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Saxons and Danes at bay with his sorcery, but quite another to resist the Normans. He knows their brutal reputation.’
    ‘I don’t suppose there is any point in trying to seek redress for what he has done?’
    ‘No, he is the law here. The Earl doesn’t venture up here; no one in their right mind does – except you, of course.’
    Recalling the Druid’s account of his early life, William asks, ‘Where did he learn English?’
    ‘From me, although I suspect I wasn’t the first to teach him. I came here nearly fifteen years ago; I chose this place to be close to my friends in Scotland and because Ashgyll Force cleanses me. I like to wash away the dust of Palestine and the memory of Jerusalem every day. I also came here because I once had a very traumatic experience high in the fells of the Pennines. It changed my life.’
    ‘May I ask about the circumstances?’
    ‘You may. My life was saved by a man called Hereward of Bourne. You know of him?’
    ‘I do. He has become a legend, but I would like to hear about him from you.’
    Edgar appears to ignore William’s request.
    ‘Let me tell you about Owain Rheged. He is a remarkable man and his people are a lost tribe, full of strange rituals. He started to appear in the distance after I had been here for about a year and we had finished building our home. Then one day, as I was admiring the endless cascade of the Force, he appeared behind me, shouting and cursingin his language and pointing his ram’s-head staff at me. Eventually, I realized he was telling me the ground was sacred, so I fell to my knees and bowed my head. I felt certain I would be struck down, but he saw my gold ring and seal and relented. He just stared at me, then walked away.
    ‘I didn’t cast eyes on him again for several months. Then, one bright spring morning, he appeared with an oak sapling, their sacred tree. It stands over there, taller than my hall now. We have been friends ever since. I am very meek with him; he is a king, after all, and I’m only a prince.’
    William observes Edgar intently as he speaks about Owain, King of Rheged, and of the land of Hen Ogledd.
    He is tall and, although now stooped with the ravages of age, still has the bearing of a nobleman. His clothes are modest, no better than those of a minor thegn, and his only adornment is the gold ring of the House of Wessex, the royal Cerdician lineage of the ancient kings of England. Although its many wrinkles suggest much anguish in the past, his face has a kindly demeanour. His grey hair is cut short, as is his neat beard; only his dark eyebrows hint at his previous colouring. His steel-grey eyes are clear and alert; he carries no visible scars, and his aged hands are delicate and soft like those of a scholar.
    ‘Do you know there are still bears up here?’
    ‘That cannot be. The last bears in England died out hundreds of years ago.’
    ‘So, you don’t know everything, William of Malmesbury.’
    Edgar then asks his steward to bring him his winter cloak.
    ‘It’s cold enough for this today. Here, try it.’
    William takes the bearskin cloak and drapes it over his shoulders.
    ‘Well, it’s certainly a bearskin – ideal for your Pennine eyrie.’
    ‘Owain’s people know where the bears are. There are only a few dozen left, but they’re here all right. And lots of hungry wolves to keep them company. The Anglo-Danes who lived in the valleys – before King William butchered them – used to say that Owain could change himself into a bear or a wolf at will.’
    ‘Edgar, it is your life I have come to hear about. The mysteries of Owain Rheged can wait for another time.’
    Again, Edgar ignores William’s request.
    ‘He has a Roman centurion’s helmet and sword, hundreds of years old. He brought them here once; he’s very proud of them. They were passed down to him from his ancestors. The helmet still has some of its horsehair crest, a remarkable thing. He says he also has the head of the Roman who once wore the