The Warrior in the Mist

by Ruth Eastham

  The door began to open.

  Aidan saw that Jon still had the map in his hand. He desperately eyed the desk, but there just wasn’t time to put it back in the drawer now. He dived to snatch the paper and stuffed it into his belt at the back of his jeans.

  The door swung wide and Lord Berryman hurried in.

  ‘Kids,’ he said impatiently, with a fake smile on his boyish face. ‘This is kind of a busy time for me.’ He stopped talking, obviously just noticing Aidan’s black eye.

  ‘Been scrapping, have you?’

  Aidan poured out the practised story in a bit of a daze, Emmi and Jon adding useful details where needed.

  ‘Right,’ said Berryman, when Aidan had finished. He pushed the fringe away from his face irritably, and the hair flopped back like a dirty blonde curtain. ‘But won’t your father be back in time to race Centurion?’

  Aidan shook his head. ‘There are complications with the new flat. Dad sent a message. He won’t be back until this evening.’

  ‘I see.’ He stared hard at Aidan, his mouth set into a tight line; Aidan shifted uncomfortably, hoping the paper in his belt wouldn’t rustle and give him away.

  ‘But you’ve won the race the last three years on the trot!’ Berryman said with a childish whine to his voice. ‘All my guests have bet on us to win. I told them it was a certainty.’

  Aidan could almost see the calculations going on in Berryman’s mind: Can I get away with forcing a boy with a black eye to race?

  ‘Firefly has already practised pulling the chariot,’ Emmi said quickly, ‘and she was running really well.’

  ‘Even without Centurion,’ Jon put in, ‘your horse will still win the race, Lord Berryman, sir. There’s … er, high-tech suspension, increased tyre traction … um, state-of-the-art precision engineering.’ He beamed broadly. ‘Those high-and-mighty Roman generals won’t stand a chance!’

  He saw Berryman’s eyes narrow. He paced the room so that Aidan had to shift position to keep the paper hidden.

  ‘Well!’ Berryman snapped at last. He sat down in his chair with a creak of leather. ‘It can’t be helped, I suppose.’

  A wave of relief flooded over Aidan. His legs went a bit trembly with the sensation. Centurion is safe! They’d bought some time. For now, he was safe. He wanted to laugh out loud, but managed to control himself.

  Berryman drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘I’ll have to draft in another stable hand to race,’ he said.

  He looked sharply at Aidan. ‘But you hitch up that mare!’ he said sharply. ‘And get the chariot to the starting line. That will still be your responsibility, young man!’

  Firefly. Aidan felt a flush of anger as he nodded. Lord Berryman couldn’t even be bothered to use the horse’s name when he spoke about her!

  But that was nothing to the anger that was now building up in him as what Emmi had read sunk in. ‘Four million pounds … landowner … Lord J. Berryman … expansion of operations …’

  Berryman was going to make way more money from the fracking operations than he’d been letting on. And that secret document proved this first drilling was only the beginning. Once that was up and running, the way was open for more and more fracking. Who knew where that would end up?

  He swallowed. It had, after all, been a red car speeding from Robbie’s accident.

  Berryman was now well and truly Suspect Number One.

  He studied the man’s face, but he wasn’t letting anything slip. Sure, Aidan could see Berryman was totally irritated about Centurion not racing, but how he managed to stand there right in front of them and be so false, with all the other stuff going on, it was just plain sinister.

  Was it Berryman himself who had attacked Aidan in his house?

  Knowing His Lordship, he had probably got someone else to do the dirty work, an accomplice probably. Which one of them had taken the bracelet and started the museum fire?

  ‘Thanks Lord Berryman,’ Aidan mumbled. He started to edge slowly backwards. ‘We’d better be going now. Get ready for the festival.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Emmi stiffly, as she and Jon also made for the door. ‘I need to talk to my parents. Find out how Robbie is,’ she said, putting slightly too much emphasis on the name. Aidan could see she was struggling to hold it together.

  As Aidan closed the door, he saw Berryman watching him from behind the desk, their eyes locking a moment; an unreadable expression on the man’s face.

  ‘Woah!’ Jon sank back against a brick post. They were well down the drive and out of sight of the manor house. He blew out his cheeks, ‘That was extreme!’

