Raven's Hoard

by Gill Jepson

  “Well! I never did see owt like it in all my years as sexton in this church! It’s an old sword, I reckon – as sure as my name’s Jacob Helm!”

  “Aye ! And there’s other bits and pieces underneath, I’ll bet on it!” rejoined Thomas, continuing to dig furiously.

  “Tha’d best get on over t’rectory and tell minister to come over!”

  The old man picked up his hat and coat and turned to leave. A sharp cry made him jump and turn around.

  “Father! Look here!” cried his son.

  He held a muddy lump in his hands and began brushing the earth from the object. A skull was revealed, looking like a leftover from Hallowe’en.

  “Ha… this must be th’owner of the sword, I reckon,” he sniggered. “An’ look there’s still some hair attached.” He lifted a small lock of hair between his fingers and peered closely at his discovery.

  “Looks like he was a red head as well!”

  The three companions looked at each other and gasped. It was confirmed. The occupant of the grave was the Viking. How strange to see what he had become.

  As the young man gloated over his find he was disturbed by the cawing of a raven. The swish of his large wings cut the air and the sleek, black bird swooped low, almost touching his head. The rapid movement surprised him and he lost his balance and fell backwards, the skull flying from his hands and landing on the grass with a thud.

  A black feather floated down, spiralling in front of them, and the three off them felt a shudder run down their backs.

  The Helms could be seen hurrying away from the grave towards the gate and a wispy, grey cloud coiled around the two retreating figures shrouding them in a dreary mantle. The colourless haze expanded and swallowed them up, smothering them in a clammy, dank blanket. The world began to spin and they lost their bearings completely. They whirled around as though they were on an invisible fairground ride, totally out of control and unable to stop. They felt nauseous and dizzy, finally coming to a halt, landing heavily on the ground.

  It took some moments to recover as they surveyed their surroundings nervously. They were back at the shoreline where they had first encountered the Viking raid – was that only a few hours ago? Nate looked rapidly round and tried to locate familiar objects, hoping to see his Barrow in the distance, the Gas Terminal and other twenty-first century images. He was out of luck. It was easy to see they were back in the eighteenth century; the landscape was bereft of any sign of 21st century industry and Roa Island was still separated from the mainland. Tall ships with masts were docked in the harbour, the inn stood proud on the edge of the coast, and farmhands dressed like Tom were working the fields.

  Nate sighed and put his head in his hands. He was quite unsure what to do to return to the present. Tom and Dolly were relieved, but concerned for their friend. After a short discussion they decided to try and find another entrance to the tunnel system under their feet. It was trial and error but they decided there must be a way back for Nate – and they would find it.

  CHAPTER 12

  SLIPPING THROUGH

  Days had passed by again and Nate was seriously thinking he might never be able to return home. Tom had managed to track the Swarbrick gang to the cave they had passed through before, by another entrance near the coast at Conkin Bank. The Revenue men had caught some of them, but Swarbrick and the rest had escaped across the bay.

  They discussed at length how Nate could get back and came to the conclusion that he should return to Furness Abbey. They were loath to journey through the labyrinth of tunnels again so Tom suggested they went above ground and find the exit from that end. They were no longer at risk from Swarbrick and his cronies so they confidently took the track across country to the Vale of Deadly Nightshade where the abbey lay.

  Tom took two horses from his brother’s farm and Dolly rode with him on the larger of the two. Nate followed behind, a little nervous, having had little experience of riding. The road they took was little more than two ruts in the ground where packhorses and carts had travelled. They passed close to St Michael’s church… no evidence of the gravediggers in this time of course, and down the hill towards a tiny hamlet, which Nate supposed to be Roose. There were a few cottages and fields; he did recognise the Dungeon Lane and its farms on the way past, though the road was just a muddy track and all modern farm equipment had disappeared.

  They rode on, passing a smithy where a blacksmith was busy at his anvil. Nate smiled to himself as he realised the “smithy” in his time was a fish and chip shop! Further up the lane was a large farmhouse outside some farm labourers were drinking ale. An old rickety sign creaked and rattled in the breeze. It was the Ship Inn and had been his Granddad’s local pub in his time. It looked very different and hardly like a pub at all.

  They wended their way onwards and he shivered involuntarily as the route wound its way above the river, for he knew this must be close to his home. No hint of the future was visible. No railway line, no houses and no real road. Weird!

  They crossed a rough piece of open grazing land, dotted with sheep. This windswept grassy hill was high above the peninsula and he could see along to the coast. He stopped momentarily to look.

  “’Tis Boulton’s Common – the villagers may use this land to graze their animals and pay no rent…” Tom remarked.

  Nate swallowed hard, a huge lump rising in his throat. His voice cracked with emotion. “And this is where I live in my time. My house will be built here years from now…”

  Tom and Dolly looked sadly at him and beckoned him onwards. They continued on down past Park House Farm – again easily identified, and over Bow Bridge towards the abbey.

  Through the trees they could see the sandstone glowing pink in the fading sunlight. They passed by the Abbey Mill and along the cobbled trackway, unchanged since medieval times. The railings and barriers to the abbey were not there and the building was brighter and sharper somehow. It was surrounded by trees and bushes and vegetation draped itself artfully over the masonry, dressing the abbey in a mantle of green.

