
         The Domina shrugged. ‘There is always a certain peril in travel but he will