Jake sat in the armchair and studied the shiny leaflet the old woman had given him. As he did so, his head began to ache and spin. With a sense of foreboding, he recognised that dislocation would occur once more.
* * *
Tiw’s hoh, 577 AD
The woman sat cross-legged on the ground, her hair lank and filthy, a suitable frame for her grubby sharp-featured face. The faraway unseeing expression changed little as the tent flap was roughly thrust aside and a blood-spattered warrior with a grim face lowered himself to the ground to sit in front of her.
Jake stood petrified in a gloomy corner of the room and hoped neither of the strange people could see or sense him. With a start, he recognised her as the old woman who’d given him the leaflet. So he’d been right to suspect that she came from anoth