  Aidan sat heavily on a patch of lawn, his heart still thudding.

  Carried on the breeze was the sound of a brass band warming up; the jolly thump of a bass drum. The smell of barbecuing meat drifted upon the air; the Iceni Festival was gearing up to start. Aidan could make out the white marquees set up in one of the big fields; the multicoloured bunting strung along the fence posts.

  ‘He seemed to believe the black eye story,’ Emmi said uncertainly. ‘But did you see the looks he was giving you, Aidan? It was obvious that he was hiding something. Oh, if only we could have got a photo of that document!’ she said in frustration.

  ‘We should check those names out though,’ said Aidan. ‘What were they again? Gavin Lewisham, Edwina Timms and that. Who knows who else is involved on the Enershale side?’

  ‘We’ve got to be even more super careful from now on – you realise that, don’t you?’ said Emmi. ‘If Berryman finds out we know all about the Enershale deal …’

  ‘It really has to be him behind all this, doesn’t it?’ said Jon. ‘Oh man!’

  ‘He’ll pay for what he did to Robbie,’ Emmi said quietly. She fingered her hair in agitation. ‘But we have to stay one step ahead of him. Keep our heads. Work out how to get that evidence.’

  Aidan nodded, but doubt gnawed at him. Berryman? Capable of trying to kill someone? The man was a lot of things, but a murderer? Everything pointed to James Berryman, but it still seemed unbelievable.

  ‘What if he realises something’s gone from his folder?’ Aidan cast a glance in the direction of the house, and then pulled out the crumpled paper.

  ‘Maybe it’s not so important,’ said Emmi. ‘We’ve got to hope he won’t miss it.’

  They sat in a huddle as Aidan unfolded the sheet and smoothed it out. The thin map covered their laps when it was fully open.

  ‘That’s Carrus marked on there,’ said Jon, tapping the place with a finger. The excitement grew in his voice as he continued to study the drawing. He let out a low whistle. ‘It’s got all the data about the exact fracking schedule for this evening!

  ‘See that?’ Jon pointed at a thick red line, with red asterisks marked at intervals along it. ‘It’s the horizontal shaft that’s already been excavated through the shale rock. A thousand metres below the ground. That’s deep!

  ‘And the asterisks … they tell us where each fracking event is set to take place along the shaft. You know – where they will blast the rock to get the gas out.

  ‘Let’s see, a total of …’ he counted quickly. ‘Six blasts, each fifteen minutes apart.’

  ‘And the first blast …’ said Emmi, peering at the tiny number along the line. ‘At 7 p.m. this evening. Right when the festival celebrations are in full swing.’

  Seven o’ clock tonight. Aidan’s stomach did a somersault.

  Emmi checked her watch. ‘That’s three hours from now! Berryman will be at the festival. We can watch him. Check who he talks to. See if we can get any leads on who he worked with to break into the tomb of Boudicca’s daughters.’

  ‘That’s not good.’ Aidan saw Jon was frowning, peering closer at the map. ‘We’d better get some of those leads fast, guys,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Emmi.

  ‘Blast number six.’ Jon’s fingertip came to rest on the final red asterisk along the fracking tunnel.

  ‘It’s set to go off right under Carrus Woods.’


  – CHAPTER 20 –

  CHARIOT RACE

  ‘But the blasts will be too deep to affect the chamber, surely?’ Emmi tapped the map. ‘You said the fracking happens at 1,000 metres.’

  ‘You saw the cracks in the ceiling, though,’ said Jon. ‘Yes, the blasts are deep, but we know they can trigger earth tremors. If that roof comes down, there’ll be no way to prove that was the tomb of Boudicca’s daughters.’

  Aidan hastily folded the map back up. ‘Berryman could go looking for this any time, and work out it must be us who took it.’

  ‘Well there’s no way we can return it!’ said Emmi. ‘It’s all crumpled anyway. Best to just hide it somewhere for the time being.’

  Jon nodded, taking it and cramming it into his pocket.