  They tethered the horses to a gnarled tree and sat on the grass, drinking in the spectacle of the abbey ruins. The remains were different – walls here and there which Nate would not have known in his time, no neat lawns and tidy trees, much wilder and in many ways more beautiful than the carefully manicured English Heritage version of the twenty-first century.

  They drank from the leather flasks they had brought and rested for a while. They began to look for the tunnel they had travelled through and for the grate above it. They had not reckoned upon the tunnel being obscured by soil and overgrowth and it was difficult to locate. They heard a noise in the distance; it was coming from the cloister range. It sounded like… singing.

  The hairs on the back of their necks stood up. The eerie half-light and the plaintive singing unnerved them. The haunting Gregorian chant filtered across the open cloister, beautiful and sad, but chilling considering that no monks had inhabited the abbey for at least two centuries. They stood petrified and yet fascinated. Dusk drew in and the final faded remnants of the day flickered and diminished like a guttering candle.

  Within the chancel and Chapter House a pale yellow light emanated. A pale figure hovered effortlessly, moving through the cloister towards them. As he drew near his features became clearer and he smiled gently at them. The monk glimmered and flickered. He never spoke but gestured them to follow. Their fear had melted away and they were reassured by his placid presence. They walked through the passage to the undercroft and towards the kitchen. They found themselves at the abbot’s house and below them was a partially concealed drainage tunnel. The monk gestured to Nate to enter the tunnel. Reluctantly he moved towards it. He stopped and ran back to Dolly and Tom. He could not be sure that he would see them again and he felt sad leaving them. He hugged them both and said a silent goodbye.

  The monk smiled and said quietly, “Thy task cannot be fulfilled lest thou return to thy time and place. Thou wilt see thy companions more, so thy
leave-taking need not be sad. Guard the knowledge of the sacred sword well and close, for there are those who would use it for ill. The sword which is known of in thy time is a mere shadow; ’tis not that which was found in the bone-yard at Rampside. The real sword lies concealed. It must be safe hid for the time when ’tis united with those other sacred relics, when they shall turn back the dark forces of time… one is nigh safe, but ’tis another’s quest for now. Godspeed, my son, and trust thy friends will be out of harm’s way.”

  He made the sign of blessing and turned slowly to walk away. Nate briefly looked at his friends… and then ducked to enter the tunnel. He reached the other end quickly, but could not resist looking back. All he could see was darkness.

  He had slipped through time once more and as he emerged he could see the welcoming street lamps and hear the distant hum of traffic on Abbey Road. A dog walker passed the fence, and the familiar ring of a mobile phone incongruously broke the silence of the abbey. Home. He was home at last!

  CHAPTER 13

  A VISIT TO THE LIBRARY

  After the stress of the last few days, time travelling and not knowing what was going to happen next, a trip to the local library was a great relief. Usually he had to be forced to do any research and would not have chosen to be inside on a beautiful day like today. However, this was not a usual time; in fact, it was most unusual. True, it was exciting and amazing; but terrifying too. Each time he had crossed into the past he had been afraid that he might not be able to get home again. Tom and Dolly had been very understanding and had recovered from their brief interlude in the twenty-first century. He thought that their experience must have been even scarier than his, what with the change in landscape and the terrifying technology they had encountered. His experience was the reverse, it was a matter of losing the familiar places and objects, but because he knew something about the time he visited he could at least understand it. However, he did not relish being stuck there, as interesting as it was.

  He went through the automatic doors and into the library. He glanced to the left and noticed a sign and some stone stairs leading to the upper floor. He was taken by surprise a little as he had never known the library to be open upstairs. The sign directed him to the Reference Library and he ran up the steps, to the top. He reached a wide landing, with two doors at either side. He looked in amazement at the double glass doors, which were open, revealing an emporium of artefacts and exhibits.

  There were no visitors except for a young boy who was peering into a glass case. Nate browsed, looking at the exhibits – huge ships, apprentice models like those he had seen in the Dock Museum; row upon row of flint axes, apparently found at Biggar; a piece of stained glass from Furness Abbey, resting on some cotton wool in a finds box. Why had he not known about this place? He could not believe he had never seen it before. His thoughts were disturbed by the young lad standing at the next case.

  “’You seen this? It’s won-der-ful!” he said.

  Nate glanced and nearly choked when he saw what the boy was referring to.

  “Wow! Is that a real mummy’s hand?” he gasped. “What’s it doing here? There aren’t any at the Dock Museum!”

  The lad looked confused and then shrugged.

  “It’s all the way from Egypt, you know – where the pyramids are?”

  “Dur! Where else would it be from?”

  “Good, in’t it?” he said, ignoring Nate’s sarcasm. “Ya goin’ in the reference library? I am! I’ve gotta find out about some stuff… to do with…”he looked around furtively “treasure!”

  Nate raised his eyebrows and followed him out of the museum and into the reference library.

  The silence hit him. There were a few people seated at some impressive-looking desks, wooden and with leather tops. A couple of old men were reading huge volumes on lecterns and raised their heads to see who had broken their silence.

