Away from the village the air was sharp with the smell of death and fire, and smoke still hung amongst the lofty pines. The burial mound was deserted. The Danish host had paused and skirted it and seen signs that it was recent; one or two had thought of the treasure that might be buried there, but they were fully aware of the curses which would fall on them if they disturbed the rest of the man within. This was no Christian burial site; this was the resting place of a man with a faith much like their own. They had cared nothing for the living Christian inhabitants of the village, but the ghosts of those who had been laid to rest with proper ceremony were different. This place was to be respected and feared and left to the gods.
And those who returned left it alone as well. The family of the Lord Egbert had gone; his wife, his sons had fled or been slaughtered. There was no sign of anyone to tell them how it had happened. As they walked back to the top of the field and stared down at the river they saw the ship had gone.
The sad spectators wandered away one by one. The village would not be rebuilt for decades and when it was they did not restore the church. This part of the kingdom was in the Danelaw now; for the time being, the gods of the Vikings guarded the land.
The mist drifted up again on the tide and enfolded the place where the longship had lain at anchor and there the echoes of its passing would remain for ever, its deathly mission etched into the psyche of the land, its image imprinted in the mist and echoing in the wind.
Zoë found the sword wrapped in its newspaper in one of Leo’s sail bags and pulled it out. ‘You brought it with us.’
He glanced up from the chart he was studying. ‘I couldn’t bear to leave it. Sorry.’
She laid it, on its newspaper, on the chart table and suddenly she shuddered. ‘No, Leo. We mustn’t take it away from the grave. That would be unlucky. That’s why Rosemary is in hospital. We have to get rid of it.’
She ran her finger gently over the hilt and the corroded blade. Flakes of rust came away on her skin and she shivered. Was it rust, or was it the remains of long-ago blood that stained the blade red? Once before, she knew in some distant part of herself, another woman had held this sword and wondered, just as she was, what to do with it. And the decision had been the same.
‘You’re not serious about throwing it overboard?’ Leo was watching her face.
She shook her head. ‘I still want to rebury it. We have to, Leo. To appease the gods and mitigate the curse. I don’t want it on the boat a moment longer. I’m sorry. Let’s do it before we go. Now.’
He stared at her. ‘But the place is crawling with police and archaeologists.’
‘There won’t be anyone there in the dark. Why should there be?’
‘Because looters and metal detectorists will swarm all over the site, that’s why. You told me it had been in the papers. A mention of the word Anglo-Saxon in the press and the whole world will descend on that field.’
She closed her eyes unhappily. ‘Then what shall we do? We can’t keep it, Leo. I have the most awful feeling about it.’ She was rewrapping it. ‘Let’s go back now. We can’t sail with this on the boat, surely you see that? Supposing this is what the ghost ship is all about? Perhaps the guys in the ship are looking for the grave and the treasure that might be buried there. Either the dead man was a friend of theirs, or they were out to despoil the grave. We can’t risk it. We can’t!’
‘OK.’ He put a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘You’re right. That would be best. We’ll do it now. Tonight.’
As he ducked out of the cabin his mobile rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and squinted at the screen. ‘It’s Bill Turtill. I’d better take it in case it’s about the accident.’ He put the phone to his ear.
Zoë climbed out into the cockpit and sat down staring out across the dark water. The Lady Grace was tugging gently at her buoy nearby. The chill off the river made her shiver. It was very quiet.
Huddling in her jacket she suddenly heard Leo’s raised voice.
‘He said what? I don’t believe it. You have to be joking!’ He scrambled out into the cockpit and stood near her, the phone clamped to his ear. ‘No of course I haven’t. The very idea. My God! Thanks for letting me know, Bill. I owe you one.’ He switched off the phone and looked at her, his face a mask of anger. ‘Jackson Watts rang Mike Turtill just now. Luckily Bill was in the room when he took the call and overheard it. Apparently Jackson is crowing; he and Jade have told the police that I molested her.’
‘What?’ Zoë felt her stomach clench with horror.
He shook his head. ‘All I wanted was to help that child. I never touched her.’ He looked at Zoë. ‘You do believe me?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘I gather I can expect a visit from the police and social services.’
‘Oh, Leo.’ Zoë felt sick. ‘Do you think that was the police – the car we heard?’
‘Probably. I’ll have to go back. We’ve got to sort this out.’
‘You can’t. They might arrest you!’
‘Well, I can’t stay down here and I’m not going to run away.’
‘Why not? If we get away we can fight it from somewhere where you’re safe.’
‘Zoë, it will only make me look guilty if I run. I have to sort it out.’ He shook his head in despair. ‘I can’t believe Sharon would think I could do such a thing.’
