‘Ah yes, I thought you might like that one. We are not all about dates and battles, we historians, you know? My interest is in all aspects of the past. Greta being an anthropologist opened my eyes to so many things. History is primarily about people. And people are complicated beings, who lead wonderfully complex lives. A belief system, rituals, magic, things beyond rational explanation … these are as much a part of what has gone before us in this mysterious place as any victorious army or change of political allegiance. Dear me, I seem to be giving a lecture. I do apologize, it’s just so stimulating to be in the company of someone with a genuine interest. I am enjoying researching the lake anew.’

Tilda smiles. ‘Have you discovered something more about the woman in the grave? Or about the bracelet?’

‘Not yet, but now that you are here to help, I believe we will make progress.’

‘It would be really, really helpful if we could try to find some more answers about who is in that grave, and who the bracelet belonged to.’

‘Excellent!’ He snatches up his reading spectacles, fetches two schooners from the sideboard, and quickly pours two generous measures of treacly brown sherry. ‘Here we are, let this be our concession to the festive merriment. Your very good health!’ he declares, raising his glass.

Tilda gulps the sticky drink and follows Professor Williams to his desk. ‘I’ve brought this with me again.’ She takes the gold bracelet out of her pocket and puts it on the ever-present map. She is disconcerted to discover how much she hates being separated from it. ‘In case we want to check the design again,’ she tells the professor.

‘Splendid. Now, I did come across something the other day … where did I put it? Oh, and you might want to have a look at this.’ He hands her a book declaring itself to be The Anglo Saxon Chronicles. He talks on as he searches through a pile of papers and volumes stacked on the floor and reaching halfway up the overstuffed bookcase. ‘In there you’ll find one of the only mentions of the crannog as inhabited. I’ve marked the page … Ah, yes, and this might be useful…’

While he digs on, Tilda turns to the relevant entry. ‘This bit here? Yes, I see …“AD 917. This year was the innocent Abbot Egbert slain, before midsummer, on the sixteenth day before the calends of July. The same day was the feast of St. Ciricius the Martyr, with his companions. And within three nights sent Aethelflead an army into Wales, and stormed Breconmere; and there took the king’s wife with some four and thirty others.” Okay, Breconmere is one of the old names for Llangors Lake, Llyn Syfaddan being another…’

‘You’ve been doing your own research, I see. I am impressed.’