'What's that?' asked Emma, viewing it with alarm.
'I'm not sure what it was meant to be, but it's said to be a Stone Age circle—heaven knows what function it was meant to fulfil. The Romans used it later as a theatre, they lined it with seats. The banks are made of chalk under all that grass.'
They travelled on across open countryside, and even from that distance could see Maiden Castle clearly, the great green ramparts some sixty foot high in places, running for miles.
'Just think,' said Emma, 'when it was first built it must have been even higher. After two thousand years the weather must have eroded it enormously!'
'That's true,' said Ross in surprise, looking at her with a curiously arrested look. 'I hadn't thought of that.'
They drove along a bumpy, chalky track between farm fences and found a rough car park at the end of it. A stile marked the beginning of the track up to the Castle. There were already several hardy visitors making their way along the ramparts above.
It was a steep climb upwards, but the wind rushed over the grassy rings with a freshness which was invigorating, and it was pleasant to stride out, filling the lungs and exercising the body. Overhead hung larks, small black marks against the sky. The sheep grazed quietly around them, tearing at the grass with concentrated intensity.
When they had penetrated the inner rings they walked along the ramparts, gazing down over the countryside with interest. It lay open to their gaze
towards Dorchester, the outline of the small town discernible as it was not when one was within it.
'What a superb view,' said Emma. 'It puts one into touch with the past, walking up here.'
Ross nodded. 'Yes, a haunted place, despite its beauty.'
'I wouldn't like to spend a night here,' said Emma, shuddering. 'I can imagine the ghostly voices crying over these ramparts.'
Ross laughed, giving her an indulgent look. 'The wind, my dear girl. I wasn't speaking literally when I said it was haunted. I just meant that it reminded one of things best forgotten… old tragedies, old griefs.'
Obstinately, Emma said, 'All the same, you wouldn't get me to come up here at night. Although there are no buildings, it has a far more ghostly atmosphere than the Tower of London or Dover Castle.'
'How you women love mystery,' Ross teased. He glanced at his watch. 'Sorry to rush you, but I'm afraid we must go if I'm to take a look at Joe Wing's horse.'
They climbed down and drove on until they reached a farm track. At the end of it stood a square, no-nonsense house with barley sugar chimneys and a gabled roof. 'An odd mixture,' Ross told her as they got out of the car. 'Joe rebuilt the house after the war, but he used a lot of the old house, so the fabric of the building is partly very old, partly very new. The chimneys are Elizabethan, so are the tiles. Some of the bricks are old, some are new.'
They went round to the outbuildings at the side of the house, backing on to a cobbled yard, and found a gnarled old man forking hay and clover into the feeding troughs in the stables. He looked round, saluted them silently.
'Let's take a look at this horse,' said Ross.
'Aye,' said Joe Wing. He jerked a thumb at the end loosebox. A tall raw-boned bay was standing there gazing at them with a melancholy look.
Ross went in to examine him, and the bay leant idly against him as Ross lifted his foreleg. 'Get off me, you great oaf,' Ross said easily.
Joe Wing chuckled. 'Aye, he's the lazy one, big lummox!'
Ross probed gently. 'I'm afraid he's got a mild strain again. He's always had that tendency, hasn't he?'
'Always been lazy,' said Joe, spitting to one side in contempt.
Ross laughed. 'Oh, I don't think he does it deliberately.'
'Oh, aye, for spite, pure spite,' Joe Wing nodded.
Emma wandered off to look idly around the yard, and saw a cat writhing about in a dark corner of an old barn, her head assaulted by her paws from time to time, her whole motion that of great pain.
She called Ross, urgently, and pointed out the cat. Ross quietly crept up and lifted it, spitting and writhing.
'Wild as a crocodile, that one,' said Joe. 'Farm cats! They never come indoors, winter or summer.'
Ross deftly examined the small creature. It was fine-boned, rough-coated, a thin little creature. With difficulty he opened its jaw and Emma exclaimed in horror as she saw the fish hook caught in its gums.
'I thought so,' said Ross. 'She's been fishing, but it was she who got hooked.'