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Morcar gripped his axe in sweaty hands and stumbled up the hill. His legs ached from the effort. His lungs burned inside his chest. He glanced upward and saw his friend Hereward standing on the hilltop, the sun glinting off his mail shirt.

Hereward pushed a long blond lock over his shoulder and smiled through his beard. “It’s all right old man; Willie’s boys have lost us. I told you they wouldn’t follow us far into the Pennines.”

Hereward took hold of the younger man’s wrist and pulled him up the final few feet of the hillside.

“And I told you that the Pennines would likely be the death me,” replied Morcar.

“As usual, I was right, and you were mostly wrong.” Hereward laughed out loud at his own joke. “But forget the Normans for a moment, and come see what I’ve found.”

Hereward trotted off across the grassy hilltop. With a sigh, Morcar pushed his aching legs forward, amazed once again at his friend’s incredible endurance. The chase had been long. For three days the two outlaws had been running across Northumbria from the Normans. For three days they had been hunted like dogs across a country that Morcar had once ruled, and had many times fought for. He felt old and tired, and at times it seemed that only the boundless energy of his companion kept him from collapsing.

For several minutes the men moved along the hilltop. Away to their left hills of the Pennines stretched into the foggy distance. Long ago these hills had been one of the last hiding places for the Brigantes during the Roman invasion, now it was their last refuge from King William and the Norman conquerors.

Up ahead, Hereward stopped and waited for his companion to catch up. As Morcar approached, Hereward turned away and pointed down into a grassy dell formed by the convergence of three hills. The resulting bowl was several hundred feet across, and in the center stood a dry fountain carved of white stone. On a pedestal in the fountain stood the life sized statue of a beautiful woman. All around the fountain, long weathered grey stones lay in the grass.

Morcar leaned heavily on his axe and looked around the dell. Hereward stood grinning beside him.

“Kind of a strange sight for these parts, eh, Morcar.” Morcar nodded his ascent, and watched as his friend went bounding down the hillside towards the fountain.

Morcar lifted his axe and slowly followed him down. Who could have built such a fountain? His own people, the English, be they Saxon, Angle, or Dane, did not build such things. The Romans? The Romans certainly had the ability, but the fountain looked new. It could not have stood for seven centuries. And what of the great stones that lay about it? Perhaps they had once stood as pillars of some temple or a great circle, a place for the dark druids to worship before the coming of the Christians.

When Morcar reached the first of the stones, he leaned his axe against it and sat upon its weathered surface. He ran a hand over the stone. How many years of wind and rain had left it so smooth? It could have easily dated to the time of the Romans. But what of the fountain? It was larger than Morcar had realized from the hilltop, perhaps twenty feet across at its widest point.

He watched as Hereward walked around the white stone rim of the fountain. Then, with a nod in Morcar’s direction, the blond Saxon jumped into the fountain and up on to the pedestal. He threw an arm around the neck of the stone woman and held himself close to her face. Hereward’s eyes fell on her neck and a frown crept onto his face. Carved into the stone, with master skill, was a thin necklace which held a small, star-shaped pendant. It reminded the Saxon of a similar piece of jewelry he had given to Alftruda, the girl he had loved in his youth. The same girl he had saved from the great white bear. Pushing these thoughts aside, the warrior hardened his heart and forced his lips into a smile.

“Morcar! Is she not the most beautiful dance partner I’ve had in a while?”

“Aye, and the most intelligent.”

Hereward attempted a quick dance with his unresponsive partner. Morcar shook his head and laughed softly to himself.

Abandoning his dance, Hereward jumped down from the pedestal. As his feet hit the stone, something gave beneath him. Hereward stumbled, his arms flailing in the air. Morcar stood as his friend caught himself on the edge of the fountain.

Hereward glanced towards his companion and let out a hearty laugh.

“Now here’s something.”

Hereward drew the sword that hung in a sheath at his side and knelt down inside the fountain. The stone rim prevented Morcar from seeing what the other man was doing, but he heard the metal blade clink against the stone, and saw Hereward pull back. A second later, Hereward let go of his sword and pulled a large flat stone into view. The muscles in the Saxon’s arms stood out and his teeth ground against each other. Stone scraped against stone as Hereward dragged the white rock back. A crash resounded around the dell when Hereward let the stone fall.

Morcar sat back down as the blonde warrior once again proved his strength.

“It seems my dance partner was holding out on me, Morcar. Something’s hiding under her feet. A cave.”

“A well, more likely.”

“And how often do wells have stairs? Or light? Green light at that. Come Morcar, we must have a look.”

“I didn’t climb up a hill only to crawl down a well.”

“With your dark hair and unadventurous spirit, one begins to wonder if you’re an Englishman at all.”

“I’m an Englishman. A tired one.”

Ha! Too many years a lord has made you soft at an early age. Wait here then, while I have a look. I’ll only be gone a minute. If I need you, I’ll scream like I’m being torn apart by wild animals.”