  By now the brass band music had got louder and more tuneful; the wafting food smells stronger. Aidan detected burgers and frying onions. There were the sounds of cars parking and distant chatter. Hooves clattered along the lane and he heard the slightly rickety trundle of wooden wheels on tarmac. Then the first of the homemade chariots came into view, making its way to the race field.

  ‘We’ve still to get Firefly to the starting line,’ Aidan said. ‘We’d better get moving.’

  ‘And change into our Iceni costumes,’ said Emmi, getting to her feet. ‘We need to act normal; get close to Berryman. Watch who he’s talking to, that kind of thing.’

  The three made it to the shed where they’d stored the chariot, heaving it out on its two high wooden wheels, then quickly got to work, leading Firefly over and hitching her up.

  Aidan felt a lump in his throat as he looked at Robbie’s paintings along the chariot’s side: Boudicca and her daughters in the chariot. The battle scenes. As they got into their costumes, he thought about Robbie’s cryptic comment about having a ‘best treasure’.

  He had meant the bracelet – Aidan knew that now. He pulled at the bottom of his tunic. If only he’d asked Robbie more questions at the time and found out what he’d meant. If he had, Emmi’s cousin might be here with them now, and not lying in a hospital bed.

  Emmi linked her arm through his. ‘Ready?’ she said. She was wearing a long woollen skirt, a dark green tunic, and had a blue spiral painted on each cheek. ‘Recover her bones from the Roman foe!’

  ‘Hide the tomb where none dare go!’ shot back Jon, and Aidan smiled a little as the three of them climbed up on to the chariot and he clicked Firefly into a gentle trot.

  They made their way past the stalls and the milling crowds to the start line, where they’d meet up with Berryman’s new rider. Other chariots joined them on the strip of field marked out with little flags, and the crowds on either side got thicker. Rival hare flags and eagle flags flapped from fence posts.

  Pretty much everyone had dressed up for the occasion, either as Romans or Iceni Celts. Faces were painted with blue woad spirals and zigzags. People wore woollen tunics and trousers in shades of brown and green. Bare-chested men with spiked-up hair grinned and mock-wrestled each other.

  People seemed determined to enjoy themselves, despite the fracking threat. Or had most of them just given up and accepted it was going to happen, no matter what?

  Roman helmets bobbed about and standards were being carried, their eagle symbols glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

  They passed a skipping game. ‘Eternal sleep, forever in youth,’ young children chanted as they jumped the long rope. ‘Guarded by leverets, Valour and Truth!’

  Aidan caught a glimpse of Miss Carter. She made a striking Boudicca, with her flowing hair dyed red. Bold, blue patterns were painted round her eyes and swirled up her bare arms like tattoos.

  ‘Can you see Berryman?’ said Emmi, as they neared the starting line.

  Aidan scanned the teeming crowds on tiptoe.

  ‘There!’ said Jon. ‘By the trophy table. I don’t recognise the people he’s with.’

  ‘Let’s get nearer,’ said Emmi. ‘See if we can go round the back of them and listen in on what they’re saying!’

  They jumped down from the chariot, and Berryman’s replacement driver swung himself up and took the reins.

  There was the usual party atmosphere of the festival, but also something more – Aidan felt it now as they made their way through the crowds – an underlying tension. People seemed more fired up than usual. He now saw anti-fracking placards, in amongst the Roman standards and leaping-hare banners.

  Aidan noticed the weapons being carried around him as well. The daggers in leather belts; the long wooden bows and quivers of arrows on people’s backs. The short, stabbing swords of the Romans, and their realistic, lethal-looking spears.

  A horn was blown; long, wailing blasts, and Celts gathered on the site for the battle re-enactment in the adjacent field. Some held oval, hide-covered shields decorated with leaping hares that seemed to come alive as they were moved about. Weapons swiped the air, interlocking Celtic patterns glinting on their hilts.

  Aidan couldn’t help pausing to watch. Every year, it was always an awesome spectacle: the re-enactment of that last battle.

  The heavily outnumbered Romans pressed into a tight formation opposite the Iceni, their bright red and gold shields curved round them like armour plating.

  The Ancient Britons began beating their swords against their shields, a steady thudding, getting louder all the time. They began goading the enemy, shouting insults, casting fierce glares, as the beating din increased further and they prepared to charge.

