Page 125 of Knotted in Sherwood Forest

Guy listened.

"But when we reached the oldest stone, he'd always stop. He'd put his hand on it and tell me that was where our house was rooted."

I looked at him.

"Those exact words, Guy. He never said it at his father's grave or inside the chapel. He always said it there."

"Idris."

"Idris al-Locksley. He came here with nothing, fought beside a king, and was granted four thousand acres."

I straightened. "He was the beginning of our family at Locksley. And my grandmother gave me a compass with the word roots engraved on it."

"You thought the inscription referred to your family."

"It does. But I think it's also telling us where to look."

I glanced toward the burial ground.

"My father went all the way to Mansfield to verify those records himself. He wouldn't leave something this important to chance."

The oldest grave stood at the far end of the row, close to the chapel wall. Fortunately, the soldiers hadn't reached it.

They'd started with the newer graves and were working their way toward the oldest ones. I understood their reasoning. If William had hidden something in the burial ground, they probably assumed he'd chosen the grave of someone he'd known personally.

They were still fifteen graves away from Idris.

I climbed through the gap behind the yew and dropped into the long grass beside the chapel.

Guy followed, moving more carefully because of his injured side.

Idris's grave was marked by a broad, flat slab that had sunk unevenly into the ground.

Moss covered most of the lettering. The names and dates were almost impossible to read, although I could still feel the carved letters beneath my fingers.

My father had made me trace them often enough.

I knelt and began pulling the moss away from the base.