‘They’re useless.’ Susannah pushed her fringe out of her eyes. ‘But even if what we’re looking for is here, it might have been recycled years ago. It could have been used as lining for a scroll case, or even to stuff a crack in the plaster.’
‘We’ll go on looking anyway,’ said David. ‘Julius said that if we find out anything more about the Maransaete, he wants to know.’
‘He needn’t hold his breath,’ Susannah said. ‘Dave, are you all right? You’re very pale. ‘
‘I think I’m starting one of my migraines, so perhaps I’ll go and shut my eyes.’ He put the book he was holding on a nearby shelf. ‘When you’ve washed your hands, Susannah, have a look at that.’
‘What is it?’
‘I came across it when I was tidying up. It’s called the Liber Marburyensis – the Book of Marbury. I’m sorry, but I’m going to pass out if I don’t sit down. Do you think you could help me get downstairs?’
Susannah helped David to his chair, then went to fetch the little volume he’d left lying on the shelf. She saw the binding was the work of a master craftsman, not some botch-up of a local job.
But the documents inside were a haphazard jumble of wills and deeds and sermons. After an hour or more of lives of saints and Easter messages, all in a dialect of Norman French, she was nodding off.
Suddenly, a strident voice came echoing up the staircase. ‘Suke, for God’s sake!’ Janet cried. ‘Why’s it so dark in here?’
‘I don’t think they can hear you in Skegness.’ Susannah met Janet coming up the stairs. ‘Jan, keep your voice down, can’t you? David has a migraine.’
‘A hangover, more likely.’ Janet grinned. ‘This place stinks of gin.’
‘That’s the glue we use, for sticking cardboard.’ Susannah and Janet went back up the stairs. ‘Where’s Dora, anyway?’
‘Gone home, I imagine. The outside door was open, so I locked it after me. Your security here is non-existent – almost anyone could walk in.’
‘Almost anyone does. Why aren’t you at work?’
‘I’m sick of cataloguing pottery.’ Janet started doodling on a notepad. ‘Whose was the big black Jag that was out here the other day? Mike said we should nick it.’
‘It’s just as well you didn’t, it belonged to Julius Greenwood.’
‘The great man came then, did he?’ Janet grinned. ‘What did you think of him?’
‘Oh, he was all right – quite nice, in fact.’
‘I went to a series of his lectures once,’ said Janet, ‘at the Royal Society. He certainly knows his stuff.’
‘He’s German, isn’t he?’ asked Susannah.
‘German or Austrian, yeah. He came here in the 1930s as a refugee, but he’s been naturalised for years.’ Janet dropped the pencil on the desk. ‘Let’s go and wake Sleeping Beauty.’
When Janet shook his shoulder, David opened his eyes and yawned. ‘What did you find?’ he asked Susannah.
‘Some wills and deeds of covenant,’ said Susannah, ‘and sermons in Norman French.’
‘Where’s the book?’
‘Upstairs.’
‘Pop up and get it, there’s a love.’
Susannah did as she was told then handed the book to David. ‘You’ve read it through?’ he asked.
‘Well, not quite to the end.’
‘The Nativity of the Innocents,’ said David, turning pages. ‘The Parable of the Vineyard, meditations for each Ember Day – ‘
‘All in Norman French,’ said Janet, who was looking over David’s shoulder.
‘Yes, except this page here,’ David said. ‘Susannah, you’re the Anglo-Saxon scholar. This is Anglo-Saxon, isn’t it?’
Susannah took the book from David. There, on smooth, cream vellum, was some text in fine monastic script.
It was a much older document than the Norman ones, and had led an eventful life. Ring-marks and brown smudges had made the text unreadable in places. It was scorched along one edge.
Another brand snatched from the burning, thought Susannah, shuddering. Another bit of Francis Parker’s loot, smuggled out in an oil jar, or stuffed inside his shirt?
‘What does it say?’ demanded Janet. ‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. It’s about where some abbot hid the minster’s treasure from marauding Danes. All we need now are shovels…’
‘No, it’s gibberish,’ said Susannah. ‘The moon is a lady. The lady is my sun. I can’t read the next bit. But then there’s something about cursing an evil name.’