  A yell went up. The mock Iceni-Roman battle began.

  The Roman soldiers shuffled forward, keeping rigidly in rank as they faced the teeming stream of Celts.

  A shower of arrows with harmless plastic ends fell on to the Roman defences. Iceni let out theatrical, blood-curdling cries and staggered backwards as authentic-looking javelins struck them with their foam tips. There was the clashing of blunt-edged swords, as people fought, hand to hand. Grins as fallen fighters were helped up and carried on fighting.

  ‘Come on!’ Emmi urged. ‘Lord Berryman’s just over there.’

  They neared where he was sitting.

  On the battlefield, the fighting seemed to grow in intensity. There were fewer smiles from the participants, Aidan noticed. The wild, savage shouts of the blue-painted Celts were deafening.

  The Iceni drew back their bows, then let off another volley of arrows. A Roman reeled in realistic agony as he lost grip on his shield and a sword was plunged through him.

  Aidan was suddenly uncomfortable with the whole idea of what he was watching. The re-enactment was no longer a bit of traditional theatre. What was this festival about anyway? A celebration of people getting killed?

  Course not. Aidan knew that. But it all seemed wrong, like it was making a game out of a terrible event.

  In the adjacent field, there was the crack of a pistol, and the chariot race started, heightening the feeling of chaos. As the chariots gathered speed, Aidan glanced at the galloping Firefly. The blurred number plate of their chariot, AD61, flew past.

  The commotion of yells and chanting got louder. Drumbeats reverberated through the earth; screams cut the air. The throb of noise hurt his ears. Hostile faces were caught in the firelight of torches burning at the field’s perimeter.

  Aidan began to feel strange.

  Pins and needles had started in his left fingertips. He clenched and released his fist to try and shake it off, but slowly the uncomfortable sensation was spreading, a numbness in his whole hand and then along the wrist towards his elbow. He flexed his knuckles, but the more he tried to ignore it, the worse it seemed to get, until the length of his arm was tingling. A gnawing panic started. His heartbeat quickened.

  His vision went blurry. Strange shadows flitted over the scene. The thud of galloping hooves seemed to pound through him.

  Aidan blinked. His head swam. He didn’t feel at all well.

  The numbness had started on the other side now too, spreading quickly along each side of his body and down hi
s legs; a frightening, fizzing sensation, as if the blood supply had been cut off; as if tiny dots of electric charge were covering his skin.

  His vision became really fuzzy. The landscape was changing in front of his eyes, features shifting and distorting.

  What’s happening?

  Aidan reached out a hand to steady himself, but still the scene reshaped itself, like a set change at the theatre when, from behind a gauze, whole towns are lifted away in one sweep; whole forests are dropped into place where there were none before.

  Familiar buildings went hazy and dissolved. The profile of the hill was still there, but there were way more trees now, growing densely on every side of the fields. And the fields themselves were marshy-looking, peppered with reeds and shimmering pools of water. The lake had shrunk and its sides got much steeper, so that it was now more like a deep pond or a boggy pit. On its surface, Aidan caught the occasional glimpse of a faint blue flame, flickering and shifting; appearing and vanishing.

  His mouth went dry.

  Rising up in front of him was a quite different battle scene.

  Romans. Celts. But the arrows Aidan saw being drawn back from bows now had razor tips. The slashing sword edges were lethally sharp.

  The drumbeats, the screams, the jarring bellowing of horns, all seemed to merge into one mass of sound.

  His throat constricted.

  People continued to fall on both sides of the battle, but of the ones on the ground, none of them were getting up any more.

  At the boundaries of his sight were arcs of red blood as blades stabbed and slashed.

  Aidan tried to take a step back, but couldn’t. It was as if he was trapped in a kind of dream, unable to move his feet, only watch in horror.

  The Romans continued their relentless tactic, keeping their nerve and their tight groupings. Even from this distance, it was easy for Aidan to see the success of their methods. There was a kind of bottleneck of fighting so that, even though there were way more Celts, only a limited number of them could get at the Romans at any one time. Channelled into the narrower strip of land between the trees, the Iceni fighters were being relentlessly picked off one by one.