River of Destiny

Ken grinned ‘You’re right. That could well have been it. Or I did wonder if it could have been smugglers bringing contraband up-river, drugs or illegal immigrants. It was a bit odd.’

‘The little woman scared?’ Steve laughed again.

‘Something like that.’

‘I reckon you’re more likely to be right than the girls’ theory that it is a ghostly visitor.’ With another snort of laughter Steve drummed a further tattoo with his heels on the wooden piles beneath him. ‘Don’t let her talk to Leo about it,’ he went on. ‘He’s a bit fey, in my opinion. Probably something to do with that ghastly accident the poor chap had. He reckons it is a Viking longship.’

Ken nodded sagely. ‘I haven’t met him yet. He always pops in when I’m not there.’ He sensed rather than saw Steve glance at him sharply.

‘I wouldn’t worry.’ Steve thought for a minute. ‘I doubt if he’s a lady’s man. Not looking like that. He would stir up compassion in a stone wall, but I don’t get the feeling he’s a danger to our women.’ Ken refrained from pointing out that Steve’s wife was a weather-beaten battle-axe, while his was still young and attractive. It seemed unnecessarily unkind.

‘He’s not gay?’

‘No. In fact I think he’s married. But separated. Our cleaning lady, Annie, mentioned it; said she walked out on him after the accident. What a bitch.’

Ken noticed Steve pat his pockets speculatively for the third time and he gave a knowing grin. ‘Am I right in thinking you’ve given up smoking?’

Steve nodded. ‘Can’t get used to not having any on me.’

‘Would you like to come aboard for a lager? Then you can tell me about this Viking ship.’

Ten minutes later the men were seated in the cockpit of the Lady Grace. ‘You know we’re only a few miles from Sutton Hoo, the Anglo-Saxon site where they found the great ship burial,’ Steve said as he made himself comfortable and pulled the tab on the can.

‘We haven’t been there yet.’ Ken leaned back into the corner and rested his arm companionably over the tiller. ‘Is it worth seeing?’

‘I enjoyed it. There is a museum and a café and a shop, and then you walk out to these burial mounds. Nothing much to see there, just grass, and nice walks overlooking the river, a bit like this actually, but round where they found the ship it all feels a bit special, even I have to admit that.’

‘And this ship is the same as the one Zoë and Leo are talking about?’

Steve frowned. ‘I assume so. Is Viking the same as Anglo-Saxon?’ Both men shook their heads. ‘History is not my thing,’ Ken said after a moment. His attention was caught by a movement over Steve’s shoulder. Out in the river a cormorant flew low over the water, its dark iridescent wings and sharp head and beak a black arrow against the green of the rising tide.

5 (#ulink_4fa05499-8464-575b-924c-c49694acafb7)

Eric shaded his eyes from the glare with a raised hand and watched as the bird skimmed low over the river. It came to rest on a tree stump and shook its wings, almost at once staring around at the water, ready to dive if it spotted a fish. He gave a grim smile. Observant bird. Cunning. Not missing a thing. He hooked his thumbs into his broad leather belt, feeling the cold working its way into his bones. He had spent too long indoors, too long with the furnace and hammer. Not enough time with his wife.

‘Is the sword ready?’

The voice behind him was persistent, always there.

‘I will tell you when it is ready!’ he yelled, and he spun round furiously, his fist raised. There was no one there. He stared left and right incredulously. There was no one in sight; the village was deserted, the women indoors at the loom or spinning, the men out in the fields making all ready before the first of the autumn storms.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and turned back to the river. He was imagining things again.

Beware of elf-shot. He heard his mother’s voice in his head and smiled fondly.

What would the priest say to her warnings; unexplained illness and injuries caused by insidious small arrows fired by unseen spirits? Oh, Wulfric believed in the spirits too. They all believed in the spirits, but he would have a different weapon against them. Cross yourself, man. Ward off the evil eye. Guard your woman with Christian prayers. Eric shook his head slowly. No, he had tried Christian prayers. They did not work; they did not bring him fine sons. Working for a man who had turned back to the old ways and the old gods had made him realise their potency. And yet. He closed his eyes for a moment. Whose voice was it he thought he had heard? Hrotgar, the thegn’s reeve. The man was a devout Christian like the Lady Hilda. As was his own wife, Edith. He sighed. He was spending too long on the sword; there were other things to make, other people waiting, including a weapon for the ealdorman at Rendlesham, who was a kinsman of King Edmund, but this sword was special; it was his masterpiece; it would be carried into war against the Viking host, if not by Lord Egbert, then by his successor, and it would bring safety and blessing and renown to their village.

His eyes narrowed as he saw a movement in the distance; beyond the palisade someone was walking across the beaten earth, heading up towards the hall; a man, and there, in front, he could see the soft green of his wife’s tunic and cloak. He saw Edith hesitate and he saw her turn to wait for the second figure. The two converged, their shadows merging in the bright sunlight. He clenched his fists as he watched. They had stopped walking. They were talking. They were standing very close staring into each other’s faces and then as he stood helplessly, the length of a field away, he saw them turn from the path and disappear between the houses. His cry of anguish echoed out across the cold water. At the sound the cormorant stretched out its wings and launched itself upriver and out of sight.

He was spending too much time with Bella. Dan was well aware of it, but he blamed himself for the horse’s state, and she was responding. She greeted him now with a soft whinny of recognition when he approached her stall, and she had begun to eat. The swelling was going down on her legs, but nothing could be done about the terrible scars which remained as ugly gashes over her fetlocks. How had the woman done it, he wondered, and how could she, how could anyone, have brought themselves to injure such a gentle, willing creature?