‘Oh, it’s a spell,’ said Janet.
‘Maybe,’ said Susannah. ‘This bit down here’s about bulls and doves and – ravens?’
‘The raven was the sacred bird of Woden,’ Janet said. ‘It’s a bird of ill omen. Yeah, this is a spell.’
‘The raven is a Christian symbol, too,’ said David, quietly. ‘It stands for peace and plenty. The ravens fed the prophet Elijah in the wilderness.’ He looked up at Susannah. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘The words and grammar,’ said Susannah. ‘There are words here I’ve never seen before, and they’re all mixed up.’
‘But is it a spell?’ persisted Janet ‘Or something from the Bible – like a psalm, maybe?’
‘I think it’s a poem,’ said Susannah. ‘Or a riddle. Anglo-Saxons loved riddles, and this one’s in verse.’ She handed Janet the book. ‘Look at that bit there, where the scribe has marked the line divisions with a dot. Also, there’s a lot of alliteration. Look at all those aitches, for example, and all the words beginning with g and b. If I say a line, I can hear the metre. It’s like the rhythm of breathing, or the beating of a heart.’
‘I want you to work on this,’ said David. ‘Yes, I know you’re sorting out that stuff for the millennium project, but there’s no great hurry. I want to know what this document says.’
‘Okay,’ agreed Susannah. ‘But I can tell you one thing now. That document in the Henry Codex uses words and phrases that the poet uses here.’
‘So it’s not a Mercian or a West Saxon text?’
‘Most definitely not.’ Susannah grinned. ‘This was written by one of the People of the Forest. I’d put money on that!’
* * * *
‘It’s for you.’ Passing Susannah the receiver, David picked up his magnifying glass and got on with his work.
‘Gavin!’ cried Susannah. ‘Oh, it’s great to hear – I mean – um – hello, how are you?’
‘I’m all right, I suppose,’ said Gavin. ‘Susannah, I have to come over your way soon.’
‘Yes, you said you were going to Wolverhampton.’
‘Oh, that trip’s been cancelled. But I have to pick up some machinery, from a factory in Cheshire.’
Susannah was delighted. ‘If you have time to stop in Marbury,’ she said, all in a rush, ‘I’ll buy you dinner. I owe you, after all.’
‘It’s a deal,’ said Gavin. ‘I’ll ring you to confirm the date then, shall I?’
‘Yes, you do that.’
Susannah put the phone down, annoyed to realise she was blushing scarlet. For God’s sake, fool, she told herself, he’s only coming to fetch Jemima. You knew he was going to want her back some day.
The document from the Book of Marbury turned out to be an elegy, a song of mourning for the dead. ‘It’s quite touching, isn’t it?’ said David, as he finished reading through Susannah’s rough translation.
‘Yes, it’s sweet.’
‘Do you think it’s allegorical, or the queen was someone real?’
‘I don’t know.’ Susannah didn’t want to think about it, because her heart said this was a lament for a someone real – for the queen of the Maransaete, whose father and brother had been killed in battle, who’d avenged them, then led her tribe to victory…
But she had no proof, and so she kept it to herself.
As she put her folder down, she shivered, and suddenly she was scared. But there was nothing to be afraid of, was there, in the Abbot’s Library?
Gavin walked into the reading
room on Wednesday afternoon. Yes, he had to be in Cheshire for eight the following morning, but Marbury, he added, was as good a place as any to leave the motorway.
David was cheerful and talkative that day, and told him about the new discovery. ‘Why don’t you show Gavin the manuscript itself?’ he asked Susannah.
So she took Gavin spiral staircase. He bumped his head repeatedly on the low, stone ceiling, and she heard him curse under his breath.
The wind was getting up. The timbers in the mediaeval building creaked and groaned. A cobweb brushed Susannah’s face. At any rate, she thought it was a cobweb.
‘God, this place is spooky,’ muttered Gavin.
‘Yes, it’s haunted,’ teased Susannah.
‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’
She read out her translation of the poem. Gavin seemed faintly interested, or he pretended interest, anyway.
‘So I’m wondering,’ she continued, as she finished telling him what she thought it was about, ‘Gavin, I’m wondering if – ‘
Then she heard footsteps on the stairs.
