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<h1>3</h1>

<p>The big storm blew itself out in the morning, leaving a trail of broken branches, a couple of deadfalls here and there, and enough roof-work to keep a team working for a month.</p>

<p>Out on the firth the wreck of the Cassandra and her twelve thousand tons of unrefined sugar from Central America settled on to the sandbank, the hulk humping out of the water like a dead behemoth.</p>

<p>After such a filthy night, the day was remarkably clear and warm. My first breath of salt air felt terrific as I stepped out of the front door, lanced by the dappled green fire that shot through the battlemented chestnut trees that lined the street. The garden was in not too bad shape, maybe a bit overgrown, and I made a mental note to get out the old mower soon, as well as getting up on the roof to inspect the storm damage.</p>

<p>I stretched in the sunlight and slung my leather jacket over a shoulder.</p>

<p>In the main street, a few people I remembered nodded hello and I nodded back and smiled and was feeling a whole lot better by the time I got to Holly's bar.</p>

<p>Inside it was dark and warm, already quite busy despite the fact that it was just past lunchtime. Up at the bar, a friendly looking barmaid, with dark hair and brown eyes flashed me a quick smile and went on pulling a pint for somebody else.</p>

<p>'Be with you in just a minute.' she said, and levelled off the dark flow of beer, pushing the tap back to let the brew gain a satisfying head.</p>

<p>She took the money and slung it in the cash register, then turned to me. Just then, her name came back to me. Linda something or other. Linda Milne. She was about twenty three or so, fairly tall and solidly but attractively built. She had lived a few doors along from me when I last lived in Arden.</p>

<p>'Yes sir, what would you like?' she asked, still obviously recognising me from somewhere, but not yet sure.</p>

<p>'Just a coke, Linda. It is Linda, isn't it?'</p>

<p>'Yes, how did you know? Have we met before?'</p>

<p>'Plenty of times. I'm Nick Ryan, I used to stay just .... '</p>

<p>'Oh, I thought I recognised you. You look much different in real life,' she interrupted. 'We saw you on the television.'</p>

<p>'I hope I look better than that}</p>

<p>'Yes, but you look taller, and younger as well,' she said.</p>

<p>' You've just made my day,' I replied, and she blushed a bit.</p>

<p>'You certainly look older. You must have been about ten the last time I saw you. How's your brother doing?'</p>

<p>' Very well. He's married with two wee boys . . . my nephews.'</p>

<p>'And how about you? Worked here long?'</p>

<p>'Oh no. I'm on holiday from university. I just work here part time.'</p>

<p>We chatted for a bit and I nursed my coke, promising myself to stay away from vodka for a while. My constitution was definitely not up to the hammering I'd given it last night. The cool drink went down easily and the bubbles scoured me out like steel wool. It felt good.</p>

<p>Linda the academic barmaid brought me fairly up to date on who's who in town. She accepted a drink from me and surprised me by just having a fresh orange juice. After an hour of Arden's recent history, in which she was as well versed as any woman in a small town, she rang the bell and shouted time. I told her I'd only dropped by to see Holly and she explained that he was still in his bed after being out all night after the wreck. I didn't explain that I'd been there too.</p>

<p>I went out into the street, deciding what to do next.</p>

<p>There were a couple of people I had planned to visit, but this was not the day for it. I'd also promised to go and see Alan Scott's dream house in Upper Arden, but that could wait. I stood outside Holly's, squinting in the sunlight, trying to make up my mind what I had actually planned to do. Nothing sprung to mind, so I just set off strolling down the Main Street, which was actually a section of the Kilcreggan Road which came into town from the east, became</p>

<p>Main Street for the whole length of its passage through Arden, and became Kilcreggan Road again on the other side. I stopped off at the newsagent and carried on east along the street to the break where a couple of smallholdings and paddocks formed a short green belt before the start of Milligs.</p>

<p>This had always been a favourite playing area. One of the fields was covered in bare patches where brown earth showed through the short worn grass. Kids had played football in this field since time immemorial.</p>

