River of Destiny

by Barbara Erskine

  11

  The hall had fallen silent at last. Men and women were sleeping on the benches, wrapped in their cloaks, and the great fire had died to a smouldering heap of embers. The air still held the smell of roasting meat, and the stench of fear. Pushing the door open Eric let himself in and crept past the first sleepers. Two wolfhounds were lying nearby in the rushes beneath the table. They looked up but made no sound.

  The sword he had chosen, almost finished and set aside when he received the commission to make the Destiny Maker for Lord Egbert, was carefully secreted under his arm beneath his cloak as he made his way silently through the hall towards the back door which led to the lord’s house. The candles had died. The only light came now from the occasional lamp which someone must have filled before they went to sleep. He reached the door and pushed gently, frowning as it creaked in the silence. Behind him someone let out a loud snore and he froze. Another man coughed and stirred and fell silent. The hall was strangely quiet considering there were so many people there. The shock of what had happened had fallen like a blanket over the whole company.

  In the lord’s bedchamber behind the mead hall two more lamps were lit. Eric could see the figure of the dead man lying in his bed. His hands were crossed on his chest and held between them he saw the hilt of the Destiny Maker. A figure was seated at his side in one of the great chairs which had been pulled up close to the bed. His wife was keeping watch. He scanned the room carefully. Where was the sorcerer? He couldn’t see anyone else. There was no sign of Hrotgar and the shadows seemed empty.

  His gaze came back to the Lady Hilda. Her head had drooped on her chest and she was swathed in a heavy cloak. Was she asleep? He took a small step forward and held his breath. She made no movement. Another step. He could smell the stench of death in the room and he gave an involuntary shudder.

  There were other things there as well, he realised now his eyes were adjusting to the near darkness. Heathen amulets he himself had made for Lord Egbert. He had a vision suddenly of the fertility charms he had made years before at Egbert’s insistence, charms to ensure his wife’s fecundity. Eggs, a small silver hare and the figure of the goddess Frige, made of the living iron, and, in the tradition of the most ancient times, another figure, grotesque and swollen in belly and breasts, the mother goddess, shaped in his own forge, a talisman which would bring fertility to whichever woman touched it.

  Lady Hilda had given them back to him and demanded they be melted down once their job was done and she had her sons. He had ignored her instructions, leaving the bag of charms in the cottage for his wife to find. He smiled in spite of himself. Again they had proved their power and Edith had conceived. He prayed to the one god and all the gods that this time they would be blessed with a living child. He shivered, wondering how the Lady Hilda could sit there in their presence. She must have loved her lord very much to suffer the indignities this sorcerer had inflicted on her over the years.

  He glanced round again and jumped as the sleeping figure beside the bed let out a small gasping moan in her dream. He held his breath. Nothing moved; even the lamp flames were steady.

  He tiptoed towards the bed and carefully drew back the bed cover, then he reached out to unclasp the man’s hands from the hilt of the sword. The cold fingers were stiff; they held on tightly. Eric struggled, tugging hard, trying to force them apart. The woman beside the bed moaned again and shifted in her chair. He froze. Time passed and he waited, then he began to work on the fingers again, one by one freeing them from the hilt. Quietly he loosened the sword at last and lifted it away from the bed. Then he withdrew the replacement from beneath his cloak and carefully laid it on the man’s body, trying to refold the hands. The fingers wouldn’t bend back. Nervously he tried to force them to clasp the hilt of this unfinished sword but they refused. It was as if the man knew what was happening and rejected the substitute.

  Sweat dripped from Eric’s face. He could feel waves of panic beginning to build in his chest. He clenched his teeth desperately and with one last effort somehow folded the hands in place. He rested his own hand for a moment over the other man’s loosely clasped fists and muttered words of blessing, then he turned away. He gathered up Destiny Maker and tucked it under his arm, then drawing his cloak around him he tiptoed away from the bed towards the door.

