The Silver Witch(38)

‘Hello,’ says Dylan as he makes his way toward her. ‘Come to witness the great event?’

‘Sorry?’

‘They are hoping to exhume the skeleton today. From the grave they found. Or at least, that was the plan. I’m told the weather may hold things up.’

‘A body? Shouldn’t the police be here?’

Dylan smiles at her line of thinking. ‘I don’t think they work on cases over a thousand years old.’ He points toward the huddle of students, archeologists, and hangers-on. ‘They reckon the burial took place somewhere between the ninth and eleventh centuries. They’ll know much more once they can start testing the bones.’

‘Isn’t it strange to have a single grave like that? Why wasn’t the body buried by the church?’

‘Aside from the fact that it wouldn’t have been there then, you mean?’

Tilda shoots him a look, not enjoying having made herself sound dim.

‘Sorry,’ he goes on. ‘It’s a fair point. Saint Cynog’s might not have been built until the twelfth century, but there was a monastery here before that. So yes, you’re right, it is strange the poor person was planted out here on the boggy side of the lake all on their own.’

‘I remember the site of an old monastery being marked on your uncle’s map,’ Tilda says, pleased to be able to offer some intelligent comment. They stand and watch the diggers for a little longer. ‘Nothing seems to be happening,’ she points out at last.

‘The ground may be too frozen. They could damage the skeleton if they force it from the icy earth. There was some talk of warm water but that just opened up a whole debate about what evidence might or might not be corrupted. Academics, eh?’ he adds with a shrug, and then nods in the direction of the grave where Tilda can now see Professor Williams. He notices her and hurries over.

‘What a moment you have chosen to arrive! Such an exciting find. The skeleton appears complete. When Dylan told me what was planned for today I had to come and witness it for myself.’ The old man pushes his hat a little farther back on his head. His eyes are bright, his cheeks and nose flushed in reaction to both the cold and the excitement.

Dylan smiles at him. ‘Only you could get so worked up over a few bones in the mud,’ he teases.

‘A few bones in the…!’ The professor is aghast. ‘This is the most momentous discovery since the crannog itself. The body has lain for centuries in an unmarked grave. We can only begin to imagine what insights might be revealed upon examination of the remains,’ he explains, waving his walking stick to emphasize his point. He beams at them, shaking his head. ‘Can’t you feel the coming together of past and present in a moment like this? Another mystery of the lake about to reveal itself to us. Fascinating!’

Tilda experiences a sudden moment of dizziness. She closes her eyes for a second.

Steady. Should have found something to eat before I left the cottage.

She takes a breath and forces her attention to what the professor is gabbling on about. Somewhere in the flood of information and theories he is putting forward could lie the answers she has been seeking.

‘But why has it taken this long for anyone to find the grave?’ she asks. ‘I mean, people have known about the crannog and the settlements here for ages. How did this body stay hidden for so long? And why has it been found now?’

‘Well, there was no marker, no indication at all that there was anything here,’ Professor Williams says, clearly pleased by her interest. ‘All previous digs have been close to the crannog, or the monastery. This area is very boggy, and often underwater, not really suitable for a grave. Particularly if any grieving relatives would want to visit.’

‘Not someone with much of a family, then,’ says Dylan. He reaches out to pat Thistle, but the dog moves fractionally away from him, pressing against Tilda. He lets his hand drop.

‘That’s one possible explanation,’ the professor agrees. ‘Someone alone, with no one to contribute to the upkeep of a grave in the grounds of the monastery, perhaps. And yet it does seem a singularly odd choice of plot. Almost as if the person being buried was being pointedly kept at a distance from the inhabitants of the crannog. And from the monks and priests.’

‘So what made anyone decide to dig here now?’ Tilda steadies herself through another wave of giddiness.

‘Aah, well, you see, a very rare thing happened this year.’ He chuckles. ‘We had an exceptionally dry summer. There was a severe drought. The shoreline of the lake on this side receded by … oh, thirty yards or more. This phenomenon coincided with a field trip for students from Lancaster University—they were visiting the crannog—and one eagle-eyed young man noticed something unusual about the newly exposed area of land. Exceptionally bright student. He’s leading the dig now. That’s him over there … Lucas Freyn.’ The professor employs his stick as a pointer this time.