<p>The old pitch looked the same as it had done in my childhood, especially on a day like this, a high spring day with the sun higher and the bees buzzing about the flourish on the hedgerows, the daisies and clover bright asterisks against the green on the touchlines where the grass remained intact.</p>

<p>Along the far side there was a farm path. On either side it was bordered by strong hawthorn and privet. I turned into the path and strolled in the sunlight.</p>

<p>Old Mr Bennett, who owned the smallholding and never seemed to mind the hordes of kids ruining his field, was in the yard next to his cottage as I passed by.</p>

<p>He was tinkering with some sort of canister, and as I approached he put on an odd-shaped hat with a wide brim that came over his eyes. Just as I stopped, he looked up and raised a hand to ward off the sun.</p>

<p>' Hello Mr Bennett,' I said.</p>

<p>' Huh?' he grunted, just as smoke started belching from the canister.</p>

<p>'Damn thing,' he muttered and reached to cover the spout with a</p>

<p>small plastic cone.</p>

<p>'Do you need a hand?' I hadn't a clue what he was doing, but thought I might offer anyway.</p>

<p>'No, s'alright. Got the bloody thing now.' He looked me up again, straining against the sunlight to get a look at me.</p>

<p>'Oh, it's young Ryan isn't it?'</p>

<p>' Yessir.'</p>

<p>' Haven't seen you in a while,' he said, easing to his feet, a small, wiry man in dungarees. 'What're you up to, then?'</p>

<p>' Just going for a walk. Checking out the place. Seemed like a nice day for it.'</p>

<p>Old Mr Bennett lifted a scrawny arm and pushed the hat back on his head. It dawned on me that the thing was a beekeeper's headgear, for the fine protective gauze was rolled up behind the crown and tied with two neat laces.</p>

<p>'Want to come and watch?' he said. I nodded and he opened the gate that led on to a path between budding rose bushes. 'It's a bit early for a swarm. Mostly July, but there must have been something wrong with the queen.'</p>

<p>We went round to the back of the cottage and across a patch of ground where vegetables sprouted in straight lines. Beyond this was a small field, bordered with ash and sycamore. In the corner stood a dozen or so hives, white boxes against the green.</p>

<p>The old man pointed to a thick bush twenty yards away.</p>

<p>
    "There's the swarm. Lucky for me I noticed them before they all took off.'</p>

<p>I could hear, even from that distance, the soft hum of the bees. All around the bush there was dark cloud that waxed and waned in time with the buzzing.</p>

<p>'Come on. I'll see if this thing works. I borrowed it from Bert McFall last summer, but never got round to using it.'</p>

<p>The buzzing got louder as we approached and soon I could make out the individual bees. They sounded angry, and I said so.</p>

<p>'On no, that's just the noise they always make. They hardly ever swarm, so people don't know what a whole pile of bees sounds like.</p>

<p>' I've seen you doing this before years ago,' I said. 'You used a watering can.'</p>

<p>' That's right,' he nodded. 'I always have done. But McFall says this is easier. Quietens them down quicker, and it saves me lugging two gallons of water about every time I try to catch 'em.'</p>

<p>He started unrolling the netting and tucked the gauze in around his neck under his chambray shirt. With a motion of his hand he gestured me to stay back. He uncapped the canister and smoke started billowing out all around him, white clouds that drifted lazily in the calm air. Walking towards the bush he held out the smoke gun and started spraying the fumes into the heart of the swarm.</p>

<p>I couldn't see what was happening, but I'd watched him before, and I could picture the seething brown mass, like a huge gobbet of molasses clinging to the forked branch of the bush, thousands of bees snuggled round their new queen.</p>

<p>The noise was soaring up into the high register as the scouts milled about like tiny fighters.</p>

<p>From inside the cloud, Mr Bennett coughed as he breathed in the fumes. I hoped they were harmless. After about five minutes, the buzzing started to diminish and there were less scouts flying out from the swarm. The returning bees flew into the cloud and most of them stayed there. Soon there was hardly a hum from the swarm.</p>