“And I’ll make sure to close the hole.”

With a laugh, Hereward lowered himself down through the hole and disappeared from view. Morcar gazed around the lonely site. It was true; he did not look particularly English. As a child, he had been told that the blood of Rome ran through his veins. Perhaps his ancestors had built the fountain as a tribute to one of their gods.

A breeze blew down the dell and tugged at his hair. As he attempted to push his hair back into place, Morcar looked down and noticed a lump of stone that protruded from the rest of the great rock that he sat upon. He slid off the rock and crouched down to get a better look. Morcar recognized the protrusion as the weathered and broken carving of a hand. He stood up and stepped back to get a better view of the entire stone.

The hand served as the missing clue. The faint lines in the stone all took shape and formed a pattern. Statues, larger than life size, which had once stood in a circle. At least fifteen of the great statues lay in the grass around the fountain. The sentinels had all fallen. Had they guarded the fountain, or did the fountain represent a conquering invader?

Morcar knelt down beside the head of the statue he had sat upon. Nearly all traces of a face had been worn away by hundreds of years of wind and rain. Now only a long crack in the stone distinguished the face. Morcar ran his finger along the crack. Stone did not normally break in such a manner. He peered closely at the crack. Deep within he saw green colored stone.

Standing back up, Morcar picked up his axe. The metal axe had once belonged to Harald Hardrada, the Danish invader from the north. Morcar had taken it as his prize on the battlefield of Stamford Briggs. He raised the axe above his head and, with a grunt, brought it down on the crack in the stone. The stone shattered.

After replacing his sword in its sheath, Hereward carefully lowered himself through the hole he had created in the fountain. His feet came to rest on a stone staircase that spiraled down the wall of a great well. Long veins of glowing green rock ran down the walls. The air felt cool and damp. Hereward could not tell how far down the well descended; the glow of the green rock permitted vision for only a few feet.

No fear found its way in to the warrior’s heart, only a curiosity for what lay below him. With his left hand against the cool stonewall, he started to descend the winding staircase. Hereward’s footsteps echoed faintly around the well as his heavy boots made contact with the steps. His own breath seemed loud in the stillness of the well. Down he went, deeper into the murky blackness.

Hereward had been descending for only a few moments when he looked up and realized that he could no longer see the hole through which he had entered the well or the light that came down through it. The cold rush of panic ran up his body into his face. He quickly took two steps back the way he had come, and stopped. Morcar would not cover the hole nor allow anyone else to do so. Above him, he saw only blackness mixed with a blurry glow. The hole could not have disappeared. Something must be blocking his view.

Then understanding came to Hereward’s mind, and laughter came from his throat. He had been scared like a child because he had been thinking like one. In the darkness, he had not realized how far he had circled around the edge of the well. He now stood directly under the stairs where he had first entered the hole. The stairs above him prevented him from seeing the light.

Hereward’s laughter echoed around the well. Then another sound joined it, a soft and lovely voice that came up from the darkness. A voice that would be wasted on talking and should be spent in a sad song for a lover’s return or a warrior fallen in battle. Its tone was a question.

“Laughter?”

Hereward froze in place and peered down deeper into the well. “Is someone there,” he called out.

“Yes. Please come where I can see you.”

A worried look passed over Hereward’s face, but the beauty of the voice and the curiosity in his heart forced him onward. Again, his feet sounded on the stones. He traced the wall with his hand as he followed the stairs. Up ahead the green glow concentrated in the surrounding darkness. As he moved closer, the greenness took form, until he recognized it as a young woman or girl sitting in a niche in the wall, with her knees pulled up to her chest. Hereward stood stunned by the girl’s beauty that was as soft and feminine as the voice he had heard seconds before. The delicate curves of her body were covered in a light shift that would have been transparent except for the green glow that caused everything around the girl to blur. He recognized her face as belonging to the statue in the fountain. Around her neck, she wore a thin necklace with a star shaped pendant.

Hereward moved forward, his eyes locked on the beauty before him. His mind was dragged back through the years to an image of Alftruda and the pendant that had hung between her young breasts. Hereward’s foot plunged into water. With a shiver and a start, he stepped back. The girl laughed as Hereward realized that nearly eight feet of dark water separated them. The sound of her laughter caused the Saxon’s heart to jump.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The girl reached a slender arm out and touched the water with her hand.

“I am the water of the well.” She laughed again, and it was all Hereward could do to keep from stepping towards her.

“Travelers used to come to me, and, through me, refresh themselves. Though it has been many years since any have come.

“How long have you been here?” Hereward managed to stammer out.

With a smile, the girl pointed upwards and then to the water. “From there to there. I’m very old. Not much longer do I have to live.”

Incomprehension tore at the Saxon’s heart.

The girl brushed back her long glowing locks and smiled. “Do not be saddened by me. I can think of nothing greater than this life.”