  A stern librarian sat behind a large desk, surrounded by shelves groaning with books, bound newspapers and other journals. An array of small wooden index drawers stood to attention next to her, and she looked up momentarily and then returned to stamping books.

  They crept in. It almost felt like being in church it was so quiet. Nate and the boy sat down at a desk and stared directly at each other. Blue eyes connected with blue eyes, and Nate noticed an amused twinkle glinting in the younger boy’s eyes. He couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. A man behind them clicked his tongue in disapproval and the librarian shot a disapproving look over the top of her round spectacles. Both of them suppressed a giggle and the boy whispered, “What are you here for? Not looking for treasure too, are ya?”

  Nate thought for a moment and then nodded silently.

  “Thought so! Better get cracking then… place closes at five.”

  With that they set to and began looking in the index cards at the front of the library. Neither asked the other what exactly they were searching for, but they were united in their sense of purpose and worked quietly.

  “What’s your name?” asked Nate.

  “George.”

  “I’m Nate…”

  The two grinned at each other again, in a silent recognition. Nate felt he had known the boy for years. There was something odd about him. He looked familiar but Nate couldn’t put his finger on why. He watched him lifting a heavy book down from a shelf, it looked a dreary tome and he didn’t envy the boy the task of reading it. George settled down to read, leafing through the pages totally absorbed and oblivious to everything else.

  Nate had a sudden brainwave and decided to go to the section where old newspapers were held. He looked around and saw a book case adjacent to the librarian with huge bound books containing newspapers back to Victorian times when Barrow had just begun. He wasn’t sure which volume would help, but asked the librarian which paper would cover the late 1890s to the turn of the century. She tutted but directed him to the relevant volumes. He felt like a weightlifter, they were extremely heavy.

  He guessed that the gravediggers were dressed from around the turn of the last century and he was heartened to see the few photographs in the papers fitted the style of clothing. It took ages to plough through, but he felt there must be something of relevance in there. Suddenly, a loud bang tore the silence like a gunshot. Flustered readers sighed or hissed in disapproval and the librarian looked up sternly again. It was George, he had obviously discovered the information he wanted.

  Again Nate reflected that he looked familiar. He looked closely at the lad and with a nagging air of confusion he recognised some attributes… some he could identify… some that he had himself? But that was daft! He didn’t know this kid from Adam! But there it was – he had the same blue eyes, deep set and searching, tousled fair hair, and the ears… those ears which were slightly larger and stuck out a bit… maybe they were related in some way?

  He looked back at his book and turned the page carefully, then a second and a third. George came up behind him and looked over his shoulder.

  “Cor! Look at that… never knew they found a blooming’ sword at Rampside, did you?” he asked innocently.

  Nate took a sharp intake of breath and looked at where George was pointing. There at the foot of the page was an old, faded photograph of two men holding an unnatural pose, with… sword fragments in their hands. He pored over the script and read what it said.

  Barrow Herald, 12th March 1909

  Gravediggers discover Viking sword at popular resort

  A badly corroded and fragmented Viking sword was found in Rampside churchyard by Jacob Helm (Sexton) and his son Thomas whilst engaged in digging a new grave in early March. The sword was found approx 2 feet 6 inches below the surface of the dense clay soil, 8 yards west of the boundary wall and 16 yards south of the chancel. The sword lay hidden at the west end of the grave and a disarticulated skeleton was discovered beneath it.

  Unfortunately, the ancient blade was broken by Mr. Helm Junior whilst trying to straighten the sword to remove it from its resting place. �
��The blade was rusty,” alleged Mr. Helm. “It was mighty hard to pull out in one piece,” His father asserted that the blade had split when he had tried to straighten it.

  Local historians Mr Harper Gaythorpe and W.B. Kendall Esq. agreed the artefact was evidence of Viking settlement in the area and had belonged to a great warrior. The sword is being held by the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquities and Archaeological Society.

  “That what you wanted?” asked George.

  “Yep! It’ll do for a start… I’ll Google it later.”

  George frowned “You’ll what?”

  “You know… internet?”

  The boy looked blankly.

  Nate reviewed him again. On closer examination the boy struck him as odd. He was quaintly dressed in knee-length grey shorts, a knitted jumper and grey socks; he gasped when he saw the shoes… what the h….? He had on CLOGS! Weird!

  Suddenly he looked at his surroundings more closely. No way! It had only happened again… he had flipped in time… what time he wasn’t sure – but certainly not his own. The library appeared old fashioned, not a computer to be seen… no electronics of any kind… and that museum… he knew had never seen THAT before. He vaguely remembered Granddad telling him that there had been a perfectly good one in the library at Ramsden Square – and said he couldn’t have thought of a more ridiculous site for a museum than the Dock Museum, which was built over a graving dock. But that was Granddad for you – he didn’t like too much change. He had described the glass cases and the museum, telling him that he had spent many an hour there as a boy.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and George ran towards the door. He turned and his piercing blue eyes bored into him. A sudden dawning of realisation broke over Nate like a wave. It couldn’t be…