Saxon's Bane (7 page)

S
EVERAL HOURS LATER
, the sun bathed the hills around Allingley with a light sharp enough to cut glass, shrinking the frost into shadow-bands of white beside the hedgerows. Fergus breathed deeply in Ash Farm’s car park, squinting into the glare, and letting the purity of the morning dissolve his hangover. It was a day that rejoiced in the end of winter and inspired thoughts of robust, outdoor exercise.

If he’d been fit. Fergus took a grip on his new stick, still feeling insecure without a brace of crutches, and tottered towards the house. He moved in the unsteady way of an old man, taking short, nervous steps with his legs widely spaced, and prodding at the ground as he walked. But it was progress.

Eadlin sat behind the desk in the jumbled room that served as an office. Once, this room would have been the front parlour of the farmhouse, a place of dogs and heirloom furniture. Now the desk was angled across one corner, and the original leather armchairs spilt their stuffing onto a muddy, threadbare carpet. A fire of chopped logs had been lit in the open grate.

“I bought some carrots for the horses at the village store.” Fergus waved a brown paper bag in her direction. “Can I scrounge a cup of coffee?” His greeting was a quiet, gravel croak that made Eadlin glance more closely at his eyes.

“Did you have a good evening?”

Fergus grunted, looking around the room while she mixed instant coffee. Large posters of horse breeds framed the fireplace, and a notice board informed him that ‘Hat’s Must Be Worn At All Times When Riding’. Eadlin grinned at him as she handed him a chipped, unsanitary-looking mug. Fergus sipped gratefully, more interested in the caffeine than the bugs that might come with it.

“So was it a late night?” she prompted.

“More like a liquid evening, and not a lot of sleep. I was led astray by some friendly choristers, then had a bad night trying to get my head around something.” He parked his coffee on the arm of one of the old sofas and lowered himself into it, toppling the last few inches and grunting as he hit the leather. God, he sounded decrepit.

“You had an evening chasing choirboys?” Eadlin’s smile was provocative and almost flirtatious. She had returned to her chair, and slouched back with her thumbs hooked into the pockets of her jodhpurs.

“These choirboys had grey hair and fine baritone voices. And I met your Vicar. Something he told me kept me awake last night.”

Again, Eadlin raised a single, questioning eyebrow. Fergus would have found the mannerism cute if the subject hadn’t been so troubling. He told her about his conversation with John Webster.

“Well, I guess we’ve either got an elusive tattooed tramp in the area or people are getting a bit, like, hysterical. Or maybe, just maybe, there’s something in it.” Eadlin leaned forward over the desk, her manner less relaxed.

“That’s what’s kept me awake.” Fergus sipped coffee, hoping he didn’t sound ridiculous. “That moment when the guy with the tattoo stood by the car, it’s locked in my head. It’s one of the memories that keep replaying in my mind and it’s all so bloody real. It’s never occurred to me that he wasn’t… that he might not be…” Fergus didn’t want to give the alternative a name.

“You said yourself you went a bit mad in the crash.”

“True. But I hope I’m never sick enough to imagine some of the things I can remember. Shall we go and see some of those four-legged doctors of yours?” Fergus veered the subject away, not wanting to go near the pit again. Besides, it was easier to talk if there was a shared focus to look at, like a horse.

“Well if you’re going anywhere near Trooper, you’ll need to leave that thing behind.” Eadlin nodded at his stick. “Troops has been beaten with a heavy stick at some stage. He’s terrified of them. And whips, come to that.”

Fergus looked down at his legs and spread his arms, wondering how to explain. A walk around the stables was slightly more ambitious than the previous day’s few steps on soft sand.

“Come on.” Eadlin stood and held out her hand to pull him to his feet. “I’ll keep you upright.”

Fergus swallowed his pride and accepted her support, letting her lead him arm-in-arm towards the barn like an old married couple.

“One thing puzzles me.” They managed well together. Fergus just needed help with his balance, and he’d have enjoyed the close contact if it hadn’t made him feel so inadequate. “You read about Victorian spooks or even Elizabethan spooks, but never about Saxon spooks. If such things exist, shouldn’t they all have gone off to rattle their chains in Valhalla or wherever by now?”