‘What can it be – my dear Susannah – that you are wondering?’ Julius Greenwood stood on the staircase, gasping like an asthmatic grasshopper.
Then he noticed Gavin. ‘My dear young friend – it’s weak of me, I know – but might I trouble you?’
Gavin helped him up the last few steps, then sat him in a chair.
‘I didn’t hear the car,’ Susannah said.
‘We left it parked in Broad Street. Armando said he had to buy some things.’ Julius Greenwood beamed. ‘Well, my dear, this is all so exciting! What have you found now?’
‘A poem,’ said Susannah. ‘But, Professor Greenwood, we don’t – ‘
‘Julius, my dear young lady, please?’
‘Julius, we don’t know – ‘
‘Dear child, so sweet, so modest.’ Julius turned to Gavin. ‘My young friend, David and I would like to take Susannah out to dinner with us this evening. If you’d like to join us, you would of course be welcome.’
‘Thank you, but I need to get to Congleton,’ said Gavin.
‘Congleton?’ smiled Julius. ‘Where is that, and what will you find there?’
‘A tractor factory,’ said Gavin, curtly. He leaned across Susannah’s desk and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll give you a ring next week.’
‘But what about the car? Gavin, we must arrange – ‘
‘Hang on to it for now, all right?’
‘Oh – well, okay.’ As Gavin went off down the stairs, Susannah felt sick and ill with disappointment. Where he’d kissed her cheek, it burned, as if someone had dropped molten metal on her skin.
She’d had no specific plans for the evening, but she’d hoped – oh God, she didn’t know what she’d hoped! But anyway, this tedious old man had spoiled it now.
She didn’t enjoy her evening out. She didn’t like elaborate French cooking. She didn’t like watching David flirt with Julius. She was in the way.
‘My dear Susannah, would you like more coffee?’ Julius asked, as she tried to stifle one more yawn.
‘No thank you, Julius. I’m sorry, but I’m so tired – ‘
‘My poor child, we fatigue you half to death.’ Julius called a waiter and pushed a five pound note into his hand. ‘Could you find my driver? He ought to be outside.’
But, tired though she was, Susannah hardly slept that night. At first she dreamed of Gavin, he stood in a forest clearing with some horses and a half a dozen other men. Then she smelled the smoke. She heard the wicked crackle of angry flames. She woke up sweating. She was having her old, familiar nightmare yet again.
She groped for a glass of water and gulped some down. She saw that it was getting light. In the misty dawn, the smell of ash hung on the autumn air. The gardeners had been burning leaves, she realised, that had been raked from underneath the trees that lined the Close.
The following day was very blustery, even for late October. Those few leaves still clinging to the trees came pattering down in red and golden showers. Old men’s hats were lifted from their heads, then bowled along the dusty pavements. Umbrellas blew inside out.
‘I reckon we’re going to have a night of it,’ the man in the corner shop informed Susannah, as she bought milk and eggs on her way home. ‘Good job we’re well inland.’
At the Dean’s House, Susannah and Aubrey Gordon sat in the basement, listening to the wind. Susannah ate her supper and Aubrey marked some tests.
‘I reckon the electricity will go off any minute,’ predicted Aubrey. ‘What shall we do then?’
‘Go to the pub.’ Susannah felt the need to drown her sorrows. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you a pint of Old Brown Stump.’
As they crossed the Close, tiles came clattering from the rooftops, smashing in the street below. Lengths of guttering flew across the road.
‘Missed!’ cried Aubrey, as he steered Susannah past a twisted strip of lead from the minster roof. ‘Shall we go back?’ he shouted.
‘No!’ Susannah yelled, into the gale. ‘I want a drink!’
‘Hold on tight to me, then! Or you’ll get blown away!’
‘God, what a night,’ exclaimed Susannah, as they were almost catapulted into the Lamb and Flag, then fell against the bar. She caught sight of herself in a gilt mirror. ‘Talk about drowned rats,’ she said.
‘You’re all bright and glowing.’ Aubrey grinned. ‘Bet you were scared?’
‘I was bloody terrified! Just listen to it now. If you get killed going back again, your Mum and Dad will hate me.’
