Secrets whisper on the summer wind in the ancient town of Winchcombe, nestling on the edge of the Cotswolds escarpment in western England.
The stone gargoyles, on its great perpendicular church, tell tales from a time when Saxon kings rode through the town's narrow streets, now home to fine dining, friendly tea rooms and charming shopping.
The 40 or so glowering faces, modelled on town characters from the 15th century, look down on an empty stone coffin inside St Peter's Church, where Winchcombe's own St Kenelm once lay.
I heard the tale of a mysterious white dove flying to Rome to tell the pope how Kenelm, boy-king of Mercia, was murdered by his wicked sister Quendrada.
Winchcombe Abbey, where the story may have originated, grew wealthy as thousands of pilgrims flocked to view the royal remains. Nearby Kenelm's Well, where the coffin briefly rested, allegedly has healing powers for today's visitors.
Mysterious, too, is the story of the phial at Hailes Abbey which stood a mile or so from the town. The Patriarch of Jerusalem certified it contained Christ's blood, attracting another stream of well-heeled pilgrims.
Henry VIII's commissioners, who closed the abbey, reported the liquid was nothing more than honey and saffron. Others whisper it was duck's blood, regularly changed by a hand unknown.
Stone from the ruined abbey, founded by the super-rich Earl of Cornwall, helped to build the delightful Corner Cupboard Inn and a number of nearby houses.
The White Hart Inn, now famous for its sausages and wines, served as a welcome stop for travellers.
Medieval cottages line the road into town from Cheltenham. Hard-working wives and daughters spun wool in the front rooms; their doors famously open to display their dedication.
Leave a door open in the Cotswold villages and the culprit was dubbed a Winchcomber, so the tradition went.
I was careful not to misbehave in picturesque Vineyard Street, which runs down to the Isbourne River. Its old name is Duck Street, where the ducking stool stood to punish scolds. Not far away, outside the Victorian town hall, are the stocks with seven holes; a spare is always useful. The whipping post, where much blood flowed, stood alongside.
Escape across the road for mouth-watering dining at Wesley House, where the famous 18th century preacher lodged on his journeys through the Cotswolds.
Predating ATMs, Winchcombe had its very own mint. The Old Mint produced bright new coins of the realm from Saxon days until the reign of William II. Lloyds Bank stands on the site of the old Royal Mercian Palace.
North Street, just out of sight of the gargoyles, was once named Horsefair Street. Old rings in the walls testify to the tough horse-trading once common there. Halfway along is the 15th century White Lion, another well-known coaching inn.
Mysteriously, the axis of the burial chamber, well worth the walk, runs north-south. Few others do. Tolkien wandered through Humblebee Wood before writing Lord of the Rings.
A stone's throw or two away in Spoonley Wood is one of England's most important Roman villas. Secrets can be taken too far; the large 2nd century dwelling still has not merited official preservation.
Closer to town is Sudeley Castle, where Elizabeth Hurley took her marriage vows earlier this year. My invitation to the showbiz extravaganza must still be in the post.
Another Elizabeth fared less well in the 15th century castle, wrecked by Cromwell's troops during the English Civil War. Elizabeth I, daughter of Henry VIII, stayed in the castle as a child.
The gargoyles whisper that she died there, her place secretly taken by a village boy to maintain the Tudor succession.
The restored castle is the final resting place of Katherine Parr, Henry VIII's surviving wife, whose tomb stands in the chapel. It is whispered that her last husband, the Lord High Admiral of England, secretly poisoned his spouse; he later lost his head.
The roses in the extensive gardens are simply stunning - fit for a queen or a supermodel and her famous friends.
The gargoyles are quiet, night falls. The culinary secrets of Winchcombe's fine dining await.
I can't decide.
