by Ruth Eastham
‘What happened out here, Aidan?’ his dad asked quietly, so only he could hear. ‘After what I told you about not riding him, how could you have disobeyed me like that?’ He sounded more hurt than angry.
‘It was the flames …’ Aidan mumbled. ‘On the lake.’ He wouldn’t be surprised if Dad didn’t believe him; he hardly believed it himself.
Dad screened his eyes and looked over the lake. ‘Maybe sunlight reflected off the water. The glare got him spooked.’
Aidan decided not to argue. ‘I’m really sorry,’ he said.
Dad gave a short nod. ‘I’m just glad you’re OK.’
Aidan felt the painful throb in his arm, but what was that compared to what had happened to Centurion? He pressed his hand into his pocket.
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘Well, the good news is there’re no bones broken,’ Ann told them.
‘Really?’ Aidan grinned and he heard Dad let out a relieved sigh.
‘That’s great!’ said Emmi. ‘For a minute I was really, really worried! If the leg had been broken and Lord Berryman had found out –’
‘Hang on, hang on,’ the vet raised a hand to interrupt her.
Aidan stopped smiling.
‘Ligaments have been badly strained,’ said Ann with a frown. ‘Recovery is hard to predict. But with the right treatment and healing time …’
‘I’ll pay for any treatment Centurion needs,’ Aidan’s dad said quickly.
Ann lowered her voice. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Martin, it’s going to cost a fair amount to put it right. He’ll need a course of anti-inflammatory injections, and I’ll have to do an ultrasound scan in a few days, to get a true understanding of the extent of the injury.’
Aidan glanced at Dad. They both knew money was tight. Dad had spent all he had, and more, on trying to get Mum well.
‘Meanwhile, cold therapy will help take down the swelling.’ Ann pressed a rubbery ice pack on to the horse’s leg. ‘Surely Berryman’s insurance can cover the treatment costs,’ she said. ‘I’ll need to get his approval with a signature, of course.’
‘Oh, Lord Berryman can’t find out about the injury!’ cried Emmi. ‘Even if there are no broken bones, he could still use it as an excuse to have Centurion put down. If the fracking happens he’ll get rid of the horses, and he won’t be able to sell an injured one.’
‘Yeah,’ Jon nodded. ‘He’ll use the horses for the Iceni Festival one last time to impress his girlfriends, and then that’s it!’
Aidan’s chest went tight. The festival! The day after tomorrow. He’d completely forgotten he was supposed to be using Centurion in the chariot race!
Ann filled a syringe with liquid from a small bottle. ‘If you ask me, it’s no coincidence the fracking’s scheduled for the same day as the festival. It’s an attempt to distract people’s attention.’ She stroked Centurion’s leg then pushed in the needle. ‘That should ease the pain for you, old boy.’
The vet gave a small shake of her head. ‘But listen – do you really think Lord Berryman will have Centurion put down? He must know how important he is to you and your dad, Aidan.’
The old Lord Berryman knew, thought Aidan. But things had been different since the young Lord Berryman took over.
Centurion. Aidan swallowed. Mum had named him when he was a foal.
Aidan heard Dad’s voice catch as he spoke: ‘I’ll pay for the treatment.’
‘Even though you’ll have to leave him,’ Ann reminded him quietly, ‘once the fracking starts?’
Dad stood a little straighter. ‘I know it might not be for much longer, Ann,’ he said. ‘But while the horses are still in my care, I’ll do whatever I can for Centurion.’
Aidan felt a flush of pride.
Ann looked at Aidan’s dad, then gave a stiff nod.
‘And who’s to say the fracking will ever start, anyway?’ said Emmi. ‘The protest’s not over yet, and we’ve still got two whole days! People power can still stop it – and you saw the TV cameras!’
‘I made sure they got a good close-up of my banner,’ added Jon. ‘The footage is already on YouTube!’
‘And there’s the community meeting at the museum this evening,’ Emmi went on. ‘To weigh up our final options.’
Jon rolled his eyes at Aidan. ‘Bo-ring!’ he mouthed.
Aidan caught Ann’s arm. ‘So you won’t tell Lord Berryman about Centurion?’
The vet gave a long, drawn-out sigh, then winked. ‘Cross my heart,’ she said.
‘What this horse needs now is to get out of the sun and have plenty of rest.’ She crooked an elbow round the animal’s neck, ushering him to his feet. ‘Martin, give me a hand, will you?’
