‘Yeah, maybe,’ he conceded, ‘in any case, we should cover him. Can’t bury him. Don’t have a shovel.’
‘Leave him. Let him lie there.’ She glared at the limp body, angered by the casual nature of the menace and the easy death. No one would investigate this. He deserved to rot.
But it wasn’t a good idea to leave him in full view of the road and so, dragging the lad’s ankles, they pulled him into the brambles which closed over him. Another mystery for the archaeologists to explain. Florence swilled her mouth with water and spat over the corpse. Enough.
Nat thought that he’d seriously underestimated the girl.
‘Nat?’
‘Mm?’ he was barely awake.
‘We have to focus on finding these people — this watcher group.’
‘No argument from me there. It’s the first bit of good news I’ve heard since arriving here. There are actually people out there who know what this is all about. Florence, I honestly believe that our only hope is to find them.’
‘Agreed. Sleep well, Nat.’ It was the second promise that Florence had made to herself. The attempted rape had shocked her more than she had let Nat know. She was stunned by the casual abuse of women here and she knew that she couldn’t live like this. She wouldn’t live like this. These Watchers were the key.
The members of the Taxane Enclave were also restless. Events were unfolding which disturbed even the elders of the Futures Chapter. Their fear was not for the safety of two twentieth and twenty-first century travellers who were out of their own time in the seventeenth century, but for the damage that would result from this incursion. Lesions and burns appeared with regularity as the members of the Futures Chapter handled the scrolls which recorded history. The ripples were wide and deep and the damage might be very difficult to heal.
9
Alcuin And Hugh
No one in the living memory of the Futures Chapter could recall its founding — and memories were long here. Alcuin Colby had a memory longer than most, recalling a time before William, Duke of Normandy, had called himself King of England when the land had been fractured by many warring kings. Alcuin remembered how, as a novice of thirteen, he had been sent to shepherd the sheep by Prior Cuthbert, and it being a cruel day on the hills of Carlisle, how he’d stepped into the hollow of a yew with several of the sheep for shelter and then how he had woken to the horror of dead ewes and the small, sleeping lamb in his arms. He stumbled out of the tree and into a time that he did not know or comprehend.
Alcuin recalled how, after he’d found the Abbey again, it was changed beyond his understanding and how the monks he cried out to there, were all strangers who rejected him — violently. After several days in the wild and after he’d devoured the unfortunate lamb, he was found by a group who enticed him with food and warmth and who then compelled him to accompany them on the longest journey he had ever undertaken. How they had known of him, he later learned, was from a message sent by one of the monks in the Abbey - the Taxanes had deep roots within the clergy who shared a profound sense of the sanctity of Fate and found no conflict with their faith. They had taken him to distant caves which he’d been sure were the entrance to hell itself.
Those first days had thrown him into a mad fever where the only thing that reassured him was the Bible which they gave him and to which he clung. He understood nothing of what they said to him and little of the Latin of the Holy Book, but he knew it for what it was and was quite sure that no demon could possess it. Finally, they brought a scroll to him and gestured that he should touch it with his fingers. He had jumped at the jolt of pain that shot from it into his fingers. They passed knowing looks between them and gently and determinedly they shepherded him from his small cell and sent him through the great door of the Futures Chapter which opened for him at the touch of his hand. The mists of confusion dropped once he was in the stillness of that space, where time almost stood still, and he was greeted by three men who all spoke his language and Alcuin collapsed in relief.
Life was slow and gentle in the Chapter and he was allowed time simply to explore and to be with people or not, as he chose. Living accommodation varied: some liked to live a secluded life, sleeping in small cells, ascetic and intense, never really embracing their translocation from one time to another, but accepting it with steely faith. Others preferred to be gregarious and share the houses built around neighbourly piazzas where they gathered socially — whenever not on duty. Many of the members found comfort with one another. Nothing was frowned upon and there was joy in meeting someone who understood this strange existence. After his early years there and the novelty of coupling with several women — an indulgence that he never thought to have - Alcuin discovered that he preferred solitude; he found relationships ultimately… distracting.
