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exploited by countless people in countless different ways and yet its endurance was absolute: the same sun hangs above the same cleft in the hills; the same uncaring wind bites hands and face. And I know everything, and nothing, Tom thought; I stand here, full of learning, I could give you a pretty good run-down on the last two thousand years, and I know nothing, I am constantly amazed by the world, I am as surprised by life as whoever it was Hugh Paxton dug out of this barrow. I have cost the state several thousand pounds, my head is full of expensive information, and my judgement is probably no better than the last man’s or the one before. Of course, I have scepticism, and rationality, and unbelief, which I suppose is better than bigotry and superstition and credulity. I am not likely to kill anyone else, except under great provocation, neither am I likely to take violent exception to people not feeling the same way as I do about things, and I probably won’t trample on those less able to look after their own interests. All of which adds up to quite a lot, on reflection. But… but the fact remains that I stand here, knowing everything that I know about what has been, and I know very little about what is. I live in a mysterious world.
    Tony Greenway appeared beside him. ‘It’s rather a super place, I must say.’
    ‘Mmn.’
    ‘I’ll certainly want a sequence here. What I shall never get across, alas, is the atmosphere.’
    ‘You think it’s got an atmosphere?’
    ‘Oh, Lord, yes. I mean, one has this feeling of immense antiquity, of so much having happened up here.’
    ‘Actually,’ said Tom, ‘this isn’t Charlie’s Tump at all. Kate’s frightfully short-sighted, as you’ve probably noticed, and with the light being so bad she directed you up the wrong track. This is just what’s left of a gun emplacement from the last war.’
    There was a silence. Tom said, ‘Sorry, I’m pulling your leg, of course – I couldn’t resist it.’
    Tony laughed. ‘Point taken. All atmosphere is in the eye of the beholder. Romanticism.’
    ‘Quite. Which isn’t to say that I’m not all for it. I think we could do with more of it – projection of feelings. It’s not doing it that’s dangerous.’
    Tony said earnestly, ‘You know, I do so agree with you, Tom.’
    ‘Well, we’ve got you one location, anyway. It makes me think of Urn Burial , this place. “The treasures of time lie high, in Urnes, Coynes, and Monuments, scarce below the roots of some vegetables”.’
    ‘Hold it a minute. Say that again.’
    ‘ “The treasures of time lie high…” ’
    ‘I like it,’ said Tony. ‘We’ve got a title, too. The Treasures of Time. Great. What is it, did you say?’
    ‘ Urn Burial . Browne.’
    ‘Ah.’
    ‘What’s happened to Kate?’
    ‘She thought that lamb had got its head stuck through the fence – she went to investigate.’
    It was almost dark now, the definition of shapes – trees, hills, hedges – fading every minute. Tom, filled with sudden high spirits said, ‘Wait here a moment.’ He slithered down the side of the barrow, crept round to the clump of bushes at the far end, watched Kate groping her way back along the fence, leapt out and grabbed her by the waist as she passed.
    Kate’s shriek brought Tony scrambling down. ‘It’s all right,’ said Tom. ‘I was just testing Kate’s powers of imagination – they seem to be in good order.’
    Kate said, ‘You gave me the fright of my life, what on earth are you on about?’ but she slid her arm cosily through his.
    ‘I’ve just been lecturing Tony about the value of imagination.’
    ‘Imagination isn’t jumping when people behave like five-year olds.’
    ‘True, but it’s having some apprehension of the unknown.’
    ‘The unknown in other people,’ said Kate. ‘That being what my ma is so bad at,’ she added, more quietly. Tony, shuttered off by the twilight, stood a yard or two away, watching them politely.
    Tom said,