The barns were full of grain and hay and straw against the long winter, the stalls for the horses empty now except for Bella’s as the animals were out working on the farm, bringing in heavy wagons of turnips, tumbrils full of cider apples, collecting the last of the potatoes for the clamps in the yard. Dan was busy in the forge. As farrier and blacksmith to the estate he was in constant demand, shoeing all the horses on the farm and up at the Hall, and making a constant stream of iron goods; at present he was forging sets of gate hinges and railings for the park. He rubbed Bella’s nose. ‘I must get on, my lovely,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll be back to see you later.’ He froze as he heard the tap of heels in the doorway.

‘Daniel!’

He hadn’t seen Emily Crosby for several days and the sound of her voice filled him with resentment. He saw the mare’s ears flatten against her head and he held his breath. Did the woman know he was there? Silently he tiptoed out of the stall, instinctively knowing she mustn’t catch him near the horse. Keeping to the shadows of a pile of straw bales he edged his way towards a side door.

‘Daniel!’ The voice was closer now, sharp. She was walking towards Bella’s stall, the heels of her riding boots noisy on the cobbles. ‘Drat it! Where is the man?’

He did not want her near Bella; he had to distract her. Ducking round the far side of the bales, he walked towards her as though he had just come in from the yard. ‘My lady? Were you looking for me?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? I was calling your name.’ Her tone was sarcastic. She was as usual dressed for riding. ‘I need you to check my horse.’

‘Of course, my lady.’ Meekly he followed her outside. The roan pony was tied up near the forge, tossing her head up and down irritably. Something was obviously distressing her. It took him only minutes to find the burrs beneath the saddlecloth. ‘That must have been vexing her badly, my lady,’ he said as he extracted them. ‘It would be very sore. They are a bother at this time of year. I’ve found them under the harness of the working horses as well. Shall I help you into the saddle, my lady?’ He knew very well she had put them there herself; no one saddling the horse could have failed to see them.

‘If you please, Daniel.’ She narrowed her eyes at him like a cat, holding out her hand. As he stooped to take her foot she put her arm round his neck. ‘You could lift me off my feet so easily, Daniel, a great strong man like you,’ she murmured. She turned towards him. ‘You find me attractive, don’t you, Daniel?’ Her voice was low and seductive. ‘You would like to kiss me, I’ll be bound!’

He took a step back, repelled. ‘No, my lady. I know my place.’

‘But your place is to do as I tell you, Daniel.’ She moved closer to him. ‘I trust your wife is not going to make a habit of appearing suddenly. She might find it hard to understand how tempted you are by my beauty.’

‘Dan, where are you, my friend?’ The voice came so suddenly from the far side of the yard that for a moment neither of them moved. Not Susan. It was a man’s voice. Leaping backwards, Daniel looked round and saw to his immense relief the sight of Jem, one of the horseboys with two of the Suffolks. He was riding astride one and leading the other, the harness hitched on both of them. ‘We’re done for the day so I brought these two back, Dan,’ he called. He seemed to notice Lady Emily for the first time. ‘My lady!’ The young man touched his forelock as he drew to a halt in the yard and slid off the great horse.

Daniel saw the flash of fury in her eyes as she turned back to her own mount. He stooped again for her foot and threw her none too gently into the saddle. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady?’

For a moment she stared down at him. ‘There is, Daniel, and you would do well to remember it. You were shirking your duties. If I find you avoiding me in future you might well find yourself in need of a job.’ She paused. ‘It wouldn’t do to be put off, would it now, Daniel, and you and your wife with a baby on the way?’ She brought her whip down on the pony’s rump, sitting the saddle remarkably well as it gave a small buck of resentment.

‘Phew!’ Jem winked at him as she rode out of the yard. ‘George and me, we reckoned you needed rescuing. George saw her heading down here from the Hall.’ The head horseman had appeared behind them leading three more of the working horses into the yard.

Dan grinned. ‘Pity the squire can’t rein her in.’

‘You don’t fancy yourself fathering the heir then?’ Jem guffawed.

‘No, I don’t!’ Dan threw a mock punch at him, then he sobered, all humour gone. ‘It’s no joke, though. She’s threatening to have me and Susan thrown off.’

‘You’ll have to do what you’re told then, boy!’ Jem clicked his tongue at the horses and walked them over towards the water trough to drink. ‘I wonder where you’ll get the strength.’ He was still grinning as he dodged out of reach a second time.

‘A word to the wise.’ Leo saw Zoë walking towards the landing stage and hurried down the path to catch up with her. ‘Our friend Rosemary has upset Bill Turtill in a big way.’

Zoë put down her basket, pleased to see him. In spite of his occasional brusqueness he was, she realised, one of the few people in her new life who interested her and whose company she enjoyed. He kept her on her toes. ‘Who is Bill Turtill?’ She frowned. ‘Yes, I do know, he’s our neighbouring farmer, right?’

‘Right.’ Leo nodded. ‘She’s had a go at him about the footpath.’

‘But surely everyone knew she was going to do that.’ She sighed. ‘I’m not even sure where this path is supposed to be.’

‘It’s over there.’ He turned and pointed. ‘You can see where it would go from here. There’s a ten-acre field on the slope going down towards the river; in the centre there is a copse with a tumulus in it and she wants the path to go right through the copse and presumably over the tumulus.’

‘Dead Man’s Field,’ she said thoughtfully