Everything was provided for the members of the Order, whose sacrifice deserved no less. Food was varied and of high quality, catered for in several refectories, where the chatter was in English – old, middle and ‘modern’ with a distinct spattering of Norman French and some Gaelic and Welsh. One poor fellow spoke only Cornish when he arrived and until he learned the more common versions, had no one to converse with. The food increased in variety as the centuries progressed with roast swan ever a treat and where oysters were disdained as the food of the poor. One day, these ancients would request hot-dogs as a novelty but not in the seventeenth century that Alcuin now lived in.
There was no hierarchy in the Futures Chapter - only the wisdom of long experience. Clothes were hand made by experienced seamstresses and tailors, who undertook the task as part of their commitment to the Order, but the cloth might be a fine silk or a simple homespun, and the style, Plantagenet grandeur or peasant simplicity. Oddly, in later centuries, the velour jump suit found favour with many.
Those who entered the Chapter carried that prized genetic trait of detecting anomalies in the written record, revealing faults in the timeline. These individuals usually remained because of the tranquillity they found there. They had a short period of grace in which to leave and one or two did. These left the Enclave altogether; it was never a good decision and they quickly disappeared from history.
For many centuries, entrants were usually illiterate and lessons in reading and writing were compulsory, no matter what the age of the initiate. Of course, almost everything came in here through the double air-lock from the Enclave itself. The only other portal was the hollow in the great yew, which sat at the heart of the Chapter, and such manifestations were rare indeed. Once the vow of duty to the Chapter was taken, and the Future glimpsed, there was no exit from the Futures Chapter – almost. The door sealed itself with its own wood and only the touch of a Chapter member or potential member, could open it again.
At the centre of the room was the atrium and at its core the magnificent yew tree, astonishing in its height and breadth. The sunlight nurturing it so deep below the ground was a miracle. At some point, almost two kilometres above, a shaft bursting through the rock and into the sunlight, had the point of its emergence carefully disguised — a guarded secret in full sight which those few who knew of it, thought a fine irony. A series of vast finely polished mirrors at perfect angles directed and redirected the sunlight downward until it reached a mirror with a surface of pure gold that turned to seek out the face of the sun, sinking again below the horizon, and then moonshine sometimes flooded the chamber. For many centuries, a series of pulleys and crank-shafts were turned by hand but later, electronic controls held sway. In this way, light always bathed the yew tree.
It was already growing here when the Taxanes burrowed into the ground a thousand years earlier. It was thought that its great age was partly due to the intense sunlight which burst through, reflected from the crystals which abounded here, and partly due to the energy it took from the powerful ley lines which converged at a point directly beneath it. No Taxane knew how the caves or the yew had been discovered. Such things were well beyond any recorded history. However, there were beautiful drawings, in a
red stain, of animals and men on the walls nearest to the tree, which were revered by the Chapter members.
The Taxane yew tree had no name other than The Tree, but it had a trunk which had split and divided over time. An aperture, five feet above its roots was as large as a bread oven and occasionally, provided rare but necessary gifts to the Taxanes from their future. A constant vigil was kept by it, for the solar flares which powered the transference could not yet be predicted in this time but were known, of course, to those who came after. All that heralded an arrival though this portal, was a sensation which resonated throughout the Futures Chamber and which could be felt even in the teeth of the inhabitants. There were few of these occurrences but they drew every member to the tree to anticipate whatever arrived. There were no secrets within this place, only mysteries.
Alcuin, now a senior member of the Chapter, still looking to be in his early forties despite the march of the centuries, had felt these vibrations and stood at the tree. His choice of a simple monk’s habit of soft grey was the result of feeling that he had never actually been released from his early vows but he was as tolerant as the rest of the Enclave in accepting whatever belief a man or woman held. His robe was patched and heavy with sweat and the debris of his meals and activities. Few here had yet embraced the joy of bathing — despite a fine thermal spring within the confines of the Chapter, which would eventually become a blessing to those who came after. He had been standing at the Great Yew for some hours and his concentration was sending rivulets of perspiration down his brow. It was not quite a communication which he shared with the ancient power, but a sensing of a wrongness in progress. Alcuin was relieved when the slip of parchment materialised in the hollow and stepped back, drained, wondering if the hot spring might actually be restorative later.
