River of Destiny

by Barbara Erskine

  The phone stopped ringing. She ducked into the cabin and found her bag on the floor with her jacket; rummaging for her mobile she peered at it. ‘It was Ken.’

  ‘So the ghost boat didn’t get him.’ Leo smiled, astonished at the pang of jealousy he felt.

  ‘Not unless that was a ghost ringing.’ She grinned. She pressed a button and waited for it to connect. ‘Ken? Where are you? Are you OK?’

  Leo turned away with a sigh.

  Picking up their mooring again beside the Lady Grace, Leo rowed Zoë ashore and then made his excuses. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her with the others, not now. He rowed back to the boat and picked up his sketchbook again.

  The area in front of The Threshing Barn was busy. Zoë stared as she walked up across the grass. There must have been at least half a dozen cars parked on the gravel outside and it was thronged with people. ‘Oh, Rosemary!’ she muttered as she saw the day-sacks and the walking sticks. She headed towards her own front door, her head resolutely down and made it without being accosted by her neighbours.

  ‘So, you dark horse, where have you been?’ Amanda was in the kitchen.

  ‘Looking for Ken and John, as you well know.’ Zoë dropped her bag on the table.

  ‘All night?’ Amanda asked casually.

  ‘All night.’ Zoë smiled. ‘Ken phoned just now. He said he and John were in Woodbridge. I gather they are getting the ingredients for a barbecue.’

  ‘And they won’t be long.’ Amanda grinned. ‘If I were you, I’d go up and have a shower and try and wipe that smile off your face before they get back.’ As Zoë headed upstairs she called after her. ‘Where is Leo, by the way?’

  ‘On the boat. He didn’t feel like meeting everyone.’

  Amanda nodded. ‘I’m not surprised. Go on up. We’ll talk when you are respectable.’ As Zoë ran upstairs she walked over to the window and stared out at the crowd of people outside the barn on the other side of the lawn. Life was obviously not dull in this part of the world.

  Jade was sitting on her bed looking at the squat figure of the woman. She had washed it yet again and carefully dried it and sat it down in the middle of the piece of bubblewrap, then she had washed her own hands again, unable to suppress a shudder at the feel of the cold iron. It was evil, she was sure of it, very heavy for its size and very, very old.

  She heard a shout in the distance and she slid off the bed to go and look out of the window. From her room you couldn’t see the front of the barn or the neighbours but she knew what it was. Mrs Formby and her walkers. She smiled. Jackson and Mike had gone out early and the field would be all ploughed up by now, and Mike’s mum was going to come down with some of her friends from the village to help see off these people. The Turtills were furious. Strangers had no right to come and try and change things. The village had been the same for hundreds of years. Everyone knew where things were and everyone liked Mike’s dad.

  It didn’t occur to her that she too was a stranger. As was Leo. Her eyes narrowed as she suddenly thought about him and Zoë. But then her plans for Zoë were almost complete. She looked back towards the bed with an expression which would have shocked to the core any adult seeing it.

  He had watched so carefully he knew exactly where to dig, and he had seen the men discard their spades. Perhaps they meant to return later to neaten the job they had done, to firm down the soil and to trim the edges of the mound. Whatever the reason he blessed them silently. Tearing off his tunic he threw it on the ground and lifted the first spade, thrusting it into the earth. He dug for a long time, burrowing sideways into the soft soil, throwing the earth over his shoulder, making no attempt to hide what he was doing. If he had time he would make good the grave later; he had respect for Lord Egbert, but not at the expense of Destiny Maker. The sandy earth collapsed and subsided as he dug on, but he ignored it, scraping it aside, throwing it behind him, digging on and on until he came at last to the first of the group of earthenware jars which had been left to refresh the dead man. He paused, leaning on his spade. He was already on the second; the first had snapped when he was halfway into the mound. He had no fear of Lord Egbert’s spirit, nor of the curses he had heard the sorcerer declaim on any who disturbed the grave. The magic of the sword, the magic of the smith who wrought the alchemy which turned ore to iron in the secret heart of the fire more than protected him.