‘No they won’t, they’re dead,’ said Aubrey, shrugging. ‘You don’t need to say you’re sorry, we didn’t get on, anyway. A pint of Parker’s Special?’
‘I – I think a Scotch tonight.’ Susannah wished she hadn’t mentioned parents. After all, she was trying to forget.
The wind grew even stronger, the rain poured down in torrents, the window frames all rattled like castanets. They didn’t need to talk. They just sat by the window and watched the amazing storm.
The walk, or rather stagger, back to the house was really frightening. ‘I don’t think you should sleep upstairs tonight,’ said Aubrey gravely, as they almost fell into the house, then shouldered shut the massive door behind them. ‘If those trees come down – ‘
‘I’ll take some blankets to the common room,’ Susannah said. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa there. When all the others get in, we could play cards, maybe?’
‘Okay. But I must warn you, I’m a demon at pontoon.’
* * * *
‘It’s just like in the war – not that we had much war in Marbury.’ The housekeeper lived out, but she was at the house by half past seven each weekday morning, cooking breakfast for her gentlemen. ‘I’ve never seen such a mess,’ she told Susannah. ‘Millions, it’ll cost, to put it right.’
‘Mmm.’ Susannah collected up her blankets. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’
‘You be careful, now. There’s a great big branch come through your window. It’s a good job you stayed down here last night.’
‘I dunno about that,’ said Aubrey, who had just walked into the dining room. ‘Women aren’t supposed to be any good at playing cards, but this one is! Racing demon, whist, pontoon – she cleaned us out, she did.’
* * * *
Crossing the Close on her way to work, Susannah saw devastation. Most of the lead on the minster’s roof had peeled off in sheets and blown away. Ancient drainpipes, mediaeval statuary and bits of broken masonry littered the shaven lawns. The beautiful rose window, spared by even Oliver Cromwell’s troopers, was just a mass of shards.
Branches had been torn off trees and lay strewn everywhere. Three ancient chestnuts had simply fallen down, and an oak had been uprooted by a giant’s hand. Its enormous trunk had missed Susannah’s house by inches, but its upper branches had smashed the window of her room.
The Abbot’s Library was unscathed. ‘They knew how to build in those days,’ David said.
/> ‘We were sheltered by the minster wall.’ Dora shook the rain off her umbrella. ‘If that had come down, there would have been just matchwood here this morning.’
‘But we were spared.’ David turned to Susannah. ‘I noticed something rather spooky as I came through the Close. Why don’t you come and see?’
She followed him through the cloisters.
‘Look at that,’ said David, pointing.
Susannah saw a row of statues, mostly kings and saints, set into niches along a wall. Sheltered here, all had escaped the storm – except for one.
Offa, King of Mercia, lay broken on the path. His head had rolled into a bush. His torso had been smashed to smithereens.
‘That’s a bit of a mess,’ observed Susannah.
‘Well, I think it’s an omen,’ David said. ‘In one of the texts we found – don’t you remember? Mercia shall lie humbled in the dust.’
‘But that was Beornwulf, wasn’t it, not Offa?’
‘Offa, Beornwulf – God, don’t be so picky!’ David grinned. ‘I reckon Mercia’s time is up. The People of the Forest are going to have their day.’
Chapter 9
‘But there isn’t an excavation any more,’ Susannah told Julius Greenwood, who came into the library for coffee. ‘The developers sent us packing. David must have said?’
‘My dear child, he did not.’ Julius blinked, stifled a yawn and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Along with almost everyone else in Marbury, thought Susannah, he couldn’t have slept last night.
But where had he not slept last night? At the Royal Hotel, in Minster Street? Or had the big black car been parked on double yellow lines outside David’s house in Deanery Row?
‘My poor Susannah.’ Julius sat down. ‘So much work and effort, but all in vain?’
‘Apparently.’ Susannah wished he wouldn’t go on about it. for she was upset – and more so, as the days went by.
She didn’t know why. The discovery of some Roman wall, in a place where Roman occupation was well-documented, wasn’t front page news. The Saxon bits weren’t that important, either –the Anglo-Saxons were well known to raise new buildings on abandoned Roman sites.
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