The parchment burned his hand and he rushed to lay it down so that all might read it. It was written by hand and part of it seemed to be a message from a Watcher in Sherwood Forest. There was the name, Elizabeth Hudson. There was also another hand-written message which was clearer: ‘Florence Brock must be found and brought to the Futures Chapter.’ It was not clear to Alcuin whether Florence Brock was the cause or the balm of this injury.
The Taxane Enclave buzzed with excitement as the living wood portal tore itself open to reveal Alcuin standing there within the aperture. Hugh Gilbert stepped forward and greeted him. The unworldly man spoke quietly, ‘There is an incursion in the records which we must address with all alacrity. A woman named Florence Brock must be sought and found. She will be in the area of the Great Oak in Sherwood Forest which is watched by Elizabeth Hudson. Florence Brock will have the shape of an acorn visible behind an ear. By this will you know her. Find these women. Bring Florence Brock to the Enclave and alert us when you return.’ Messages from the Futures Chapter tended to be direct and to the point. There was a danger in revealing too much about future events.
‘I will undertake this mission myself … my lord,’ Hugh didn’t quite know how to address him.
‘No lord I,’ smiled Alcuin. ‘My name is Alcuin Colby.’
‘Then, Alcuin Colby, rest assured, I shall spare no effort in finding Florence Brock and speaking with Elizabeth Hudson.’
‘There is great danger around this wound in time, Hugh Gilbert. Protect yourself from the enemies of the natural order.’ And with that, Alcuin turned back to the Futures Chapter and the door re-grew itself until the glimpse of the yew in the distance was lost.
This was an instruction to dispatch a Watcher to Sherwood with all speed and to find Elizabeth Hudson and seek to redress the wrong that had happened there. Hugh Gilbert had not left the Enclave for years and he was thrilled to take this mission upon himself.
He travelled as quickly as he might. He was afforded a good mount and sufficient coin to see to his and the horse’s comfort on their journey. It was expected to take him a week to reach Sherwood from the Taxane Enclave and he was urged to be both secret and careful. These were dangerous times and he should draw no attention to himself nor spend imprudently. He stayed in inns along the way, excited that in Nottingham, he might lodge at the fondly remembered Salutation Inn. He hurried away when he saw that its name was now The Soldier and Citizen and it was a recruiting place for soldiers. He was dismayed that he had to go the short distance down the hill, where he took a shared room at The Trip to Jerusalem. Hugh slept badly, mistrustful of the nefarious nature of his bed-fellows and with a distinct but unfathomable discomfort at the sensation in the Inn itself. It reminded him of the echoes of the pain of being near time-damaged written records. He wondered what extraordinary events this place had seen — or might see.
Hugh’s horse was swift and it would have been easy to exhaust the poor beast but he was focused not reckless, and so he arrived at Edwinstowe after six days and enquired of his cousin, Elizabeth Hudson. They knew her, of course, and sent him into the forest to the small hamlet where he would find her. Hugh could not resist a detour to the Great Tree. The Cock Pen was well-described in the Enclave records and it was little trouble to locate it. These ancients always inspired awe in him but he was very careful not be to tempted by the promise of its adventure. He had vowed to watch and not to travel. In any case, there was no sign of activity around it but there was a clear trodden path which he followed and which took him to the place where Elizabeth lived.
‘Who wants to know?’ a surly youth asked when he inquired of her.
‘Her cousin, Hugh Gilbert.’
‘Aye? Don’t news travel fast. ‘ ‘Spect you thought there might be goods worth the having, eh? Wasted journey Hugh Gilbert. Husband’s gone with all of it — what little there was. Left for his brother’s in Stoke. Good riddance says I. She’s dead. Some days back.’