  To reach Lord Egbert he had to pass the man who had been laid at his feet. He stood looking down at Hrotgar impassively, taking in the sunken features, the rigid limbs, the wide eyes which no one had been able to close. There was no sign of the great bloody wound in his chest. All had been washed and cleaned and he had been dressed in his finest cloak. His gaze went back to the open eyes, covered in soil, the dirt on his hands; this man had been a Christian and he had been laid in the grave of a follower of Woden. He smiled grimly. Hrotgar was there to serve his lord. To serve his lord he had colluded in the making of a pagan sword. It was only right that his had been the blood to bathe the blade.

  He wasn’t sure why he wanted it so badly. What was there left to live for? His lord and his wife were gone. Neither his village nor his family would ever have him back. In their eyes he was guilty of murder, however justified it may have been. But the sword would live on. He would see to that. In his hands it would live up to its name.

  He threw a spadeful of earth onto Hrotgar’s face with a sardonic grin. Unshriven and in a state of mortal sin the man would go to Hell. Or, in the wake of his pagan lord perhaps he would go to the Otherworld of the Saxon gods and grovel before Woden himself. Wherever he went Eric hoped his immortal soul would suffer the agonies of the damned.

  It took only a short time to dig his way into the mound to the place where Egbert lay, and there, beside him, lay Destiny Maker, already dulled by the weight of the earth. He pulled it from its scabbard with a smile and stroked the blade with the edge of his thumb. A thin line of blood appeared. It was still as sharp as when it had left his workshop.

  Laying it gently on the ground he picked up the spade and began to infill the earth once more. It took longer than he expected, but at last it was done and he had scraped the last traces of soil off the grass. No doubt in daylight it would be obvious what had happened but by then he would be long gone.

  Suddenly exhausted he sat down there in the darkness and took the sword on his knee. He glanced up, seeking the moon, but the clouds had gathered and there was no trace of it. The darkness was absolute. With a heavy sigh of exhaustion he lay back on the ground and just for a moment closed his eyes.

  It was the breath of ice-cold air which made him stir. He sat up suddenly, wondering what had awoken him. The night was still, but far away on the wind he could hear the beat of music coming from the mead hall where the villagers still drank to their lord’s memory. Standing up stiffly he turned and looked down towards the river.

  A thick mist was drifting up through the trees towards him, wreathing round the branches, already licking at the newly settled earth of the mound in the centre of the field where he stood. He couldn’t see the water now; all was silent. He took a step away, the sword in his arms, suddenly alert. He could see movement down at the landing stage where the fishermen had left their boats to attend the funeral rites.

  Another craft was nosing up-river, a large craft with a huge sail. Hesitating, he drew back and watched. It was far larger than any local fishing vessel or even one of the traders. He strained his eyes. As the mist thinned for a moment and the moon appeared he could see quite clearly. The sail was being lowered. The ship swarmed with men. He took a few steps closer and peered through the trees, trying to see more clearly in the moonlight. They had waited for darkness before they came ashore. He felt his blood run cold. He could see the glint of soft moonlight on armour, and on the great curved beak of a head at the prow of the ship. They were very quiet.

  They were Danes.

  ‘Jesus Christ save us all,’ he murmured. He turned towards the village and looked up the hill where
the sound of music still carried on the wind. The people up there had been his friends; amongst them were members of his family and Edith’s. Her sister, her mother. Gudrun. Lady Hilda. He had to warn them or they would all be massacred.

  Hefting the heavy sword onto his shoulder he began to run, as silent as a shadow, up the field.

  ‘Tell me, are you planning on walking clean over the top of the burial mound?’ Dottie and Arthur were standing next to Rosemary as they watched the group finishing their coffees. Dottie spoke softly, her eyes fixed on the others; there were people in the group she didn’t recognise. Youngsters. Some had the light of zeal in their eyes, others looked rather more sinister.

