An Excerpt from Ken Follett’s Historical Epic Circle of Days

In Circle of Days, Ken Follett delivers a sweeping historical epic inspired by the mysterious creation of Stonehenge. Overcome with visions of an ambitious monument, a young woman embarks on a mission to unite a divided community in this extraordinary tale of destiny and hope. Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Follett’s ambitious tale below.

              

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There was a straight path from the Monument to the nearby village of Riverbend. Livestock grazed on either side of the beaten track. Seft did not like cows. When they looked at him he did not know what they were thinking.

               Apart from that, he envied the herder folk. All they did was sit around and watch their herds. They did not have to hammer at a flint seam all day, breaking up the hard stone and carrying it up a climbing pole to the surface. Cattle, sheep and pigs reproduced themselves with little help, and the herders got richer all the time.

               When he got to Riverbend he stared at the houses, which all looked the same. Each had a low wall of wattle and daub–thin branches interwoven and daubed with mud–plus a roof of turves laid over rafters. The doorway was two posts with a lintel lashed to them. In summer everyone cooked outside, but in winter there was a permanent fire in the central hearth. Meat was hung under the rafters to be smoked. Right now a wicker gate half the height of the doorway let in fresh air but kept out stray dogs and all the little creatures that crept about at night looking for food. In winter the doorway could be completely closed with a more substantial hurdle made to fit exactly.

               There were a lot of pigs wandering around the village and the surrounding land, searching with their snouts for anything edible.

               About half the houses were empty. They were for visitors, who came four times a year. The herder folk took care of their visitors, who brought great wealth by coming to trade.

Rites were held at the autumn equinox, called the Halfway; at midwinter; and at the Spring Halfway; and, as now, at midsummer, which was tomorrow. A key function of the priestesses was to keep track of the days of the year, so that they could announce that, for example, the Autumn Halfway would be in six days’ time.

Seft stopped a herder woman and asked the way to Neen’s house. Most people knew her, because her mother was an important person, an elder, and he got directions and soon found the place. It was clean, tidy and empty. Four people live here, he thought, and they’re all away from home! But no doubt they had a lot of work in connection with the Rite.

               Impatient, he began to search for Neen. He wandered around the houses, scanning for her smiling round face and her lush dark hair. Many visitors had already moved into the spare houses, he noticed; single people and families with children, a few showing the wide-eyed curiosity of visitors to an unfamiliar place.

               He wondered anxiously how Neen would welcome him. It was a quarter of a year since they had spent that night talking together. She had been warm to him then, but she might have cooled off. She was so attractive and likable that there must be plenty of other men interested in her. There’s nothing special about me, he thought. And he was a couple of years younger than Neen. She had not seemed to mind that, but he felt that she was awfully refined.

               He came to the riverside, which was always busy, people fetching fresh water from upstream and washing themselves and their clothes downstream. He did not see Neen, but he was relieved to come across her sister, whom he had met at the last Spring Rite. She was a confident girl with a lot of curly hair and a determined chin. He thought she was about thirteen. She would be fourteen tomorrow. The people of the Great Plain reckoned age in midsummers, so everyone would be a year older on Midsummer Day.

               What was her name? It came back to him: Joia.

               She and two friends seemed to be washing shoes in the river. Their shoes were like everyone else’s, flat pieces of hide cut to shape and pierced with holes for drawstrings, which were made of the sinews of cows and were pulled tight to make the shoes fit closely.

               He went up to her and said: “Remember me? I’m Seft.”

               “Of course I remember.” She greeted him formally. “May the Sun God smile on you.”

               “And on you. Why are you washing your shoes?”

               She chuckled. “Because we don’t want to have smelly feet.”

               Seft had never thought of that. He never washed his shoes. What if Neen smelled his feet? He was embarrassed already. He resolved to wash his shoes at the earliest opportunity.

               Joia’s two friends were whispering and giggling, as girls sometimes did, unaccountably. Joia looked at them, sighed with irritation, and said loudly: “I expect you’re looking for my sister, Neen.”

              “Of course.”

               The two friends had expressions that said: So that’s it.

               Seft went on: “Your house is empty. Do you know where Neen is?”

               “She’s helping with the feast. Shall I show you the way?”

               That was kind of her, he thought, to offer to leave her friends and help him. “Yes, please.”

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