“Who knows what they believed, back then?” Eadlin spoke quietly, as if considering her words carefully. “Most of the old knowledge was wiped out by the Christian church long ago. Perhaps they believed they could, like, bind a soul to a place, say to protect it or something. Are you religious?”

“You know, that’s the second time someone’s asked me that since I’ve been here but no, not really. Are you?”

“Nah, at least not in the Christian sense. Here’s your friend Trooper.” Eadlin paused while he made a fuss of the horse over the stable door. “Did you say your bones are mending?”

Fergus looked up, laughing as Trooper almost nudged him off his feet in his eagerness for more carrots. Eadlin’s tone had sounded significant. “They’re as straight as they are going to get. Like I said, it’s the muscle that’s still weak. Why do you ask?”

“Would you like to see what it feels like to ride? Not him,” she added, seeing his look, “something really quiet to start with.”

“Isn’t it rather risky? I mean, I’m hardly fit…” His voice tailed away.

“You’re in much better shape than some of our guests with Riding for the Disabled. I’ve just the horse in mind for you. She’s bombproof.” Fergus hesitated. Surely riding was a sport for teenage girls, the kind that went to private schools and had mothers who wore Barbours and headscarves? But Eadlin grinned and held out her arm to him, one eyebrow lifted in a way that was a challenge as well as a question, with a flirtatious sparkle in her eye.

Twenty minutes later Eadlin walked slowly out of the barn with Fergus balancing on one arm, and the reins to a docile mare looped over the other. A young stable girl in jodhpurs and riding boots passed them, pushing a wheelbarrow full of horse muck. She cast an appraising eye over Fergus, and smirked at Eadlin as if sharing a private joke.

“Do many, er, men ride here?” Fergus began to feel out of his depth.

“There are about half a dozen guys who keep their horses here, mainly members of the local hunt. There’s a group of them hacking out over there.” Eadlin nodded towards a quartet mounting up outside the other barn, with Jake Herne among them.

“I thought hunting was banned these days.” The riders looked almost intimidatingly competent. Fergus let go of Eadlin’s arm and forced himself to walk upright, dominating his limp.

“The farmers have to keep the fox population under control somehow, and there’s no law against exercising your hounds. Sometimes a fox just gets in the way.” She grinned at his expression. “Laws made far away don’t always work out here. We’ve all learned just to get on with life and not to make so much fuss that people notice.”

Fergus stumbled as the quartet of hunters approached, and in an instant of panic and shame he felt Eadlin grab him under the arm and save him from falling. Jake Herne’s cheerful greeting from the saddle only added to his embarrassment.

“Take it steady.” Eadlin pulled his arm into the crook of her elbow, and squeezed his hand in reassurance. “Jake seems to have taken to you.” She stared after the group of riders. Fergus stretched himself upright and stood still beside her. The linking of arms had brought his forearm into contact with her breast and he savoured the softness until she walked him on towards the sand school.

Fergus wondered why Jake’s goodwill felt superficial, then winced at his own ingratitude. “Does he work here?”

“Nah. He’s landlord of a pub in the village called the Green Man. He usually rides in the mornings before opening up.”

“I went there yesterday, looking for you. It wasn’t a warm welcome.”

“That was probably Dick Hagman. He’s not the friendliest guy in the village.”

In the sand school Eadlin stood beside the horse and made a basket of her hands, with her legs flexed at the knee, forming a human mounting block ready to launch him into the saddle.

“Put your left knee in this.” The action pushed her breasts together, and as Fergus knelt on her locked hands their faces came close. Eadlin grinned at him with a sparkle of complicity in her eyes.

“Now you look where you’re going, not at my cleavage, or I’ll throw you all the way over!” There was no offence in her voice, just an earthy openness as she heaved him upwards.

Fergus had accepted the challenge to ride in the same way as he might accept a dare, not expecting to enjoy it, but half an hour later he was grinning like a lunatic. For four months he’d fought the frustrations of immobility. Now, even in his weakened state, vigorous movement became possible. Nudge with the right leg, and the horse moved left. Nudge with the left, she moved back to the right. Squeeze with both, and she started to trot, moving as fast as he would once have jogged. Trots were uncomfortable until Fergus learned to rise with them, matching his motion to the animal. The horse was a multiplier of strength, turning feeble signals into motion. For the first time since the crash he felt vital, liberated, and inhibited only by his lack of skill. It had been a long time since he felt so intensely alive.