<p>'Hey, young Ryan. Hand me over that box.'</p>

<p>I bent and picked up the carton which had previously held one of fifty seven varieties and moved in to the bush.</p>

<p>'There they are. This thing does work. Look at them. Sleeping like babies,' he said.</p>

<p>He wedged the box under the brown mass, grabbed the branch where the bees were massed, and gave it a firm shake. A large part of the swarm broke off the main body and fell into the box with a thud. He did this a couple of times, and then the whole mass slid down. A couple of bees dizzily flew out. The old guy deftly flipped the four top flaps one over the other so that they locked.</p>

<p>' That's us. We've got most of them. The stragglers should follow on.' He reached over with the box. 'Here, you take this and I'll get the smoker.'</p>

<p>It was surprisingly heavy. I'd never thought bees would weigh so much.</p>

<p>There was an empty hive nearby. He took the box laid it on its side, using his hat to fan fresh air into the mass of insects which were just beginning to stir.</p>

<p>' Watch this. The scouts'll fly out and some of them will check out the hive. They'll bring back word to the rest and they'll bring the queen in if they're happy. Sometimes they're not, and I've got to try another hive.'</p>

<p>Everything went exactly as he said. The outrunners crawled out and it didn't take long for them to find the hive entrance. As the old man had said, the scouts started coming back and did their little dance which encouraged more of their sisters to follow until there was a sizable advance party crawling all over the hive.</p>

<p>After about ten minutes, they must have been satisfied with their new piece of real estate for the whole swarm started to crawl up the ramp.</p>

<p>' Don't you ever get stung?'</p>

<p>'Not any more. I learned to go slow. But I got immune to the stings anyway.'</p>

<p>In his little cottage, he made a big pot of tea.</p>

<p>'I haven't been up this way in a long time,' I said. 'I just got home yesterday and then I was out last night with Murdo Morrison down at Ardmhor.'</p>

<p>' Not a place I'd go tramping in the dark. It's a <em>wrong</em> place, so it is.'</p>

<p>I recalled the bramble runner reaching for my hand. The scratches were still bright.</p>

<p>'Murdo didn't seem concerned.'</p>

<p>'Ach, what would he know? He's not been around as long as me. All I'm saying is it's no place to be at night. Never has been.'</p>

<p>He sipped his tea and looked over the rim. 'You ask Jimmy Allison. He'll tell you.'</p>

<p>'Tell me what?'</p>

<p>'He knows all the history of this place. Me and him and the Major get together down in the Chandler of a night. If anybody can tell you about Arden, it's your friend Jim. Have you been to see him yet?'</p>

<p>'No. I just arrived. Wanted to get settled in first.'</p>

<p>Old Jimmy Allison. Pushing seventy and one of the best friends I ever made.</p>

<p>Jimmy was the sub-editor on the Kirkland Herald when I was in my teens and facing the prospect of becoming the teacher my father wanted me to be. My grandfather knew this was not part of my plan. He worked through my mother and despite a couple of hot arguments with my father, he finally let Jimmy get me fixed up as a trainee reporter, and the rest, as they say...</p>

<p>Jimmy Allison was one of the most astute men I ever knew. He was big and old and rugged, and even then his hands were beginning to pain him as the arthritis started setting its teeth.</p>

<p>He knew newspapers inside out and had worked on them all. I thought he'd been a newspaperman all his life, but I was wrong. He'd done just about everything there is to do. The old man had run away from home at fourteen to work the fishing boats up in the Western Isles, then he'd been in the merchant navy, and he'd done a stint of fighting in somebody's army. After that he'd gone to Australia and made money in the opal fields and done a lot more besides.</p>

<p>A lot of what I am today is down to a few people in my life, and probably at the top of the list of credits is Jimmy Allison.</p>

<p>Mr Bennett brewed made more tea and friend some bacon for sandwiches. Both hit the spot.</p>

<p>'Are you still curing your own?' I asked.</p>

<p>'Not since Maggie went. Cancer. Quick, thank god. I was never as good as her at the bacon. I sold the boar, Old Grunt, and the sows to McFall up the road.'</p>

