As Magistrate Unka's party drew nearer the town, Grouche's

apprehension grew...........until memory offered possible salvation.

Knowing  that Lord  Unka,  like  most  nobles,  was  Christian.  Grouche

saw his chance in a small path, near the town gates, that led to a small

clearing in the forest.  There, atop a small mound, rose the ghostly

shapes of the standing  stones,  sacred to the pagans of the area.  Whilst

most of the folk about the town professed Christianity, they kept small

household  shrines  to  far  more  ancient  deities.
 

                 Grouche,  while  pagan himself, knew it was custom amongst

the Christians to allow a condemned man to seek absolution before

death.   It was  usual to seek "Christian" absolution,  since  Grouche was

not baptized this was not possible.   The Magistrate would be unlikely to

allow time for that to be corrected.   Also, in Grouche's  favor  was the

fact that Lord Unka's King had wisely ordered tolerance of the pagans

and their customs.   'Twas said by some that the King himself was a

secret devotee of the ancient Roman cult of Mithras.

 
                        "Lord  Unka," began the Wanderer, "I wouldst ask of thee a

boon .......before God."  Grouche kept a doleful look upon his face, which

he greatly hoped  would be taken as "penitent".  Lord Unka, still

enjoying the reverie of his coming “entertainment," was feeling a rare

joy.   Now,  finally,  vengeance was at hand, repayment of the

humiliation this rapscallion had dealt him nearly a year before.  Lord

Unka swore silently that the repayment  shall  far exceed the original

deed.  Leaving his reverie, the Magistrate  slowed  his mount, allowing

Grouche  to come  alongside.  Glancing over at the Wanderer,  Lord

Unka nearly burst into laughter at the woeful look upon the wretch's

face.   Aye, he is about  something, thought Lord Unka, umm……

..............shall  I play?
 

                         "Wanderer, thou hast no right of boon from me,"  said  the

Magistrate, examining his fingernails as he rode.   Grouche bowed his

head,  and spoke in hushed tones,  "Aye,  M'Lord,  I am owed nothing

............but, I ask thee before thy God, I wish to make my peace."

 
                         Lord Unka was inclined to deny this request, but as a

Believer he could  not do so  without  risking  Divine  Retribution upon

himself.   He had no illusions of truth in the Wanderer's  request.  But he

was also aware  that  others  had  heard  the man, and a  denial  could

bring serious repercussions.   Lord Unka sighed……………..

excommunication could even be possible.   Damn the man..........
 

                            Maintaining his disinterested air,  the Magistrate replied,

"of course, Wanderer.......I will have the Bishop himself hear thy

confession...."    "Nay, nay, M'Lord"........... Grouche  objected.   Pointing

to the path ahead, he said,  "I must cleanse myself at the henge."  Lord

Unka spat in disgust,  "Pagan!  ......thee will surely burn in hell, you

make  mockery  of  Me?"  The  Magistrate  was  seething with

rage........drawing his sword,  he  prepared  to take Grouche's head, then

and there.
 

                          A murmur arose from the travelers around them.   Many

of them were glaring openly at the Magistrate......."tisn't right," says

one......  "the King  hath commanded the right,"  says another........

"Twould be Wodin for me," yet another.
 

                            Grouche the Wanderer sat rigidly in his saddle,

expecting the blow that would end his little  contrived  drama.   He had

pushed too hard.........the seconds passed and still he kept his head.   The

muttering of the crowd had grown louder and the group was now

encircled.   More and more people  crowded around the band, till Lord

Unka's men felt compelled to draw their  swords also.  The mutters

became shouts  "He hath the Right!...........WE HATH THE RIGHT!

..........THEE KNOW THE LAW!"   Angry  fists were being shaken, and

the crowd pressed closer, despite the danger of the armed men.
 

                          Lord Unka, still enraged at what he considered as

sacrilege by Grouche, became dimly aware of  his situation.   The crowd

about them was rapidly becoming riotous.  There were  enough armed

men in the crowd to insure the rapid demise of his escort.  He

was sure they would not stop there...... Deciding that discretion was the

better part of valor in this case, he quickly took control of the situation.

Sheathing his sword, he stood in his saddle and in a ringing voice,

shouted, "HOLD!!!......................Thou art breaking the Kings Peace!   I

command ye, move on!   This man shall get his due.......If thee hinder us

not!"
 

                            Then, apparently with no further concern of the situation,

he turned his horse onto the path to the henge.  His men crowding

Grouche closely behind. Lord Unka shook his head irritably. .....The

Wanderer's luck was incredible ... but for nae much longer.   Grouche,

the Wanderer, was taking great pleasure in being alive, and was

scheming on how to remain so.
 

                                With a shudder, he realized he was about to place his

future and fortune in the hands of Cirrus, the druid priest.   The priest

filled Grouche with dread, with his dark mysteries, and whispers of

human sacrifice.
 

                                Grouche saw ahead the henge.   It stood starkly mute.

The capstones and the central stone altar glinting red in the late fall sun.

Red  as  the color of  blood  of a sacrificial victim.........
 
 

                           Grouche the Wanderer shuddered.................