River of Destiny (52 page)

‘Tell me, are you planning on walking clean over the top of the burial mound?’ Dottie and Arthur were standing next to Rosemary as they watched the group finishing their coffees. Dottie spoke softly, her eyes fixed on the others; there were people in the group she didn’t recognise. Youngsters. Some had the light of zeal in their eyes, others looked rather more sinister.

‘If necessary.’ Rosemary folded her arms. She hadn’t picked up her own walking pole yet; it lay with Steve’s and several others against the fence near the front door. She sighed. Her head was splitting and she could barely see straight. On her return three hours before she had abandoned the idea of going back to bed. Putting on the kettle for some strong coffee, she had taken the sword out of her daysack and wrapped it in a towel, then she had stood indecisively wondering where to hide it. Suddenly she smiled. Leo’s. What more natural, if anyone asked, than that he would have picked it up and stashed it away somewhere. If there was any trouble at any time it would be for him to sort out. Pulling open the door, she had crept outside and headed across the grass towards the forge. Halfway there she stopped suddenly. A small figure was walking surreptitiously up the path just ahead of her. Jade. Rosemary ducked sideways behind the hedge that divided their garden from that of the Lloyds and on impulse thrust the sword in under it. She pulled away the towel and left it there. In five minutes she was back in the kitchen sipping the scalding coffee.

She nodded at Dottie. ‘We will look to see where the traces of the original path run. On the map it seems to go clean over the top of it, but we may find that it skirts it.’ She smiled a little smugly.

‘And you have checked that this is not some sort of national monument? If it is an archaeological site we don’t want to infringe any by-laws. We are awfully near Sutton Hoo here.’

‘If it was like Sutton Hoo there would be clearly signposted access,’ Rosemary retorted. She felt a slight pang of guilt at the thought of the old sword now lying under her neighbour’s hedge and the fact that the site was clearly marked on the largest scale Ordnance Survey maps. Well, if no one else had registered the fact, she was certainly not going to point it out. ‘If you ask me it is just the remains of a refuse dump. Anything more important would hardly be fenced off with rusty wire.’

‘And you checked with the council?’

‘I have informed them what we are doing. I have told them the path has been deliberately blocked. I have followed all the correct procedures, I assure you.’ Rosemary narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you are having second thoughts.’

Dottie pursed her lips. ‘I was a bit shocked at the strength of feeling about this walk in the pub last night. There seems to be a huge amount of resentment in the village at newcomers coming in and stirring up the status quo.’

‘You’re not a newcomer.’

‘No. But we aren’t local either.’ Dottie shook her head. ‘Our neighbours accept us and I think they like us. I don’t want to spoil that relationship. It’s different for us. We live in the middle of the village. We know people.’

‘If you don’t want to come, don’t,’ Rosemary interrupted impatiently. ‘I thought you and Jim were with me on this one, but it makes no difference to me. There are a great many people who care about our liberties here. We won’t miss you. I thought you were someone who stands up for the little people against landowners.’

‘Bill Turtill is hardly a rampant landowner, Rosemary. His family may have been here generations, but he is a hard-working farmer and much respected locally. He does things for the village.’

‘Then he should go just that bit further!’ Rosemary sniffed. She bent to pick up her pole. ‘Right, I think we are about ready. I am doing this for the people of Britain, Dottie,’ she commented. ‘As you well know, without people like me we would lose all our rights of access. There should be no corner of the country where we cannot go.’

Dottie stood back without a word. She watched as the group formed into a loose-knit crocodile behind Rosemary and Steve and began to walk across the lawns towards the lane.

Jim approached his wife, hanging back with her. ‘Second thoughts?’

She nodded. ‘I agree with so much she says usually, but this time I think she’s got it wrong.’

‘Dead Man’s Field,’ Jim said with an exaggerated shiver. ‘If there is some dead Anglo-Saxon buried in that mound he’s not going to be pleased about all those people walking all over him.’

She nodded slowly. ‘And what is more I think the village is right. There has been a tradition of not walking in that field. It feels like sacrilege.’

‘Shall we go home?’

She glanced after the others and then she gave a small, almost embarrassed nod. They stood and watched as the group of people walked purposefully towards the hedge. One by one they disappeared through the gate and out of sight. Only when the last one had gone did Jim and Dottie turn and head back towards their car.

‘There’s a couple of people wimping out,’ Ken said slowly. They were all standing at the window watching. ‘Does Bill know what is about to hit him?’

‘He knows,’ Zoë said. The barbecue had been lit; it would take a couple of hours for it to get going. The meat and sausages were in the fridge and Amanda had made a jug of Pimm’s.

‘Shall we go down to see the fun?’

‘I’m tempted.’ Zoë glanced at Amanda. ‘We’ve lots of time before lunch. What about you? Who wants to see an agrarian uprising in action?’

‘I do!’ John put up his hand. ‘I had no idea you all had such fun out in the sticks. It beats our part of the world for entertainment value. Which side are we on?’

‘Not theirs.’ Amanda nodded her head towards the disappearing crowd.

‘Too right. Up with the landowners!’ He grinned. ‘I never thought I would hear myself say that. But it seems to me there are hundreds of footpath signs all over the place. More than enough for everyone.’

‘There are,’ Zoë put in. ‘It’s just this one woman with a crusader complex. I expect her dad told her to keep off the flowerbeds when she was a child and she has been stamping round having tantrums about being told to keep off other people’s property ever since.’

They walked down the field and turned into the lane, keeping well behind the stragglers. In the distance they could hear the sound of a tractor.