<p>I remembered the big boar from way back. A mean old thing with a temper that all the boys were scared off. Of the ball was kicked into the sty, then it stayed there.</p>

<p>'If you that he was a mean old pig, you should see his son. That's an evil one for you.'</p>

<p>'Worse than the Grunt? That's hard to believe.'</p>

<p>'The young 'un grew even bigger. A couple of years back it got out and into the trees. McFall and myself got the dogs out. We cornered it up the gully next to the seminary and it ripped the bellies out of two of them.'</p>

<p>He took another bite and another swig, and laughed that short rasp again. 'Ha. Even McFall was shaking in his boots. We finally got a rope around it. I was all for shooting the bugger, but McFall said no, so we lassoed the thing like cowboys and managed to get its legs together. It took five of us to drag it down the hill to his pen.</p>

<p>Then when we got it inside, McFall says to us to stand back and he goes in to cut the rope. He took one slice and that big bugger was on its feet like lightning and McFall almost gelded himself jumping over the fence. That boar took a snap at his boot just as he was going over and he landed right smack on the crossbar. He let out such a squeal it sounded just like the pig, and after that he showed us his boot. There was a rip the length of your hand right down the sole. Looked like it was razor cut, and they were no shop-bought boots neither. McFa1l said he got them up at McKenzie's who does the farmers' boots and the soles were nigh-on an inch thick.'</p>

<p>'He was lucky,' I said.</p>

<p>'Sure he was. That animal could have taken his leg off in one go. And he's even bigger than Old Grunt. I'm as sure as hell glad I don't have that to worry about. I've still got the goats and the Jersey cow. Them and the bees and what I grow here's just enough for me.'</p>

<p>He stopped for a moment, then went on.</p>

<p>'I reckon you've been away quite a while. There'll be a lot about this place that you'll have forgotten about and then it'll jump back up and hit you smack in the face. Good things too, I don't doubt. I hope you get settled back in quick. What is it you plan to do with yourself?'</p>

<p>' I'm giving myself a break from newspapers. They've changed too much. I've always wanted to write books, so I'm going to give it a try and see if I can.'</p>

<p>'Jim seems to have a lot of faith in you, so I reckon you'll give it a fair go,' he said.</p>

<p>' I'll take that as a compliment.'</p>

<p>' You do that, young Nicky. And come back any time.'</p>

<p>' That's a promise. I'll do that.'</p>

<p>'Go and see Jimmy soon as you can.'</p>

<p>'OK, that's another promise,'</p>

<p>'Oh, and don't forget to come up to the Chandler any night. You'll like the major.'</p>

<p>I made a third promise and thanked him for the tea and the sandwich and left the cottage. He came to the door and waved me off.</p>

<p>I walked down the path from Mr Bennett's and was about to get back on to the main road when on a whim I turned left up the main path to McFall's small farm.</p>

<p>I was curious about that pig. I skirted the yard on the track that took me behind the byre and into the field beyond. There was the pig pen. I could see the sows moving about and adjacent to that was a thick wooden fence - not just thick, it was made of solid pine logs - which was obviously the boar's pen. I could hear the snufiing grunt of the big animal, and the squelching, sucking noise as it pulled each trotter out of the mud.</p>

<p>Mr Bennett had been right. This was a big boar. I leaned against the spar and looked over. The movement must have caught the boar's eye, for it twisted its head then turned and looked at me.</p>

<p>Old Grunt had been a big beast. This one was
    <em>huge</em> . It looked at me from under those big flapping ears in that truculent, heavy-jawed way that pigs have, its little eyes glaring at me. A trickle of saliva dripped from the corner of its mouth.
</p>

<p>'Hey mister,' a high-pitched voice shouted behind me. 'Hey mister, watch out for the pig.'</p>

<p>I turned and two small boys, who turned out to be the younger members of McFall's sizable brood, came running towards me.</p>

