‘I’ll be down next Saturday, anyway. I have a weekend conference at St John’s.’ Leaning towards Julius, Dr Fletcher kissed his sallow cheek. ‘I’ll ring you this evening, not too late.’
As they drove to Oxford, Julius was positively chirpy, like a child let out of boarding school. Dr Fletcher had evidently contacted the college, because when they arrived at All Souls they found the scouts had dusted everywhere. In the sitting room and study, fires burned in the grates.
Tottering into his book-lined study, Julius sat down at his cluttered desk. He smiled up at Susannah. ‘It’s so delightful to be home again,’ he murmured. ‘But how I should like some decent coffee...’
‘I’ll go and make some,’ said Susannah.
‘I’ll go and get a Sunday Times.’ Gavin looked at Julius. ‘Anything I can get for you?’
‘Nothing, dear Gavin, thank you.’
Susannah made the coffee and took it to the study. As she poured it into china cups, Julius took out a folder, laid it on his blotter. ‘I think we have the story now,’ he said.
‘Or most of it, at any rate.’ Pulling up a chair, Susannah sat down next to him.
‘So,’ said Julius, ‘these Maransaete were the People of the Forest, a Saxon tribe who lived on the western fringes of Germanic settlement. They got on with the Welsh – ‘
‘They traded with them, anyway.’
‘They hunted in the forests, they cleared the land for crops, they built little villages, small towns. They might have mined for iron in their hills. They were skilled in metalwork, and Maran smiths were famous.’
‘But Mercia,’ said Susannah, ‘which was bigger and more powerful than the kingdom of the Maransaete, seems to have been always strapped for cash.’
‘So as the years went by, the kings of Mercia doubled, trebled, maybe even quadrupled the tribute they demanded from the neighbouring tribes. These demands became extortionate. King Ceolwin of the Maransaete did not see why he should pay, and he called Mercia’s bluff.’
‘So Beornwulf of Mercians thought he’d teach the Maransaete a lesson. Julius, are you warm enough?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘It’s time you had your medication.’
‘Those wretched tablets make me feel so sick. I’ll think I’ll take them later.’
‘Julius!’
‘Oh, very well, my dear Susannah.’ Julius sighed. ‘Go and find me a glass.’
‘Take all of them,’ Susannah said, as he tried to slide a tablet underneath his blotter.
‘Oh God, you sound like Nicholas.’ Julius gulped and swallowed. ‘Now, may we continue?’
‘So the king left a daughter,’ said Susannah, ‘who was elected queen. This was not to everyone’s satisfaction. But for a time, she seemed to make a decent job of it.’
‘In spite of being a woman, and so young.’
‘She led her army into battle – ‘
‘Like Joan of Arc,’ said Julius. ‘Or Queen Boudicca.’
‘Or King Alfred’s daughter, the Lady Aethelflaed.’
‘We don’t know if Aethelflaed actually fought in any battles,’ murmured Julius quietly.
‘But we don’t know she didn’t.’ Susannah stared into the fire. ‘Do you think the woman in the grave was Lady Aelwyn?’
‘Yes, I think she must have been.’ Julius shook his head. ‘It’s most unscholarly to make assumptions, and you mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone. I have my reputation to consider, after all! But sometimes, just occasionally, one feels one knows these things.’
‘If Cenred was among warriors in the Saxon’s Field, he must have died young, too.’
‘Yes, he must have done.’
‘I hope he killed that bastard Raedwald first,’ Susannah murmured savagely.
‘I hope so, too,’ said Julius. ‘Beornwulf died in battle, anyway. We know that from the Chronicle.’
‘How long do you think it took the Mercians to destroy the People of the Forest?’
‘It was quick and brutal,’ said Julius, and he sighed. ‘By 850, all that area was Mercia, and the truth about the Maransaete had been written out of history.’
‘Aelwyn was so stupid, to do what she did. She didn’t have to die like that, there was no need.’
‘Some young women are so independent.’ Julius smiled sadly at Susannah. ‘I myself have one young friend, who lets no one near her, who is terrified of loving, and even more afraid of being loved. But when she is old – ‘
‘What happened to the treasure?’ Susannah interrupted. ‘I expect you know.’
‘I should know this?’ Julius looked blank.
‘Come on, Julius.’ Susannah smiled at him persuasively. ‘You know I can keep a secret.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t guessed already. Well, it’s fairly obvious, after all. Miss Collins is a most resourceful woman.’
‘What? You’re saying Janet took it?’ Eyes as round as marbles, Susannah stared at him. ‘But why? My God, how could she? After all she’s said and done, I can’t believe it, I – but when did she set it up?’
‘I believe my nephew visited her at home, when she was convalescing. They must have got to know each other well.’ Julius shrugged. ‘Alec has always been susceptible to pretty women. My poor child, don’t look so upset.’
‘But I’m disgusted, I – ‘
‘So why is that?’ Julius took her hand. ‘Janet has done nothing terrible. She hasn’t even broken any law. The finds are patently not treasure trove. I’m sure the coroner will rule they are my nephew’s, who has them in his keeping. ‘
Julius grimaced. ‘Of course, the town museum was very keen to have them. The curator wanted them to be on permanent loan, I think Alec said.’
