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Off With His Head
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2019
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Their breath rose up in three columns. The onlookers below them were wreathed in mist. From the bonfire on the other side of the battlements, smoke was blown into the courtyard and its lovely smell was mixed with the pungent odour of tar.
The Mardian Dolmen stood darkly against the snow. Flanking it the torches flared boldly upon a scene which – almost of itself, one might have thought – had now acquired an air of disturbing authenticity.
Dame Alice, with a wooden gesture of her muffled arm shouted: ‘Evenin’, everybody.’ From round the sides of the courtyard they all answered raggedly: ‘Evening. Evening, ma’am,’ dragging out the soft vowels.
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