<p>' It's all right. I was just having a look. It's a big pig.'</p>

<p>' He's a big
    <em>bad</em>pig, my daddy says,' the smaller one told me. 'Boot, we call him, 'cos he bit off my daddy's boot.'</p>

<p>' Yes, he's big all right. I knew his daddy a long time ago, when I was your age.'</p>

<p>'Pigs don't have daddies. They're just pigs.'</p>

<p>I wasn't prepared to get into an argument. I nodded and smiled, and turned to go.</p>

<p>' D'you need any eggs, mister'?' one of the boys asked. 'And we've got milk as well.'</p>

<p>'Not today, but I'll come back again another time.'</p>

<p>'All right then, but my dad says nobody is allowed near the pig.'</p>

<p>' Don't worry, I won't go near Boot. Honest'</p>

<p>As I walked away across the field I heard a crunch from behind me. I turned to look and the big boar was up against the pine fence, gnawing at the logs. Jagged splinters were peeling off the wood.</p>

<p>Jimmy Allison welcomed me with a huge smile when I arrived on his doorstep the next day with a bottle of Glenlivet ten year old in a presentation box.</p>

<p>'Not a phone call, and not a letter. Not even a postcard to tell me you were coming back.'</p>

<p>' Rubbish, I told you months ago,' I countered.</p>

<p>' Probably you did, but I can't be expected to read all the letters you write.' He held out one of his big hands to take mine. His grip was firm, but I almost winced in sympathy when I felt the distorted arthritic knuckles.</p>

<p>' Come in, come in.' He clapped his other hand on my shoulder.</p>

<p>'Here, I brought you some medicine,' I said, handing over the package. He knew what it was, of course, but pretended not to as he always did.</p>

<p>'For me? That's nice. What is it?'</p>

<p>' Sun-tan lotion, for the heat wave.'</p>

<p>He winked, and beamed again, his grizzled face creasing into parentheses, and let me inside.</p>

<p>' You'll have one, huh?' he asked, holding the bottle aloft to admire the amber in the sunlight.</p>

<p>' Too early for me,' I said, 'but you go ahead.'</p>

<p>'Well, just a wee one,' and he poured himself a tiny measure and sipped from a crystal glass.</p>

<p>'I suppose I can forgive the lack of correspondence just for that.'</p>

<p>' You've not been too hot in that department either. You can't afford a stamp?'</p>

<p>'Cheeky beggar. Like your grandfather. Come in. I'll stick the kettle on.</p>

<p>I followed him through to his study where the walls were lined with packed bookshelves and an old oak desk was piled with papers and notebooks.</p>

<p>' You've been busy then?'</p>

<p>'Never a dull moment,' he said. 'Still working on the town history, and maybe I'll get to finish it one day. I've had some help from the university after the dig.'</p>

<p>' Another dig?'</p>

<p>'Down past the Roman wall, beyond the stream. Strowan's Burn. There's another wall, but much older. Professor Sannholm thinks they're pre-Pict, and so do I.'</p>

<p>If Jimmy thought the archaeology was from Pictish times, I was inclined to believe him. It was due to his own research that a couple of decades back, they had discovered that the bracket-shaped mound around the neck of the Ardmhor peninsula were the remains of a Roman dyke. What had puzzled him was their reason for building it. The rock itself would have been an ideal fortress, but there were no remains, Roman or otherwise on the peninsula itself.</p>

<p>Jimmy pulled out a map he'd drawn of the area, filled with old place names, most of them Gaelic, based on maps dating from around the granting of the Burgh charter and even before.</p>

<p>' Look here,' he said, 'just south of the dyke. I noticed these mounds when I saw some pictures taken from a helicopter going up to the base. They are well inside the wall, but they run parallel to it from one side to the other. It's as if there are
    <em>two</em> walls.' </p>

<p>'Maybe the Picts thought the rock was a good fort too.'</p>

<p>' That's what you would think. But Professor Sannholm has found old Pictish relics all over the mud flats and in the fields surrounding Ardhmor. But there's never been anything discovered on Ardhmor itself.'</p>

