Agrippa nodded and took off his hat. He stood, one leg slightly pushed forward, tapping the hat against his knee whilst staring down at the skeletons. 'I was here,' he said in a half-whisper. 'Here?'

Agrippa's eyes shifted to mine. 'It's good to see you, Roger.' He walked a little closer. I caught the fragrance of his exotic perfume – sandalwood, I think, mixed with myrrh and frankincense. I stared at his face and tried to calm the chill of fear which ran along my sweaty neck. Agrippa's eyes had changed colour again, now they were light blue, innocent like a child's.

'Oh, yes, I was here,' he continued. 'A great hill fort once stood at the top of this hill. The Iceni owned it. Tall and blond-haired, they worshipped Epona the horse goddess and sacrificed prisoners by hanging them from oak trees.'

Benjamin had turned his back and was walking away to collect his cloak.

'The Romans killed them all,' Agrippa continued absent-mindedly. 'Slit their throats, men, women and children, and piled their bodies into a pyre. You could see the flames and smoke from miles around. Nothing changes,' he murmured. 'Nothing changes.'

What answer could I make? 1 have mentioned Agrippa before in my journals. He claims to have lived since the time of Christ. You know the story? A Roman officer, he insulted Christ on his way to trial, telling him to hurry. Jesus turned and said, 'Yes, I will hurry but you, you shall wait for me until my return.'

I don't know whether the story is true or not, but Agrippa was ageless. He was a lord of the mysteries and Grand Master of the Secret Order of the Templars as well as a prophet. He had whispered to me that fat Henry was the Mouldwarp, the Dark Prince prophesied by Merlin, who would lead the kingdom astray and drench its green grass in torrents of blood.

I know you don't believe me, yet Agrippa was a strange man. When old Henry died, rotten with syphilis, Agrippa pushed the dead king's fat belly into the coffin so tightly it burst.