  In the silent room the figure by the bed moved and stood up. Hilda stooped over the body of her husband and, bending, kissed his forehead. Then she drew the fur covers up over the sword and the clasped hands and tucked them tightly in to keep him safe. Only when she was satisfied that there was no sign of any interference did she resume her seat and quietly begin her prayers again.

  ‘If you say a word about me or my affairs to anyone ever again or stick your spotty little nose into my business once more I will ring up Mum and tell her to come and fetch you,’ Jackson yelled. ‘Is that clear? And I will tell her you got chicken pox deliberately.’

  It had taken Jackson and his sister three calls to convince Sharon not to come and fetch them when she heard about the chicken pox and she had rung every few hours since. Only her worry about Darren and Jamie being left alone with only their father to keep order prevented her from jumping into the four-by-four and racing back to fetch Jade home.

  Jade sat on the kitchen chair without moving for several minutes after her brother slammed out of the house, trying very hard not to cry. She was feeling ill, her throat was sore and she was a little bit frightened. No adult had said anything to her about what had happened except her brother, to whom she had confessed her betrayal. ‘If you had killed her you would have gone to prison,’ she had wailed.

  ‘We weren’t going to kill her, you prize muppet!’ he yelled back. ‘Just scare her off.’

  They had both seen the police car outside The Threshing Barn and seen the policemen go over to The Old Barn and then to The Old Forge. Jackson was white to the gills. He had already cleaned his gun and taken it upstairs to his father’s gun cupboard where he had slotted it into the rack and locked the door on it. The key he had hidden under a floorboard in the family bathroom.

  Miserably Jade let herself out and made her way over to The Old Forge. She knew Leo was out. She had seen him leave early on without coming over to see them, without thanking her and giving Jackson the bollocking he deserved.

  She groped for the key in its hiding place in the flowerbed and let herself in. He was obviously coming back. He had left stuff lying around and there was half a bottle of milk on the kitchen table next to a sketchpad covered in drawings and workings-out of some sort. She glanced at it, uninterested, and then made her way through the cottage to the stairs. She stood for a long time in Leo’s bedroom, looking down towards the river. She could see the Curlew attached to her buoy in the freeway and she frowned.

  She had followed him and the Zoë woman down there yesterday after the shooting incident, which she had watched from the shelter of the hedgerow. She had seen them talking and laughing and seen how he had helped her into the little dinghy and then into the cockpit of the boat where they had kissed. Watching from her concealment behind one of the ancient pines, Jade had felt a pang of excruciating jealousy which had deepened into fury and pain as she saw them begin to undress, there where anyone could see them and then as she watched they had disappeared into the cabin. A few minutes later she had seen the boat begin to rock up and down at its mooring. She wasn’t born yesterday. She might be only eleven but she knew what was going on and her anger at Leo’s betrayal was overwhelming.

  She had made her way home and gone up to her bedroom where she had crawled, still fully dressed, under the bedclothes. Jackson had returned some time later but he didn’t come up to see her. She hadn’t told him about her role in the events of the day before till the next morning when she had found him in the kitchen. His anger at what he saw as her betrayal of him had simply added to her misery and rage.

  She turned and looked at Leo’s bedroom. Part of her wanted to smash it up, to damage his things, to ri
p up his pictures, to go out in the dinghy and put an axe through the Curlew’s hull so she sank. Absent-mindedly she scratched her face. Another part of her was already planning a far more satisfactory revenge. She was going to destroy her rival for his affections: Zoë.

  Daniel was waiting for her. He stepped out of the shelter of the barn and seized the cob’s bridle with one hand and her wrist with the other. Emily opened her mouth to scream, but he was too quick for her. Dragging her from the horse he clamped one hand across her lips.

  With a panicky neigh the horse bolted.

  ‘You vicious bitch! You couldn’t let an innocent animal live. You thought I loved that horse so she had to pay with her life!’ He released her with disgust. ‘How could you? Have you not one smallest bit of compassion in your heart?’

  Emily recovered her composure remarkably quickly. ‘Do as I ask and there will be no need to prove to you just how little compassion I have!’ she retorted. ‘You need to learn to obey when the squire’s lady gives you a command.’