“Sit up straight,” Eadlin shouted at him. “Keep your heels down.” The stream of instructions was non-stop. Then on one corner Fergus succumbed to his protesting leg muscles and sat back in the saddle, squeezing his legs harder against the mare’s sides in an attempt to keep his balance. The motion changed. It was as if the horse had found another gear, a faster pace that was alarming as well as exciting, and he snatched at the reins to slow her.

“Whoa!” Eadlin stepped into the horse’s path and brought her to a halt. Fergus, still unbalanced, started to roll forward over the neck until Eadlin reached up to brace him with her hand on his chest. Their eyes met and they grinned at each other, panting.

“That,” Eadlin said, “was a canter, and you ain’t ready for it yet!” She pushed his chest hard and Fergus slid back in the saddle, feeling mischievous and pleased with himself.

It was a short lesson. Fergus’s leg muscles could only take so much. Eadlin walked beside his stirrup on the way back to the barn. Above her, Fergus sat upright and proud in the saddle, the grin painted on his face.

“You could be good.” Her praise sounded genuine. “You’ve good natural co-ordination and balance. You’re confident, probably too confident, but that will help the horse unless you do something stupid.”

“I’m going to buy some of your lessons.”

“Good! Actually, I’ve got another idea.” Eadlin paused as if unsure how to say something. “Let’s put the horse away and I’ll make you another coffee.”

Fergus walked taller as she led him back to the outdoor tables, hoping in vain for more contact along his forearm, and relishing the buzz of unfamiliar exercise. His muscles were shaking with the effort and he massaged his thighs while she made coffee. He was going to pay for this later.

“Yesterday you said that you’d been told to do something physical for the next few months.” He hadn’t heard her return.

“That’s right.” The conversation was going in a mildly alarming direction.

“How about helping out around here? You wouldn’t believe the amount of work involved in looking after horses. I can’t pay more than the minimum wage so people move on as soon as they find something better, and the teenagers can’t help during school hours.” Eadlin’s speech was rushed, the idea formulating as she spoke.

“But you’ve seen the state I’m in. I can’t even walk without a stick, yet, and I don’t know the first thing about looking after horses.” This was one crazy idea.

“You’ll get better. You couldn’t even walk without crutches yesterday. You could man the office at first, help me with things like the books and phones, so I could spend more time doing the heavy stuff, like.” There was a note of slight desperation in Eadlin’s voice, and Fergus began to feel guilty about his inevitable refusal.

“Eadlin,” Fergus tried to find a way of saying ‘no’ without hurting her feelings, “it’s a much more appealing idea than I would have believed an hour ago, but I don’t think it’s me.”

“I know the money’s crap but at least I could teach you to ride.” Eadlin still had a hopeful expression on her face. She wasn’t going to give up easily.

“Actually it’s not about the money. I’ve four months unspent salary sitting in the bank, and an insurance cheque coming that might even buy me a house. But I’m a businessman, with a job to go back to. I live by looking at a computer screen and making technology work.”

“Poor you. Ah well, it was an idea.” She seemed genuinely disappointed.

“But I will come back for the lessons. I wouldn’t miss all that shouting for anything.”

A smile flickered across Eadlin’s face but when she spoke it was with a note of caution.

“Don’t expect everything to be the same back at work. The last few months will have changed you. Even if everything around you is the same, you’ll be different. Give me your hand.” Puzzled, Fergus held out his right hand. Eadlin turned it palm upwards, holding it between both her own hands and pushing at his skin with her thumbs. Her touch was firm but gentle. It could have been a physician’s touch, but for the snags of hardened skin against his fingers from the calluses of physical work.

“Are you reading my palm?” Fergus was amused and slightly incredulous. Eadlin grunted, concentrating too hard for this to be a mere game or party trick. He bit back the urge to make some flippant remark about crossing her palm with silver like a fairground gipsy.

“Now give me your left hand.” Again that focused scrutiny, held for longer than it would take to read a page. “Now hold them both up. Show me your palms.” Eadlin watched the way his fingers splayed, and there was a look in her eyes that might have been concern. Fergus’s smile started to fade as she took back his right hand, now dropping her face close to it to explore the fine detail.