Paul hurried through the gate into St Martin"s churchyard. An empty easel stood among the gravestones and long grass. There was no sign of Olwen. He walked among the gravestones, reading the names of the departed: Pugh, Jones, Davies, Evans, Hughes, Williams, Owen…
Pugh, Jones, Davies, Evans, Hughes, Williams, Owen…He paused and pondered. All these were Welsh names. No Saxons or Norsemen. Then he realised: Walden – the Valley of the Welsh. A Celtic enclave. And Olwen Williams its pagan priestess.
He found two fresh unmarked graves, with offerings of flowers, fruit and vegetables arranged at one end. He stared down at them, wondering if Dodds and his monkish thugs had been successful in reclaiming the souls of these unfortunate locals. The church and churchyard had not been deconsecrated,
