Marc Chadbourn - The Devil in green

Through the thin late-afternoon light, Westbury Hill loomed with seemingly unnatural steepness in the flat landscape, so heavily wooded around the lower reaches that they had to dismount and tether their horses. At Hipgrave's urging, they forged on, the breath burning in their lungs from the exertion of the climb. Finally, they reached the flat, treeless summit where the wind blew fiercely. In the twilight, they could just make out a figure picking its way over the banks and ditches of the hill-fort about half a mile away.

'I don't like it up here,' Miller said. 'There's a bad feeling.'

As they moved uneasily across the open space, crows flapped all around, their eerie calls sounding like human cries for help.

'We were told to keep away from old hill-forts in one of Blaine's briefings,' Daniels said.

Mallory recalled his experience on Old Sarum, and knew why.

'It was one of the classes before you joined us,' Daniels continued. 'They gave us a list of places we should approach with caution: hilltops, particularly where there were standing stones or ancient earthworks, some lakes and rivers, places that folklore linked with fairies or other supernatural creatures.' He smiled thinly. 'I presume they thought we might be corrupted by the sheer paganness of them.'

The icy wind made the hilltop feel even more lonely. They came across a standing stone set in concrete with a plaque that said, To commemorate the Battle of Ethandun, fought in this vicinity, May ad 878 when King Alfred the Great defeated the Viking army, giving birth to the English nationhood.

The Iron-Age defences made the going hard; pits and slippery banks lay hidden in the undergrowth, so they were constantly in danger of turning their ankles or breaking bones in a fall, but the uncomfortable atmosphere made them even more cautious. There was no longer any sign of the cleric.

Bratton Camp lay on the north-western edge of the hilltop, overlooking a drop that was so steep and high it took their breath away. The B3098 was like a white snake far below. Next to the road, a giant factory that had scarred the ancient landscape now stood abandoned like some child's toy. In the last of the fading light, the shadows of clouds scudded across the surrounding fields.

'Look at that.' Miller indicated an area of white on the steep slope below them. As they moved around, an enormous horse came into view, carved in the chalk that lay just beneath the scrubby grass.

' "The oldest white horse in Wiltshire",' Gardener read from a sign, ' "dating from 1778 but preceded by a much older version, date and origin unknown".'

'Join the knights and see the sights,' Mallory quipped, before adding, 'What do you reckon, Daniels — Iron-Age camp, ancient white horse, a standing stone and undoubtedly lots of folklore? Are the alarm bells ringing?'

Hipgrave raised his voice above the howling wind. 'Stop chatting — keep your minds on the mission. We need to fan out…' His order was cut off when he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye.

The figure was disappearing behind an enormous earthwork that looked to Mallory like a neolithic barrow mound: he glimpsed only white face, shock of white hair, black clothes, the fleeting glimpse of a dog collar.

'There he is!' Hipgrave said. 'Halloooo!' he yelled, waving in the figure's direction.

But the figure had already disappeared. A few seconds later, they heard a muffled scream. They all stared into the growing gloom, listening intently.

'Quick!' Hipgrave barked. 'He's in trouble! Let's get over there!'

Even in the heat of the moment, Mallory couldn't shake the feeling that what he had seen hadn't been quite right. It was a long way away and the light had been poor, but the vicar's white face had appeared oddly inhuman. Something in the shadows of the eyes and the black slash of mouth had made it seem more an approximation of a man, perhaps not a man at all.

They ran across the fort, past the barrow mound. There was no longer any sign of the cleric.

'Take it easy,' Mallory cautioned.

'No!' Hipgrave yelled back. 'He might be in trouble!'

Yet even he was forced to come up sharp when he saw what emerged from the near dark on the other side of the fort. Ranged across the northern corner, branches had been roughly hammered into the ground and from them hung the skulls and dismembered carcasses of a variety of animals: badgers, foxes, rabbits, crows, smaller birds. Some were mere bones, picked clean by scavengers. Others were fresh kills, mouldering as they hung, glassy-eyed.

'What's going on?' Gardener said. The scene had an unnerving element of ritual about it.

'A warning,' Mallory said. They eyed the grisly display warily, each of them trying to discern some meaning in the arrangement of carcasses. Though it was probably their imaginations, the wind appeared to pick up at that particular spot.

Drawing his sword, Hipgrave cautiously approached. The others followed, keeping watch on all sides.

Beyond the barrier, they could just make out a series of shadowy pits scattered seemingly randomly. They were surrounded by a complex arrangement of twisted bramble torn from another location, and more embedded branches that had been fashioned into lethal-looking spikes.

'It's a maze,' Daniels said.

'What's behind all this?' Gardener said uncomfortably.

'Call out to him,' Miller said, patently hoping they wouldn't have to venture further.

'I don't think it would be too good an idea to announce our presence.' Mallory moved up beside Hipgrave to scrutinise the area more closely. 'It's a trap. Got to be.'

Hipgrave had already come around to the same way of thinking. 'If he's in there, we've got to go in. It's our duty.'

'I know,' Mallory replied, 'but the question is, is he really in there?'

'You think all this is.some kind of elaborate plan to get at us?' Daniels said. 'With all due respect to my esteemed colleagues, we're not worth the effort.'

'Look, here.' Mallory pointed to a route amongst the pits and barricades. 'If you go carefully, you can enter. But you wouldn't be able to get out at speed. It'd be easy to slip into those pits — God knows what's at the bottom of them — or trip and get caught up in the brambles, or fall on those spikes. It's cunning, in a basic kind of way. Even worse if it's dark. We should leave it till morning.'

Hipgrave fingered his chin nervously, but kept his implacable face turned towards the pits. Mallory could see that the captain didn't know what to do, and was desperate not to make the wrong decision.

'He looked all right when he went in, didn't he?' Mallory pressed. 'We can afford to wait.'

But just as he appeared to have swayed Hipgrave, Miller piped up, 'Whatever built all this might have got him.'

Mallory flashed him a black look, but it was already too late. 'OK,' Hipgrave ventured uncertainly. 'We go in, but with extreme caution. Draw your swords.'

'What kind of thing would do something like this?' Gardener said again. He sounded sickened.

'Maybe it's not here right now,' Miller said, with forced brightness. 'We could get the vicar, get out and be off.'

'Maybe it's out hunting,' Daniels said blackly, 'for a few more little birds.'

'Those are the things it doesn't eat,' Mallory said. They all fell silent at that.

To his credit, Hipgrave led the way. The stink of decomposing animal flesh was unbearable as they passed the boundary line. Beyond it, the entire area felt different; it was almost too subtle to register, but it hummed away insistently deep in their subconscious: a sense of tension, a feeling of detachment as if they were just waking, or just falling asleep. The wind disappeared completely.

Mallory stuck close behind Hipgrave, followed by Daniels, then Miller, with Gardener bringing up the rear.