  He stared at her through narrowed eyes. ‘You can’t force a man to service you. Not even your poor husband. What would happen if I told him what had been going on? What do you reckon would happen to you then? He’d throw you out, that’s what. Like the cheap doxy you are. You leave me and mine alone, my lady,’ he emphasised the last two words with heavy sarcasm, ‘or you will regret crossing me for the rest of your days. You’ve already cost one man his job.’ He moved away from her. ‘Leave us alone, do you hear me? If you threaten me again there will be trouble; I mean it. I will go to Mr Crosby and tell him everything! And don’t imagine that he won’t believe me, because he will. Every word.’

  He strode away towards the forge leaving her standing where she was on the muddy track. He did not look back.

  Zoë was sitting on the long sofa, her feet propped up on cushions, when Ken appeared the following evening. She was reading, the book in a pool of light from the lamp behind her, the rest of the room in semidarkness as the light faded in the sky. He glanced round the room cautiously. She saw the look. ‘What? What are you looking for?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He came and sat beside her, pushing her legs over a little to make room. ‘I’ve been hearing the horses too.’ He gave a self-conscious half laugh.

  Zoë hitched herself away from him. ‘What kind of horses?’

  ‘How do I know? A horse is a horse to me. It’s just noises. Just the sound of hooves, that kind of sneezy sound they make, the chink of harness. I wonder if we are going mad!’ He bent his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

  ‘It’s happening more and more often, isn’t it?’ she said dully.

  ‘At first I thought it was your imagination.’ He grimaced. ‘But there is something in here, isn’t there? Not the kids. Nothing to do with them. There is something restless about this place, as if it’s waiting for something to happen.’

  She stared at him and her mouth dropped open for a moment. ‘You feel it too?’

  ‘You know I do.’ He stood up. ‘Shall we make a project of finding some blinds or curtains or something for these windows? I feel really exposed in here as it gets dark.’ He looked towards them with a shudder.

  ‘Agreed,’ she said. ‘As soon as possible, right? I don’t like the idea of people being able to look in on us. Anyone could be out there. That Jackson guy. I really didn’t like him. Or any of those kids. Or burglars, for goodness’ sake!’

  ‘Or Leo,’ Ken said softly.

  She gave him a sharp look and hoped he didn’t see the colour she could feel flooding into her face. ‘Why Leo? What on earth makes you say that? He’s not a peeping Tom!’

  ‘No,’ Ken said. ‘No, I’m sure he’s not.’ There was a long pause. ‘But he walks across the grass to the path down to the boats. I’ve seen him. If he uses his eyes at all he could hardly miss this great floodlit area of glass and everything we are doing behind it.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ She pulled herself to her feet. The conversation was becoming uncomfortable. It was the moment to mention Leo’s hatred of all the floodlights, but she sensed it would not go down well.

  She headed for the kitchen, and just as she reached the door she heard the noises herself. There were horses in the great room and over by the woodburner a hazy shimmering impression, just for a moment, of shadowy sheaves of hay, and harness hanging from pegs in the wall and the windows were no longer windows but huge double doors opening onto a yard which was bathed in moonlight.

  ‘Ken.’ Her voice came out croaky with sudden fear. ‘Can you see it too?’

  But it had gone. The room was as it ought to be and the only sound was from the TV as Ken picked up the remote and started flicking through the channels.

  Later, in bed, he reached out for her. ‘Darling, I know I haven’t been very attentive lately.’ He sounded embarrassed.

  She rolled away from him. ‘It doesn’t matter. I haven’t been in the mood either.’ It was true, of course.

  She felt him edge away from her again. He turned over onto his back and sighed. ‘Old age, I suppose.’ He gave a bitter snort of laughter.

  ‘Speak for yourself!’ She meant it to come out humorously but somehow it didn’t. ‘We’ve been under an awful lot of strain, Ken,’ she went on after a moment. ‘What with the move and everything. And neither of us has been sleeping properly. Look at your sleepwalking, for goodness’ sake. We’re tired and worn out. All we need is a bit of time.’