“But you don’t have to die.”

“Everything must die. I’m not very different than you. But does your face speak truly? Are you so worried about me?”

“Yes, let me help you.”

“You can help me.”

“How?”

The girl reached behind her and brought up a cup made of clay. She held it in her hands. The green glow surrounded the cup and it lifted into the air. Slowly it drifted across the water to Hereward who caught hold of it.

“I don’t understand.”

Again the girl’s sweet laughter echoed around the well.

“Drink.”

A puzzled look passed over Hereward’s face, but he crouched down and dipped the clay cup into the water. He brought the cup up and looked in it. The water appeared black in the dimness of the well. The girl sat up onto her knees, a sad smile on her face.

Hereward brought the cup to his lips.

A sound echoed down the well, a voice.

“Hereward! Don’t drink the water!”

Hereward looked up. He recognized the voice of his friend Morcar. He looked over to the girl; her face wore a pained expression. Momentary indecision pulled at Hereward’s heart. Then, with a flip of his wrist, he tossed the water from the cup into the pool at his feet.

The girl gave a piercing scream and the glow around her faded. Her soft features hardened and her skin became scaly. Hereward stepped back and drew his sword. A dozen scaly arms broke from the water near his feet. Monstrous heads quickly followed. The creatures swam along the surface of the water towards the Saxon. Hereward turned and ran back up the stairs, taking three steps at a time, abandoning caution for greater speed. Behind him, plodding wet footsteps sounded on the stairs. Across the well and below, dimly outlined figures shuffled up after the Saxon. His wet boot slipped on a step and he fell. Lances of pain shot up his arms as he crashed into the steps. Pushing the pain to the back of his mind, Hereward rolled over, sword in hand. He stared directly into the fishy green face of one of the creatures as it loomed over him. With a yell, the Saxon warrior swung his sword with both hands and cut into the creature. It gave a gurgling cry. Hereward kicked out at the beast and sent it tumbling backwards.

Quickly regaining his feet, Hereward continued up the stairs. Now he could see the light streaming down through the hole in the fountain. Something scraped along the mail on his back, and Hereward took a wild swing behind him while he ran. The blade connected and another gurgling cry echoed around the well. On came the slapping of wet feet mixing with the hard sound of Hereward’s boots. Ten feet now. Once more he heard a scream from a voice he had once thought beautiful. He could not understand the words, and paid them no heed. He reached the daylight that poured through the hole. He tossed his sword through, and grabbed the edge. Clawed hands grabbed at his legs. Hereward kicked out and sent the creature tumbling off the stairs. Hereward pulled himself up and found a pair arms helping him through the hole.

Hereward stood fully in the fountain again. Morcar crouched by his side. Together the two men grabbed the stone that Hereward had moved aside and slid it back over hole. It fell into place with a loud boom. Hereward retrieved his sword and stood ready for the monsters to burst forth, but Morcar sat on the rim of the fountain his axe lying on his knees.

Hereward looked at his sword with confusion. Water ran down the blade onto his hand. There was no blood.

“I don’t think they’ll come out,” said Morcar, his voice calm.

“What makes you sure of that?”

Morcar shrugged. “Everything else in the story seems true.”

Hereward gave his friend a questioning look.

“When I was a boy, one of my nursemaids used to tell me stories of Britain before the Romans. Once, she spoke about a fountain up in the hills surrounded by stone statues. The fountain served as meeting place for witches and warlocks. They would come and dance. She said that when they danced the statues turned green and water flowed from fountain. The sorcerers would drink the water, and as they did, they would change into monsters. The more they changed, the more they needed to drink the water. After a time, the sorcerers had changed so much that they could no longer live for any length of time without water from the fountain. So they crawled down under the fountain where they could live in the water their bodies needed. To leave the world underneath would take them too far away. Or so I remember anyway. It was a long time ago.”

“You could have told me before I went into the hole.” A smile crept to the corners of Hereward’s mouth.

“I didn’t remember it then. While you were down there, I realized all these stones used to be statues. One had a long crack running along the face. It seemed strange to me, so I struck the head with my axe. The stone split, and revealed a perfectly carved head of green stone.

Morcar pointed to the stone he had struck, and Hereward saw the head of green stone projecting out of the end of the weathered rock.

“That’s when I remembered the story, and when I called down to you.”

Morcar shrugged his shoulders.

Hereward smiled down at his friend. “If your story’s true, I suppose we’re safe enough here. Still, I think I would prefer to camp some other place tonight.”

Morcar got to his feet and looked around. “Just as long as we walk there slowly.”

Hereward laughed out loud as he jumped out of the fountain.

“Then come on my friend. I hear things get real dangerous as you go further into the Pennines.”

The blond Saxon started at a brisk pace towards the side of the dell that led deeper into the hills.

With a shake of his head and a grin, Morcar lifted his axe onto his shoulder and followed.