River of Destiny. Barbara Erskine

harness room, convinced him otherwise. ‘She brought the mare home in that state,’ the older man said quietly. ‘Forbad me to touch the poor animal. Said she had been to you and you had said there was naught wrong and that she was to ride her home.’

      Dan was too angry to speak for several seconds. ‘Then she told her husband?’

      Sam nodded. ‘She called you all sorts, she did.’

      ‘That mare was fine when she brought her to me.’

      ‘I thought she probably was. What did you say to upset her ladyship then?’

      Dan shook his head. ‘Lord knows.’

      Sam gave him a quizzical stare. ‘Well, let’s hope the Lord will tell you because otherwise you are in big trouble, Daniel, my friend. You keep out of that woman’s way, that’s my advice to you.’

      Dan put the mare in one of the line of loose boxes which had been built in one of the bays of the old barn. He washed and poulticed her legs, and Susan made her a bucket of bran mash. They both stood watching the horse listlessly sniff at the food. She didn’t touch it.

      ‘You’d best keep out of her ladyship’s sight,’ Susan said softly. She leaned back against the wall, her arms crossed over her belly. ‘That woman is trouble.’

      ‘But why?’

      Susan gave a fond smile. ‘Because you are a handsome man and she expected you to show you like her.’

      ‘But I don’t like her.’

      ‘Oh, Dan, you duzzy old thing, don’t you see?’ She reached up and ruffled his hair. ‘There’s a certain type of woman who wants every man she sees to fall at her feet.’

      ‘But I’m just the blacksmith.’

      ‘You’re a man!’

      ‘And if I laid a finger on her she would run screaming to her husband.’

      ‘Probably. That’s the way such folk are.’

      ‘And I love you, Mrs Smith. I’d never look at another woman.’

      ‘I know.’ Susan glanced over her shoulder into the shadows of the great barn and shivered. Several other horses stood quietly in their stalls, their great haunches shadowy in the fading light. There was no one else there, but somehow she had felt a breath of cold air touch her face.

      There was a small stone church on the hill near the great hall of the thegn. The priest was a good man of some seventy summers; the people of the village liked him and so did the Lady Hilda. She was with him now, sitting on a stool in the cool shadows of the nave. ‘My husband is dying, father, we both know it,’ she said, speaking quietly even in the privacy of the empty building. ‘I need you to bring him the sacrament.’

      ‘I can’t do that, my lady.’ Father Wulfric shook his head sadly. ‘He has refused baptism yet again.’ He sighed. ‘His father was a good Christian and so is his brother, but the Lord Egbert is adamant in his apostasy. He cleaves to the old gods in his despair.’

      ‘My husband is a superstitious fool!’ she retorted with spirit. ‘He has found himself a sorcerer from the forest and reveres him as though he were a priest! The man gabbles spells and charms, and scatters runes like spring seed, and promises him a place at the side of Woden and Thunor. And,’ she added bitterly, ‘Egbert keeps on calling for the swordsmith. All that matters to him is that that wretched sword is finished before he dies.’

      ‘And his brother? What says he to that?’ Father Wulfric tightened his lips in disapproval. He was holding a small beautifully illuminated book of Gospels in his hand. It was the church’s most treasured possession, presented by Lord Egbert’s mother. Kissing it reverently he laid it on the altar.

      ‘He is preoccupied with raising men for the fyrd. King Edmund is calling warriors to his standard at Thetford. They are expecting more attacks from the Danish host.’

      ‘So we will soon be left unprotected.’ Father Wulfric turned back to her and sighed again.

      She glanced at him, alarmed. ‘The Danes won’t come near us, surely? What would they want with a small settlement like ours?’

      Father Wulfric didn’t answer for several breaths. They both knew what befell any settlement in the path of the Viking horde. ‘Please God they will not even know we are here,’ he said at last.

      He stood and watched Lady Hilda walking slowly back towards the Hall, her blue cloak clutched closely round her against the sharp autumn wind. Her shoulders were slumped, her whole stance defeated. He shook his head sadly as he turned towards his own house, then he stopped. The swordsmith was standing watching him from the door of the smithy, his arms folded, his face thoughtful. For a moment Father Wulfric considered walking over to join him, but already the other man was turning away into the darkness of his workshop. The door slammed and the old priest heard the bar fall into its slot.

      At first she thought Leo wasn’t going to ask her in, but after a moment’s hesitation he stood back and ushered her into a small cluttered living room. Zoë glanced at once towards the window. Yes, he too had the ubiquitous view of the river; his hedge had been trimmed low so he could just see the moorings below the trees. She could see his boat and the Lady Grace tugging gently at their buoys, swinging with the tide. The fire was unlit and she could see an old rubbed leather Gladstone bag on the floor just inside the door. ‘I am sorry. Were you just going out?’

      ‘I just came back.’ He folded his arms. ‘How can I help you?’ There was no smile to alleviate the slightly irritated tone and she felt an instant reciprocal bristling of irritation.

      ‘I have come at an inconvenient moment. I’ll come again when it is a better time.’

      ‘I doubt there will be a better time,’ he said. ‘Please, spit it out. Whatever you came to say was presumably important, or are you merely here to pass the time of day?’

      She reined in a flash of temper. Had she given him a reason to be so rude? ‘I wanted to ask you about the ghosts, if you must know. The house is getting to me. But I will phone first next time and make an appointment.’

      ‘What makes you think I know anything about them, beyond the fact that they scared your predecessors away? At least, they scared her; he was an insensitive clod who wouldn’t have noticed if the entire angelic host had descended on his house.’

      She found herself biting back a smile. ‘I wasn’t actually here to talk about the barn. Rosemary said you had a book with a picture of the ship.’

      He stared at her thoughtfully for a moment and she saw the tension in his jawline. It accentuated the scars slightly. ‘You’ve seen the ship?’

      She nodded. ‘I think so. Twice.’

      ‘Ah.’

      He continued to study her face for several seconds, then he turned towards the bookshelves which lined the wall opposite the window. In front of them there was a long shabby sofa, covered by an old tartan rug. The room was nice, Zoë decided in the silence that ensued. Scented with an all-pervasive smell of woodsmoke, it was furnished with some decent antiques, and some attractive paintings, both modern and old. It felt lived in and comfortable and far more homely than the huge space which they called the great room at home.

      He stood in front of the shelves, his eyes ranging left to right; his books were not arranged in order then. She watched silently, folding her arms as she shifted her weight, aware that she was not going to be asked to sit down. ‘Here,’ he said at last. He pulled out a small volume with a rubbed red cloth cover. ‘It’s in here.’ He handed it to her. ‘I’m in no hurry to have it back, but look after it. I will want it eventually.’

      ‘Thank