  ‘You don’t still want to move away, do you?’ he said after a pause.

  She lay still, staring at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure what to say. To move would mean moving away from Leo. ‘Perhaps we should give it a bit more time, as you said,’ she whispered at last.

  He didn’t reply. She sensed he wasn’t asleep, but she said no more and lay, eyes closed, trying to steady her own breathing.

  The irony was that every bit of her body contradicted her claim to be tired. It was tingling with longing, alive, every portion of her skin reacting to the touch of the sheet, of her own arm as it brushed against her breast, the movement of one thigh against the other, the corner of the pillow nuzzling the back of her neck, but it wasn’t Ken she was thinking about as she lay still beside him, terrified he might sense her arousal, it was Leo.

  It was much later, when his body had at last relaxed into sleep and his breath was punctuated by a gentle snoring, that she gave up trying to sleep herself and climbed cautiously out of bed. She stood for a moment looking down at him in the dark, then she crept towards the door. Closing it carefully behind her she held her breath, listening. She was, she realised suddenly, scared of going downstairs in the dark, as much afraid of what lay down there as of waking Ken. She didn’t want to put on the lights. She knew the light switch, bringing on banks of lights, both up here and below, made a loud enough noise to be heard in the bedroom if one was awake. The question was, was it loud enough to wake Ken?

  She looked over the balustrade. There was no moonlight in the windows; the gardens were pitch black beyond the glass. A week or so ago she would have run down the stairs in the dark without a second thought, but now she hesitated. It was completely silent downstairs. They had let the woodburner go out so there was no sound of shifting logs, no night sounds of wood or metal settling into the cold. She shivered. She hadn’t dared to reach for her dressing gown in case she woke Ken; she was wearing a short silk nightdress which barely covered her bottom. She crept along the landing to the top of the staircase and peered down, reaching for the banisters. Then slowly she reached for the top step with her bare foot.

  She was halfway down when she heard a sound. She froze. After a moment she heard it again. A gentle rattle broke the silence. It came from the direction of the kitchen. She realised her hand was clutching the wooden handrail so tightly it was hurting her fingers. She took another step down. Something about the noise made her suspicious. It had no ghostly feel. It sounded very real. And then as it came a third time, she realised what it was. Someone was
trying the backdoor latch. She ran the rest of the way down and across the floor into the kitchen and paused there just inside the door listening. After a moment it came again and this time she could hear someone turning a key back and forth in the lock. She gave a grim smile. Thank goodness for the new lock. She was about to tear the bolt back and throw open the door when she became aware of how scantily clad she was. If it was Jackson she had no desire to confront him all but naked. The next best thing was to find out who it was. If she scared them off the chances were they would run round the front of the house and the floodlights would come on. If they didn’t she could bring them on manually with the switch beside the back door.

  Not turning on the kitchen lights, she banged hard on the door and then ran to the window so she could look out unseen. At first she thought nothing was happening, then after several seconds she saw a small figure running across the lawn. She was keeping to the dark area beyond the reach of the lights, but nevertheless just about visible. It wasn’t Jackson. It was Jade.

  ‘Gotcha!’ she murmured. ‘Little monkey!’ She switched on the floodlights and watched the whole area swim into view. Jade had judged her flight perfectly. There was no sign of her.

  ‘Zoë?’ The voice behind her made her jump out of her skin. She spun round. Ken was standing in the doorway, his hand on the kitchen light switch. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Don’t turn it on,’ she cried. ‘It was Jade. She was trying to get in with a key. They have obviously still got one.’

  ‘Good thing I fitted the bolt and changed the lock, eh?’ Ken came to stand beside her at the window. Outside the floodlights went out leaving the garden pitch black. ‘A word with her parents tomorrow, do you think? On the phone.’

  ‘She’s supposed to be ill with chicken pox,’ Zoë said thoughtfully. ‘Presumably she’s not feeling that ill.’ She went over to the light switch, then she paused. ‘I hate the thought of turning on the lights and being watched from outside as if we were a theatre set. Can we get blinds for the kitchen tomorrow as well?’