my lord! help me. he's bleeding from a face wound. another man grabs him from behind. locksley's craggy-faced retainer, duncan. older than his master, but still strong, he holds kenneth back.
my lord, please!
they've taken my gwen. my daughter.
men on horses. in masks. we tried to stop them. my son is dead.
they came this way, my lord.
nearby the gregor caves. locksley reacts -- a hint of fear. they move on.  ahead, the hillside glows, rimmed in eerie light. strange primitive chants, wafted on the wind. locksley ties his nervous horse to a tree. parting undergrowth, kenneth creeps forward. cries out. he's face to face with the maggot-eaten skull of a goat. beyond it, a gruesome host of half-skinned human skulls, all arranged on stakes. some male, others with rotting female tresses, staring eyelessly into the night. kenneth turns to run.  a hand grabs him.
druids.
is it the devil?