  ‘If necessary.’ Rosemary folded her arms. She hadn’t picked up her own walking pole yet; it lay with Steve’s and several others against the fence near the front door. She sighed. Her head was splitting and she could barely see straight. On her return three hours before she had abandoned the idea of going back to bed. Putting on the kettle for some strong coffee, she had taken the sword out of her daysack and wrapped it in a towel, then she had stood indecisively wondering where to hide it. Suddenly she smiled. Leo’s. What more natural, if anyone asked, than that he would have picked it up and stashed it away somewhere. If there was any trouble at any time it would be for him to sort out. Pulling open the door, she had crept outside and headed across the grass towards the forge. Halfway there she stopped suddenly. A small figure was walking surreptitiously up the path just ahead of her. Jade. Rosemary ducked sideways behind the hedge that divided their garden from that of the Lloyds and on impulse thrust the sword in under it. She pulled away the towel and left it there. In five minutes she was back in the kitchen sipping the scalding coffee.

  She nodded at Dottie. ‘We will look to see where the traces of the original path run. On the map it seems to go clean over the top of it, but we may find that it skirts it.’ She smiled a little smugly.

  ‘And you have checked that this is not some sort of national monument? If it is an archaeological site we don’t want to infringe any by-laws. We are awfully near Sutton Hoo here.’

  ‘If it was like Sutton Hoo there would be clearly signposted access,’ Rosemary retorted. She felt a slight pang of guilt at the thought of the old sword now lying under her neighbour’s hedge and the fact that the site was clearly marked on the largest scale Ordnance Survey maps. Well, if no one else had registered the fact, she was certainly not going to point it out. ‘If you ask me it is just the remains of a refuse dump. Anything more important would hardly be fenced off with rusty wire.’

  ‘And you checked with the council?’

  ‘I have informed them what we are doing. I have told them the path has been deliberately blocked. I have followed all the correct procedures, I assure you.’ Rosemary narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you are having second thoughts.’

  Dottie pursed her lips. ‘I was a bit shocked at the strength of feeling about this walk in the pub last night. There seems to be a huge amount of resentment in the village at newcomers coming in and stirring up the status quo.’

  ‘You’re not a newcomer.’

  ‘No. But we aren’t local either.’ Dottie shook her head. ‘Our neighbours accept us and I think they like us. I don’t want to spoil that relationship. It’s different for us. We live in the middle of the village. We know people.’

  ‘If you don’t want to come, don’t,’ Rosemary interrupted impatiently. ‘I thought you and Jim were with me on this one, but it makes no difference to me. There are a great many people who care about our liberties here. We won’t miss you. I thought you were someone who stands up for the little people against landowners.’

  ‘Bill Turtill is hardly a rampant landowner, Rosemary. His family may have been here generations, but he is a hard-working farmer and much respected locally. He does things for the village.’

  ‘Then he should go just that bit further!’ Rosemary sniffed. She bent to pick up her pole. ‘Right, I think we are about ready. I am doing this for the people of Britain, Dottie,’ she commented. ‘As you well know, without people like me we would lose all our rights of access. There should be no corner of the country where we cannot go.’

  Dottie stood back without a word. She watched as the group formed into a loose-knit crocodile behind Rosemary and Steve and began to walk across the lawns towards the lane.

  Jim approached his wife, hanging back with her. ‘Second thoughts?’

  She nodded. ‘I agree with so much she says usually, but this time I think she’s got it wrong.’

  ‘Dead Man’s Field,’ Jim said with an exaggerated shiver. ‘If there is some dead Anglo-Saxon buried in that mound he’s not going to be pleased about all those people walking all over him.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘And what is more I think the village is right. There has been a tradition of not walking in that field. It feels like sacrilege.’

  ‘Shall we go home?’

  She glanced after the others and then she gave a small, almost embarrassed nod. They stood and watched as the group of people walked purposefully towards the hedge. One by one they disappeared through the gate and out of sight. Only when the last one had gone did Jim and Dottie turn and head back towards their car.

  ‘There’s a couple of people wimping out,’ Ken said slowly. They were all standing at the window watching. ‘Does Bill know what is about to hit him?’