<p>I looked at the map. The mounds were definitely parallel to the more recent fortification which itself was paralleled by the stream of Strowan's Burn which forked behind the farm and sent its waters east and west into the bays on either side of the peninsula.</p>

<p>'I remember the first time you told me about Strowan's Burn,' I said, looking over the old map which Jimmy had re-drawn a dozen times in the past twenty years. 'I'd never thought about it until you told me it was Saint Rowan's Burn.'</p>

<p>' Not a lot of people know that still,' Jimmy said. 'But I don't think he was a saint. The name Rowan is really ancient. If there had been a monk or a hermit around here, it would have been somewhere in the records. Most of them lived before Christianity arrived in these parts. Maybe they were the equivalent of sorcerers. Mumbo-jumbo men, or even just warriors.'</p>

<p>'But there was a legend about St Rowan,' I said. 'I remember you told me years ago.'</p>

<p>'Yes, I found it in a translated version of a field report of one of Columba's people who came down this way to convert the tribes. They had a pretty good organisation, even then. They'd send out their monks to make an impression and dig out the folk culture so they could change it around to suit the Christian dogma. The St Rowan story is just like Old Moses, you know.'</p>

<p>' I remember,' I said. 'He was supposed to have struck the rock with his rowan spear to bring the water of life to the people.'</p>

<p>' That's it. And that's where Strowan's Well is supposed to have come from, although why he should have bothered in a place like this I can't imagine. We've got more streams and rivers than we need.</p>

<p>'Anyway the professor found a wicker fence and a few other odds and ends last year just before the start of winter, but they're arranging a proper dig in a couple of weeks.'</p>

<p>'Will you be there?' I asked.</p>

<p>'Oh, I suppose I'll go down and potter around, but I don't get involved in any of the heavy work. I just like to chew the fat with the professor. We see eye to eye on a lot of things.'</p>

<p>' And are you planning to get any fishing done. Mr Bennett said the hands are giving you a bad time.'</p>

<p>'Yes, he said he'd seen you. Word gets around quick.'</p>

<p>'And you were always the first to know. I got more stories from your contacts here than I've had ever since,' I said.</p>

<p>'I wouldn't say that. You've been doing quite well. You shouldn't undersell yourself, but I gather you'll be working on a book just now.'</p>

<p>'Yes, once I settle in, although I've hardly had a chance yet. I was down at the shore looking for the men off that boat.'</p>

<p>' Yes, I heard that too. Murdo said there wasn't a sign of them.'</p>

<p>' No, we searched all over. It was a crappy night down there, but there was nothing at all. I don't think they could have come ashore there.'</p>

<p>'I don't know, it's a strange place.'</p>

<p>'How do you mean, strange?'</p>

<p>'Oh, nothing,' Jimmy said, and started rolling up the big map.</p>

<p>'No, go on,' I insisted. 'What's funny about Ardmhor?'</p>

<p>Jimmy turned to look at me, then looked away, shaking his head. I reached across and snagged his sleeve.</p>

<p>'What is it?'</p>

<p>' You'll think I'm rambling,' he said. 'And I don't want you to think the old man's getting senile.'</p>

<p>'Cut the crap. Really, I'm interested in why you say it's a strange place, because something odd happened to me when we were down looking for that boat.'</p>

<p>Jimmy turned suddenly and looked directly at me. There was something in his eyes, maybe concern, maybe surprise.</p>

<p>'What happened'?'</p>

<p>' I'm not sure. But just when we got past the old dyke .... '</p>

<p>'The Roman wall,' he corrected me.</p>

<p>' Yes, the wall. We had just gone back there when I started getting scared. I mean really shaky scared. As if there was something
    <em>there</em>. But there was no reason for it. None of the others seemed to be bothered.</p>