‘That’s not unusual, is it?’ frowned Susannah.
‘Perhaps not, in the case of a few bronze denarii. But we are not speaking of a couple of Roman coins! So tell me, dear Susannah, why should Aelwyn’s treasure be kept in the museum, where security is a joke, where they don’t appreciate great talent, where ten years of hard work and sound scholarship are lightly disregarded?
‘Did you know they had the gall to sack your clever friend? Local authority spending cuts, they said. But then, they offered to employ her on a two year contract, at a lower wage.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Susannah bit her lip. ‘But it’s the same in all museums, surely you know that?’
‘It’s one thing to rationalise, but it’s quite another to despise great expertise, to hold a scholar cheap,’ said Julius, scowling. ‘As far as scholarship’s concerned, this country is a desert land.’
‘So what will happen to the stuff? Don’t tell me, let me guess. Sir Alec will keep it in a bank vault somewhere, here or overseas. Then, when he’s talked to the Chief Constable, given the local coroner a back-hander, spread around a few small tips and bribes – ‘
‘What a way to talk of a respected public servant.’ Julius smiled. ‘I rather think Miss Collins was the brains behind it all – my nephew merely followed where she led. But when their legal ownership is properly established, and the finds have been conserved, I’m sure they will be exhibited. Visitors will be allowed to see them. My Susannah, you look so upset! You believe these things should be in some provincial town’s museum?’
‘Yes, I suppose I do.’
‘Why is this?’
‘So everyone can see them! So they don’t give pleasure just to people paying to see Alec Fletcher’s mansion, or to his special friends!’
‘So how many English people regularly visit their museums? Who goes to the British Museum, how many people know about the lovely things they found at Sutton Hoo?’ Julius shook his head. ‘That landowner in Suffolk gave a wonderful English treasure to the English nation. But is the English nation really grateful?’
‘Well, I was impressed.’
‘I’ll speak to my nephew.’ Julius still held Susannah’s hand. ‘But, in return, you do something for me.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Be happy.’ Julius stroked her hair back from her brow. ‘It’s such a little thing to ask – I don’t mean that you must give your heart and soul away. But, my dear Susannah, you will miss so much, you will become so cold, and you will die inside, if you don’t let anybody near you, or let yourself be loved.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you do.’ Julius looked towards the door. ‘Yes, please come in!’
‘A gentleman to see you, Dr Greenwood,’ said the scout.
‘Dear Gavin.’ Julius smiled, but then he yawned. ‘Do excuse me. I’m feeling very tired. I always did find travelling rather stressful.’
‘Do you want to go to sleep?’ Susannah asked him.
‘I should like that very much.’
Susannah walked Julius to his sitting room.
Gavin fetched a blanket. ‘Come on, Julius,’ he said, and settled him on the sofa. ‘Put your feet up, close your eyes. It’s time we were on our way,’ he told Susannah.
‘Yes, I’m coming.’ Crouching down beside him, Susannah kissed the old man on the cheek.
‘You will be happy?’ he said softly.
‘I’ll be happy.’ She tucked the blanket round him. ‘Goodnight, Julius,’ she said.
* * * *
‘So Janet and Sir Alec were in on it together.’ Gavin was driving up the Banbury Road. ‘She got him by the balls and he did what she told him.’
‘But Sir Alec’s married,’ said Susannah.
‘When did that ever stop a politician?’ Gavin glanced at Susannah. ‘But anyway, at least we know what might have happened at that awful lunch. It must have been one of the old idiot’s days for swallowing half a bottleful of stuff.’
‘Yes, I suppose it must.’
‘So when those students were picking up the plates, they must have moved your glass. At any rate, the glasses got mixed up. You’d been drinking more than usual, so perhaps you wouldn’t have noticed if the taste was strange.’
‘Then you don’t think Julius was trying to play God, or poison me?’
‘No, he’s not that organised.’ Gavin flicked on the indicator, pulled into a layby, then he stopped. ‘But there’s just one thing. I was there, as well. I smelled the smoke, I heard their voices. I was stone cold sober.’
‘Maybe you’re more suggestible than you thought.’ Susannah looked at him. ‘Gavin, we are going back to Marbury?’
‘I imagine so.’
‘You’ll stay at the Dean’s House tonight?’
‘No, I hate that place. The ceilings are too low, your bed’s too small.’
‘Where are we going, then?’
‘You wait and see,’ grinned Gavin, thinking of the gloriously vulgar luxury suite back at the Copper Beech that was his until nine o’clock on Monday morning. He turned the key in the ignition. ‘God, I’ve missed you!’
‘What was that?’
‘I didn’t speak.’ Gavin grinned again. ‘I suppose you’ll say we have to ask that stupid idiot to the wedding?’
‘What wedding?’ smiled Susannah. ‘Gavin, drive!’
Copyright © 2003 by Margaret James
Originally published by Solidus Press (England) [1904529038]; electronically published by Belgrave House in 2006
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this ebook may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.BelgraveHouse.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
Elegy for a Queen Page 25