Behind them Jade had slipped out of the door of The Summer Barn with a smile. The whole area was deserted; every building, including Leo’s – she had checked earlier to see if he was back. There was no one anywhere. On her shoulder she was carrying an ecological and environmental Fair Trade-cotton shopping bag she had found on the back of the kitchen door. Her mother never used it. She skirted the deserted smoking barbecue with a critical glance at the charcoal and cautiously headed towards The Old Barn. They had left the door on the latch. She noted that they had changed the lock and there was a new bolt on the inside and she gave a little sneer. All those precautions and they had left it unlocked!

Pushing her way into the kitchen she surveyed it critically. It was immaculately tidy. Someone had loaded the dishwasher and it was quietly swishing in the corner.

Creeping through into the great room she studied it carefully too. Nothing was out of place. She had seen them all walk away across the grass but even so she was very careful. She tiptoed up the stairs and along the landing to the master bedroom and pushed open the door. It was not so tidy here. The bed was unmade and a towel lay on the floor. She screwed up her nose and walking towards the bed she sniffed cautiously like a small animal. As she had suspected, he had got up late and left it a mess. She could smell the freshly applied aftershave. So, he slept on the side nearest the bathroom, which meant
she
slept nearer the window. She moved round to the far side of the bed and pulled back the covers.

She could smell Zoë’s perfume now; she recognised it. She scowled. Groping in her bag she brought out the metal figurine and carefully tucked it under the mattress. Then she jumped on the bed to test if Zoë would realise it was there. She could feel it easily. She frowned. Plan B. She would have to put it under the bed. It would hopefully be as efficient, though it might take longer. She would have to take the risk that it would be found if anyone zealously vacuumed the room.

She retrieved it and pushed it right under the bed, so that it rested underneath the pillow where Zoë’s head would lie, then carefully she straightened the sheets and the duvet. The bed looked wrong with the other side rumpled so she straightened that as well. He would never remember. Her mother said men never remembered things like that. Then she walked to the end of the bed and raised her hands above her head. ‘Great goddess,’ she intoned solemnly. ‘I want you to destroy this woman. Take her away. Make her leave. Fill this house with bad things and make the Lloyds go away.’ She paused. ‘Amen,’ she added. She waited, half-expecting something to happen at once, aware that she was for the first time feeling a little scared. There had been no doubt of the power of the figure in her mind, but now that she had unleashed it on the unsuspecting Zoë she wondered if she had gone too far. ‘I don’t want her to die,’ she added under her breath. ‘At least –’ At least what? Actually she would be very pleased if she did die. That would get rid of her for good. She bit her lip surprised at her own daring, and even more surprised when she realised that actually she didn’t care.

She heard a sound behind her and she spun round. There was no one there. She could feel her heart thumping with fright. It was already working. She had to get out of there. The room was filling with magic. Bad magic.

Running out of the bedroom, leaving the bag lying on the floor, she fled down the landing towards the staircase. At the top of the stairs she paused and looked round. Even from up here she could sense that suddenly there was a strange feeling in the room below. As if it were full of people; people she couldn’t see. She could hear a faint stirring, sense a crowd, smell the warmth of hay and horses and she had the feeling that someone was looking up at her. Her mouth went dry and she realised it was hard to breathe. All her bravura had gone. She had never been so frightened in her life. She looked round desperately and realised suddenly that she had to go down the stairs, into the midst of whatever was going on; there was no other way out.

She glanced over her shoulder. She could go back, run down the landing, hide. Hide where? In one of the bedrooms? But then what would happen when they came back? Zoë and Ken would catch her. She was looking backwards and forwards like a small hunted animal, frozen with fear. She had started something, switched something on which she knew suddenly she would not be able to stop.

She wanted Leo. He would know what to do, but how could she reach him? He was out on the boat still, and even if he came back he wouldn’t know where she was. She heard herself give a small whimper and immediately, as though the sound had broken a spell, everything around her was normal again. She stood still, not daring to move, then slowly she walked to the balustrade and looked down into the room beneath. It was quiet again. She could hear nothing but her own harsh breathing.

She turned and ran back to the stairs, fled down them and across the great room to the kitchen. In there she pulled open the door and ran out, leaving it open behind her and tore across the grass towards The Old Forge. There, she scrabbled for the key under the flower pot. It had gone. With a small sob she remembered Leo taking it away from her and putting it into his pocket. She pressed herself against the door trying to catch her breath, then she sank down on the doorstep, huddled against the wood which was warm in the sunlight. She was safe there and soon, very soon, he would come back and find her.

Eric was gasping for breath as he reached the outlying cottages of the village. They were deserted. Everyone was up at the hall, and from where he stood he could see the light streaming from the open doors, hear the sound of the lyre and the horn carried on the wind. He glanced behind him. There was no sign yet of the men from the ship. All was quiet, any sound masked by the roar of the rising wind in the trees along the river. The earlier mist had gone. The first of the autumn gales had set in with a vengeance as rags of black cloud raced across the moon’s face.

The door to his own house was closed. He thrust it open and peered in. All was totally dark. There was no fire. His wife’s body had gone. He paused a moment, head bowed, to wish her on her way wherever they had taken her, then he ducked out of the building again and pulled the door closed behind him. He would never set foot there again.

He set off up the track, pausing to push open one or two further doors as he passed to make sure the houses were empty. He could hear the animals moving restlessly in their pens; they sensed something was wrong. Nearby a dog was howling. He stopped to cut through the leash which tied it to a ring in the doorpost and it vanished into the night.

There were guards outside the door to the hall. They saw him coming and drew their swords. ‘Stop!’ he shouted. ‘Let me speak. Tell them inside. The Vikings are in the river. They have landed below the field of the dead. Tell everyone to flee.’ He bent over, trying to regain his breath.