<p>' Then, when I was coming back with the others, I was last in line on the track up to the farm and I got caught in the brambles at the edge of the path. But at the time, I was in such a state that I thought they were actually trying to grab me, for Christ's sake. It was weird.' I looked at him, and laughed. 'Now you'll think
    <em>I'm</em>

    rambling.'</p>

<p>' No,' he said, and his voice was deadly serious. 'I don't think that at all. I've had that feeling myself. Once a long time ago, and the other only a week ago. As if I wasn't wanted there.'</p>

<p>' That's exactly how I felt. But that's nonsense. How can you feel not wanted in a <em>place</em> ?' </p>

<p>' That's what I've been trying to find out for years. It's a wrong place.'</p>

<p>'Mr Bennett said that yesterday. He said everybody knew that.'</p>

<p>'Well, I think he's right. But not everybody knows it.'</p>

<p>'I remember as a kid, my mother used to threaten me with all sorts of hard times if she ever caught me down there. That was after the accident, remember?'</p>

<p>'I remember that night all right, though I'm surprised you do. You were unconscious for a week.'</p>

<p>'You remember more than me. I can't recall a thing about it, only what my dad and grandad told me.'</p>

<p>' You'd been missing for a couple of days. You and a couple of your friends. Then old man Swanson found a jacket in the bushes at the edge of his farm and there was a big search all over that rock.</p>

<p>' That's where we found the three of you, under a rockfall. You and the girl and that poor boy who's never been the same since. Nobody knew how you got there or why you were there, but you were in bad shape by the time we got you out.'</p>

<p>'Yeah, I always a bit wild as a kid, climbing and falling out of trees.'</p>

<p>' What I'm saying is that in the spring of that year, after they'd done the dig on the Roman wall, I was down in Ardmhor one night looking for something I'd dropped, and I got a dose of the scaries. I came out of that place like a bat out of hell, and I was no youngster then, but I swear I'd have clocked up a record.'</p>

<p>'I often wonder what had happened then,' I said. 'But I suppose we'll never know.'</p>

<p>'No, I suppose not, but that was a bad summer here in Arden, a right bad summer. That was the year Henson down at Kilmalid Farm fell under his plough and got his hands near torn off. Then there were the bull terriers they were using for the fights down at the shore tore up that fellow that was breeding them. Forget his name now, but the sergeant, Jack Bruce it was in those days, said it was the worst thing he ever saw. Those beasts ate the man alive.</p>

<p>' Funny thing was, after all the things that happened that year, they stopped just after the end of summer, just about the time we pulled you out from under the rocks. I remember your Grandad at the time. He was worried out of his head, 'cause he was saying you were the latest victims. 'I remember asking him what he meant, and he just said 'This damned place has taken them.'</p>

<p>'What do you think he meant?'</p>

<p>' I don't think. I
    <em>know</em>what he meant. There's some people around here with long memories, and there have been bad years before. Years when some crazy things have happened.'
</p>

<p>'How do you mean?' I asked.</p>

<p>Jimmy finished off his coffee in one gulp. He put the cup down between the mementoes that crowded the little table beside his chair, then turned to me again.</p>

<p>' What I mean is that there were fourteen people died that summer,' he said. 'And it wasn't the first time. In 1906 there was another bad year when there were thirty deaths - and I mean killings. It was in all the papers at the time. They thought the whole town had gone crazy in the heat. Apparently it was the hottest summer in living memory then.</p>

<p>'And before that in 1720 there was the massacre at the priory, where the seminary is now, and they had to send a sheriff down from Glasgow with an armed militia. This goes way back. There's no rhyme nor reason to it, and I bet if the records were clearer we'd find more bad years going down through the ages.'</p>

<p>'But can you say it's abnormal? I mean every town's got a history of tragedy,' I said.</p>

<p>' That's true, but Arden's history is updated every now and again, like a catalogue of disaster. I know, for I've been through the records, even the old parish ones that go back for centuries, and a lot more dusty books besides. I told you about the legend of St Rowan, but there's other ones too. I'll dig them out for you some time, but I can assure you that some of the old Gaelic writings show that the old folk believed there was something wrong with this place. With Ardhmor. They called it the Sleeping Rock, and they had the notion that it woke up every now and again.'</p>

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