  ‘He knows,’ Zoë said. The barbecue had been lit; it would take a couple of hours for it to get going. The meat and sausages were in the fridge and Amanda had made a jug of Pimm’s.

  ‘Shall we go down to see the fun?’

  ‘I’m tempted.’ Zoë glanced at Amanda. ‘We’ve lots of time before lunch. What about you? Who wants to see an agrarian uprising in action?’

  ‘I do!’ John put up his hand. ‘I had no idea you all had such fun out in the sticks. It beats our part of the world for entertainment value. Which side are we on?’

  ‘Not theirs.’ Amanda nodded her head towards the disappearing crowd.

  ‘Too right. Up with the landowners!’ He grinned. ‘I never thought I would hear myself say that. But it seems to me there are hundreds of footpath signs all over the place. More than enough for everyone.’

  ‘There are,’ Zoë put in. ‘It’s just this one woman with a crusader complex. I expect her dad told her to keep off the flowerbeds when she was a child and she has been stamping round having tantrums about being told to keep off other people’s property ever since.’

  They walked down the field and turned into the lane, keeping well behind the stragglers. In the distance they could hear the sound of a tractor.

  Behind them Jade had slipped out of the door of The Summer Barn with a smile. The whole area was deserted; every building, including Leo’s – she had checked earlier to see if he was back. There was no one anywhere. On her shoulder she was carrying an ecological and environmental Fair Trade-cotton shopping bag she had found on the back of the kitchen door. Her mother never used it. She skirted the deserted smoking barbecue with a critical glance at the charcoal and cautiously headed towards The Old Barn. They had left the door on the latch. She noted that they had changed the lock and there was a new bolt on the inside and she gave a little sneer. All those precautions and they had left it unlocked!

  Pushing her way into the kitchen she surveyed it critically. It was immaculately tidy. Someone had loaded the dishwasher and it was quietly swishing in the corner.

  Creeping through into the great room she studied it carefully too. Nothing was out of place. She had seen them all walk away across the grass but even so she was very careful. She tiptoed up the stairs and along the landing to the master bedroom and pushed open the door. It was not so tidy here. The bed was unmade and a towel lay on the floor. She screwed up her nose and walking towards the bed she sniffed cautiously like a small animal. As she had suspected, he had got up late and left it a mess. She could smell the freshly applied aftershave. So, he slept on the side nearest the bat
hroom, which meant she slept nearer the window. She moved round to the far side of the bed and pulled back the covers.

  She could smell Zoë’s perfume now; she recognised it. She scowled. Groping in her bag she brought out the metal figurine and carefully tucked it under the mattress. Then she jumped on the bed to test if Zoë would realise it was there. She could feel it easily. She frowned. Plan B. She would have to put it under the bed. It would hopefully be as efficient, though it might take longer. She would have to take the risk that it would be found if anyone zealously vacuumed the room.

  She retrieved it and pushed it right under the bed, so that it rested underneath the pillow where Zoë’s head would lie, then carefully she straightened the sheets and the duvet. The bed looked wrong with the other side rumpled so she straightened that as well. He would never remember. Her mother said men never remembered things like that. Then she walked to the end of the bed and raised her hands above her head. ‘Great goddess,’ she intoned solemnly. ‘I want you to destroy this woman. Take her away. Make her leave. Fill this house with bad things and make the Lloyds go away.’ She paused. ‘Amen,’ she added. She waited, half-expecting something to happen at once, aware that she was for the first time feeling a little scared. There had been no doubt of the power of the figure in her mind, but now that she had unleashed it on the unsuspecting Zoë she wondered if she had gone too far. ‘I don’t want her to die,’ she added under her breath. ‘At least –’ At least what? Actually she would be very pleased if she did die. That would get rid of her for good. She bit her lip surprised at her own daring, and even more surprised when she realised that actually she didn’t care.

  She heard a sound behind her and she spun round. There was no one there. She could feel her heart thumping with fright. It was already working. She had to get out of there. The room was filling with magic. Bad magic.