“If giants had existed,” Freya continued defiantly, “in the way that they are reported to have been, they would have left exactly such an imprint on history. There are too many disparate sources, all with the same interior logic.”

“No, it’s impossible,” the professor replied, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “There is no archaeological evidence for-”

“That’s irrelevant!” Freya shouted. “There’s no archaeological evidence for anything until someone finds it! Absence of evidence isn’t the same thing as-”

“Miss,” the porter urged. He had now come partway into the row and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I must insist that you come with me!”

Freya gathered her bag and rose. “That’s no argument at all! If we were having this conversation two hundred years ago, you’d say that Troy didn’t exist either, but they found that, didn’t they? Then they thought twice about the so-called Myths of Troy!”

The professor stood silently and patiently as Freya was led out of the room in the company of the porter, and then she resumed her lecture with the legend of Brut. She had to run very quickly through, rather ironically, textual variants in Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae, but she came through the ordeal in the end.

Outside, Freya was enduring another stern and predictable talk that referred to the student code of conduct and the privileges and responsibilities of studying at Oxford. Her mind was racing and she was angry, though mostly at herself. Idiots. They didn’t understand. Things weren’t “true” or “not true” just because they wanted them to be. History didn’t follow the rule “the most convenient is true.” But it was impossible to explain to anyone who didn’t want to listen. Why did she even try?

That was the real question: why did she even try?