Aidan followed as Ann and Dad led the limping horse towards the stables.
‘Centurion will be OK, Aide,’ said Jon as they went, and Aidan tried to return a smile.
‘Hey, why don’t we go and get the chariot ready for the race?’ suggested Jon. ‘Test it out with Firefly or Fenland Queen.’
‘Yes, great idea!’ Emmi pulled on Aidan’s hand. ‘Take your mind off …’
The sound of a car engine interrupted their conversation. A vehicle was making its way towards the estate. Sunlight reflected off the metallic red bodywork. It was a convertible, with the top down, and little needles pricked Aidan’s stomach. Only one person round here had a car like that.
‘Berryman’s coming!’ he hollered at Dad. ‘Get Centurion out of sight!’
‘They won’t reach the stables in time!’ Emmi said in alarm.
‘We’ve got to delay him!’ Aidan leapt through the hedge and sprinted towards the cattle grid, his friends following. He knew Berryman would have to slow down at the grid.
The red Porsche rounded the corner. There was a screech of brakes and the car stopped in a rush of spitting gravel. Berryman’s thin, boyish face poked out.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ his voice whined over the purr of the engine. ‘I nearly killed you!’
‘Sorry Lord Berryman,’ panted Aidan, thinking fast. He glanced past the man’s shoulder. He could see Dad and Ann with Centurion, close to the stables, but still in full view.
‘There’s a big pothole up ahead that we needed to warn you about. Dad hasn’t had time to repair it yet.’
‘Pothole?’ Berryman ran his fingers through his long blonde hair. ‘I’m perfectly capable of driving round it!’
Come on, Dad, thought Aidan. Come on …
‘Yes, but it’s a huge pothole,’ said Emmi, edging round to block Berryman’s field of vision.
Nearly there …
‘Practically the Grand Canyon,’ said Jon, who, Aidan noticed, couldn’t help gazing at the car. ‘We could open it to tourists and charge an entrance fee.’
Berryman narrowed his eyes a little, looking suspicious, then he spun his head round and peered towards the stables.
Aidan exchanged relieved glances with his friends. Dad and Ann had made it.
‘Pothole!’ Berryman muttered. ‘This car’s got high-tech suspension and state-of-the-art engineering!’ He settled himself back in his plush leather seat.
‘I need to talk to your father,’ he told Aidan. ‘But you’ll do. An important politician friend of the family is coming to visit ahead of the festival, and his daughter is an experienced rider.’
He revved the engine. ‘I need Centurion saddled up for her right away.’
Aidan saw Emmi raise her eyebrows at him in alarm. He stepped forward, thinking fast. ‘But you know how Centurion is. Only Dad can ride him. He says he’s too headstrong. I’m never allowed to handle him alone, unless he’s tied to the chariot or whatever.’ His voice trembled a bit. ‘What if your friend’s daughter was thrown off and broke her leg? Or worse?’
Berryman didn’t reply. He ran his fingers through his hair then gave an irritated sigh.
‘Tell your father to get another horse ready then instead, please,’ he said impatiently. ‘Tell him to buff up the saddle and give the hors
e a brush up as well – make it look its best.’
Aidan gave a nod. He glanced at Jon, who was giving him a thumbs-up. ‘I’ll tell him.’
Berryman revved the engine. Then he looked hard at Aidan, wagging a finger.
‘But it’s Centurion I want in the chariot race; make sure your father knows that.’
Aidan’s stomach twisted.
‘I’ll have some important guests watching,’ said Berryman, ‘and Centurion is by far the fastest of the lot.’ He shifted into gear. ‘I don’t want them to think I’ve given them a bad betting tip!’
The Porsche swung round the three friends and shot away with an aggressive roar.
– CHAPTER 4 –
CHARIOT
‘Steady, Firefly. Steady.
‘Ready, you guys?’
Jon and Emmi bunched closer to Aidan on the raised platform of the chariot and gave him a nod. Aidan lifted the reins and the horse broke into a gentle trot, pulling them in a circuit around the field.
‘High-tech suspension!’ exclaimed Jon, mimicking Berryman’s voice.
‘State-of-the-art engineering,’ giggled Emmi.