Hugh found the sour youth’s accusation distasteful but said nothing. ‘Perhaps you know how she died?’
The boy leered at him and cast a glance at the purse which hung on his belt. Hugh kept small coin there and a more substantive amount well hidden inside his tunic. With a knowing nod, he withdrew a penny and the boy grabbed it. ‘Broken heart I reckon,’ he laughed. Hugh saw the direction of this exchange and held out another coin but this time kept it between his finger and thumb. William Spofforth also understood.
‘She tended the pigeons. She was allus in there. Went in to find that she’d left the door open the day before and a fox ‘ad ‘em all. Shit and feathers sprayed all over. She couldn’t take it — silly old cow. Died in her sleep ‘tis said.’ He made to take the coin but Hugh pulled it away just a little.
‘’Tis all I know. Ask Jenny Bagnall. She laid her out.’ Hugh extended his hand and Spofforth snatched the coin and set off on the road to Edwinstowe, already tasting the ale and pie.
‘Mistress Bagnall?’ Hugh interrupted Jenny’s bread-making with a knock at her door post. He knew better than to enter in uninvited. Jenny was alarmed and took up the knife on the table, standing between the shadow at the door and her babe in the cot. ‘I mean no harm, mistress,’ and he stepped away so that Jenny could see him better. ‘I was hoping to meet with my cousin, Mistress Hudson, but a rude lad tells me that she has gone to meet her maker but recently.’
‘Will Spofforth, was it? I doubt that the lad told you kindly sir and I am sorry for it — and for your loss.’ Jenny had stepped out of the house and was regarding him. Hugh noted that she still held the knife.
‘Aye. He offered no respect for the goodwife. I am travelling further north, mistress and my family urged me to seek out Elizabeth and enquire of her health and tell her of us in Nuneaton. I am saddened that I have missed her by so few days. Can you tell me of her passing? The youth babbled of pigeons breaking her heart.’ He smiled at the absurdity.
‘He likes a tale of blood and gore does our Will,’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Well, Sir, since you are kin you should know that Betty had been ailing these many months. She knew that she had the wasting sickness and was in great pain of late but she was strong, sir, and bore her burden bravely. That ve
ry day she had been foraging for mushrooms and I fear had over reached herself. I doubt that she would have found her way back had it not been for the girl, Florence.’ Jenny was wiping her floury hands on her apron. Hugh’s expression did not betray him as he heard the name.
‘I see. And the pigeons?’ Jenny wondered what this curiosity about the birds was. He laughed, ‘Ah, we have an interest as a… family in messenger pigeons. It is a heritage which Cousin Elizabeth must have taken with her when she left Nuneaton. Forgive a family interest,’ he laughed.
Jenny smiled at him, ‘Well then, yes. It seems that Betty in her pain, must have forgotten to close the door and a fox wreaked its destruction upon all therein as foxes will. We can only think that the poor soul saw this and could take no more blows from this life for she returned to her bed, lay beside her husband and… died.’ Jenny missed her. ‘She was a fine woman Sir and I called her friend.’
‘And her husband? He is not kin to us but I would wish him well before I set upon my way.’
‘Oh, sir, he has gone. He said that nothing kept him here now and that he would seek his brother…’
‘ . . . in Stoke. Yes. The boy told me true then.’ Hugh sighed and offered Jenny a slight bow, and made it seem that he would be on his way.
‘Nay, sir. Stay a moment for a swallow of ale and a bite of bread. I would honour my friend Betty – Elizabeth – with refreshment given to her kin.’ She lay the knife down.
Hugh noted it with a smile and Jenny ushered him into the small house. ‘Your pardon sir at the disorder in my home. Betty berated me for it also,’ Jenny smiled at the memory. ‘I had a girl to help but she left shortly after Betty went. I did wonder if she felt the guilt of keeping the frail woman all day in the forest.’
Shadow of the Savernake: Book One of the Taxane Chronicles Page 11