Aidan felt himself relaxing a bit. It had been a good idea of Jon’s to try out the chariot. He admired the two large wooden wheels turning smoothly; its curved, waist-high metal sides, open at the back; the long wooden struts in front that the horse was hitched to.
‘Modelled on the ancient British Celt’s machines of war,’ said Jon with a satisfied grin. ‘Welded from recycled pieces of the bonnet of my grandad’s old VW Beetle. Wheels from a cannibalised mountain bike.’ He gave a happy sigh. ‘Who needs a state-of-the-art Porsche?’
‘Hey, Aidan,’ said Emmi as the chariot started another circuit. ‘If we get Firefly working really well, we can convince Berryman she’s the best choice this year; make him forget all about wanting to race Centurion.’
Aidan looked at her doubtfully. ‘Maybe.’
He traced his fingers over the paintings that their artist friend, Emmi’s cousin Robbie, had put around the top edge of the chariot. Drawings of the 2,000-year-old legend of Queen Boudicca.
There was Boudicca in her chariot, galloping into battle with her daughters either side of her. There were her Iceni warriors clashing with Roman soldiers. Then Boudicca’s body being taken to her treasure-laden tomb.
The design was all colour and movement. Robbie was a genius.
They slowed to a stop by a shed. It had an open toolbox beside it, and a collection of paint pots and jars of brushes soaking.
‘Good old chariot!’ said Emmi, jumping down and patting the side. ‘Winner of the Carrus-under-Hill chariot race three years running, thanks to Aidan at the reins!’
‘No way can we let those Roman chariots win!’ said Jon, getting out and reaching into the toolbox. He tightened the number plate with a screwdriver: AD61. ‘Romans versus Celts. History’s got to be put right once more! And this year I’m going to be filming the whole thing from the air – aerial video footage straight from my flying drone!’
Aidan smiled at Jon, unbuckling the horse from the chariot and letting her free, but he felt a prickle of worry. What was going to happen when Berryman found out Centurion wasn’t pulling the chariot?
‘Wheels need a bit of attention,’ Emmi said, taking out a wire brush and scrubbing at the scuffed blue paint.
‘Let’s add some blood splats,’ suggested Jon. ‘Give it that authentic battle feel.’ He used a chisel to lever the lid off a tin of red paint. ‘And why don’t we put a few speed flames along the bottom?’ He grinned mischievously in Aidan’s direction. ‘How about spooky blue?’
‘I know what I saw, Jon!’ said Aidan, giving him a mock punch on the arm. He looked towards the lake. ‘The fire was right there on the water.’
‘I believe you, mate,’ said Jon. ‘Honestly! I don’t think you imagined it or anything.’ He dipped a brush in the tin and dabbed the wheel spokes with paint. ‘So, assuming it wasn’t reflected sunlight like your dad said – and assuming you’re not a complete nutter –’
Emmi stopped her work and gave a little gasp. ‘There is another explanation.’
Aidan looked at her.
‘The way the flames appeared and then vanished like that.’ She took a breath. ‘Well … what if they were will-o’-the-wisps?’
Jon threw back his head and laughed, then he saw Emmi frowning and stopped quickly. ‘You’re being serious?’
‘Course I am!’ said Emmi, getting a site up on her phone and reading from the screen. ‘Listen to this … will-o’-the-wisp … phosphorescent, ghostly light seen hovering or floating at night on marshy ground … Many believe these ghostly apparitions are spirits not at rest.’
Jon rolled his eyes. ‘Oh man! OK.’ He got a site up on his phone. ‘will-o’-the-wisps are thought to result from the combustion of natural gases. Methane gas seeps occur in many places in the UK, sometimes dating back centuries … See? Everything can be explained by science, one way or another, Emmi Parker.’
‘When the flames of the will-o’-the-wisp were seen,’ persisted Emmi, her eyes widening, ‘it was thought that someone was going to die.’
‘Yes, me,’ grinned Jon, ‘of disbelief!’
He spun away as Emmi swiped at him with her wire brush. ‘Ven zee flames are seen …’ Jon put on a Dracula voice. ‘Many a lonely and unvary traveller has been led to their fate, never to be seen again; following zee flames of doom!’
He broke into a high-pitched laugh.
‘Science can’t explain everything, Jon Clegg!’ Emmi told him.
‘Come on you two!’ Aidan smirked. He dabbed his brush at the wheel spokes. ‘Come and help me paint some pretty, dainty blood splats, will you?’
‘Lovely!’ came a voice from behind them, and Aidan spun round to see Robbie standing there, holding a see-through carrier bag full of chocolate bars, crisps and cans of drink.
‘Not quite up to your artistic standard, Robbie,’ said Jon.
‘Just the person we need!’ cried Emmi, leaping up to give her cousin a hug.
Robbie emptied the bag on to the grass. ‘Food,’ he said. ‘I seen you working. I been in the woods.’
‘Collecting your special treasures again, Robbie?’ Emmi said fondly. ‘Getting ideas for your drawings?’
Robbie’s hazel eyes lit up. He rummaged in the leather bag strapped across his patchwork waistcoat.
Aidan smiled at Emmi as they watched him. Robbie had been ill as a child; he’d got some kind of virus. He was twenty-three, and he and Emmi were really close.
Robbie brought out a higgledy-piggledy collection of his finds. He fanned out glinting feathers in his fist. ‘Magpie,’ he told them with a serious nod. Then he held up a piece of reddish fur and dangled it in front of Jon’s face. ‘Squirrel tail.’
‘Nice,’ said Jon, leaning back and sneezing.
‘Shrew’s skull,’ Robbie said proudly, placing the tiny white object on Emmi’s palm.
‘Amazing,’ she said, peering at it.
‘Here.’ Robbie tapped Jon’s shoulder. ‘Look!’
Robbie thrust what at first glance looked like a small white stick into Jon’s hand.
‘Hare’s leg bone,’ Robbie said proudly.
‘You really have a thing about bones, don’t you?’ said Jon, with a slightly strained smile. ‘Yes,’ he nodded as Robbie beamed at him. ‘Very nice.’
‘My treasure,’ Robbie said to himself quietly as he packed the objects carefully away. ‘Got a fox jaw for Alice.’ He blushed a little, smiling, looking down at his feet.
Emmi winked at Aidan. They all knew Robbie had a soft spot for their teacher, Miss Carter. They’d been friends since childhood, and he often took her presents.
Jon patted Robbie on the back. ‘I would go for the feathers, if I were you.’
They continued to work on the chariot; Aidan coating the axle with thick layers of paint, trying to brush away the worries that kept cramming his head.
It was dus
k before they finally finished.
‘There!’ Jon tapped the wheels of the chariot, and then ate a Mars bar in virtually one bite. ‘Fit for an Iceni warrior, or what?’
Emmi gave a satisfied nod.
‘Best lock her up safe,’ said Robbie.
‘And the chariot too,’ Jon added cheekily, dodging a slap from Emmi.
They hurried to tidy up the stuff they’d been using, slotting brushes in jars of turps and sealing the lids of paint pots. They all helped to push the chariot back into the wooden shed.
‘I tell you, Aidan,’ said Jon, ‘even without Centurion pulling the chariot, it’s a done deal! Extra suspension. Increased tyre traction. You’ll win the race by miles!’
There was movement on the road that ran alongside the field. People in the lane.
‘The anti-fracking meeting!’ said Emmi. ‘We should get going.’
Jon did a theatrical yawn. ‘What’s the point? What we need is revolutionary action!’ he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘Storm number 10 Downing Street.’
Then he dropped the dramatics and sighed. ‘There’s no point going to boring meetings, if you ask me. The government’s already made up its mind. It’s going to take a miracle to stop Enershale now.’
‘Miracles happen,’ said Robbie with a mysterious smile.
Aidan eyed him. ‘What do you know that we don’t, Robbie?’
The young man just shrugged. ‘I’ve got a best treasure,’ he said. ‘Wait and see.’
‘Well,’ Emmi linked her arm firmly through Jon’s with a smirk, ‘whether you like it or not, we’re all going to the meeting. Help me, Robbie!’
Robbie grinned and got Jon in a headlock. The three of them started across the field in the direction of the museum, staggering and laughing, he and Emmi pulling a protesting Jon between them. ‘No, please, not the meeting! I’ll do anything – please! Not the community meeting!’
‘INTO THE BATTLE,’ Emmi began. ‘INTO THE TOMB.’
She marched in time to the familiar Carrus chant.
‘FOLLOW QUEEN BOUDICCA MEETING HER DOOM.’
Robbie joined in with gusto.
‘RECOVER HER BONES FROM THE ROMAN FOE.’