‘I am afraid it might be my fault.’ Zoë turned her back on him miserably. ‘Jade warned me off. She more or less threatened that if I didn’t back off and leave you to her she would make me regret it. And I didn’t.’ She reached over and squeezed his arm. ‘I never ever suspected she would be capable of something like this.’ She stopped abruptly. Manda had. Manda had warned her and she had taken no notice.
Behind them the little cabin looked warm and inviting and safe in the lamplight. She turned and climbed back down the companionway. Leo followed her and sat down opposite her. His face was pale and strained as he stared at her helplessly. ‘Let’s get one thing straight. This is not your fault. Not under any circumstances.’ He rubbed his cheeks wearily with his palms. ‘What a mess.’
‘It’s the sword!’ Zoë stared down at the newspaper parcel with a shudder. ‘It’s bringing bad luck to anyone who touches it. I told you we had to get rid of it. We shouldn’t have brought it with us. It has to go back now. This minute. We have to go now.’ Then she shook her head. ‘No, you can’t go. If the burial site is crawling with police – even if they have just left security guards there you might get arrested.’ She ran her fingers through her hair in despair. ‘Put it back in the bag. I’ll go. You stay here and I will leave it somewhere near the site. If I can I’ll bury it, if not I’ll tuck it in somewhere nearby.’
‘Zoë, wait.’ Leo raised his hands. ‘There is no need for all this. Whatever happens, I have to go and face them.’
‘No.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘What you need is a lawyer. Before you do anything else. Do you know anyone you can call?’
He nodded slowly. ‘I do, as it happens. My friend Max. His firm acted for me in the separation from my wife. He’s retired, but I would trust him with my life.’
‘Ring him.’
He glanced at her, then pulled out his mobile again and she watched as he brought up his contacts list. The phone rang for a long time. ‘No answer and no answer service,’ he said at last. ‘I suppose it is a bit late.’ He put the phone down on the cabin table. ‘And he might be away. He travels a lot. If there is still no reply in the morning, I’ll ring his office.’
They looked at each other in silence for a moment. ‘Do you think the police know about Curlew?’ Zoë said softly. ‘I wouldn’t put it past that little cow to have told them.’
‘She’s not a little cow, Zoë,’ he reprimanded gently. ‘She’s a confused kid.’
‘Confused or not, she has dropped you in it and we have to get your name cleared.’ Zoë stood up. ‘Right, first things first. You can’t risk dealing with this, but I can.’ She didn’t dare giv
e herself time to think. ‘Help me with this bag, then you can row me ashore.’
‘You would do that for me?’ He didn’t move. ‘Go off in the dark to a haunted, probably security-guarded burial ground in the middle of nowhere?’
She gave him a quick smile. ‘Not such a middle-class housewife now, eh?’
‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head. ‘Did I call you that? How wrong was I! I am breathless with admiration. You are the bravest person I have ever met. But I am not going to let you do it. Not alone.’
‘So you are going to deprive me of the chance to prove my worth?’ She zipped up her jacket. ‘Leo, think! I know every inch of this place now. There is no danger. I will be very careful. No one will see me.’
She picked up the bag and began to edge along the bunk towards the door, then she sat down again. ‘I’ll be able to suss out the situation at home as well. I can see if the police have gone to The Old Forge and maybe,’ her mind was racing ahead, ‘I could go and see your friend Max first thing. Does he live locally?’
Leo was shaking his head, laughing. ‘Zoë, Zoë, stop.’ He reached over and took her hand. ‘I don’t know if you are right about me lying low but you have given me an idea. Yes, Max does live locally and the irony is, he lives down river from here. I could sail there.’
At the Hall, the stables were replenished with two new riding horses to accompany the squire’s cob, though neither was strictly a lady’s horse. A new blacksmith was appointed and moved into the cottage behind the forge with his wife and three children. He was competent and friendly and good with the horses, and soon made himself a part of the community. His black iron work was excellent and he turned his hand to some fancy decoration as well as the usual ironmongery of the estate.
In the servants’ hall there was a conflict of opinion as to what had happened to Emily. Mrs Field and Mrs Davy, the cook, both thought she had run away, unable to bear her own guilt over Dan’s death. The maids preferred a more melodramatic theory, that she had thrown herself in the river. Mayhew claimed there had been gypsies over the other side of the heath the day she had disappeared and reckoned they might have kidnapped her. If they had, he expounded one evening after dinner, licking his lips, she no doubt got a bit of the rough she had so obviously been lusting after. The frowns of Beaton and Mrs Field did nothing to quell his imagination and one of the maids became hysterical with fright at the thought of her mistress’s fate.
Above stairs, Henry sat alone in his study as the evenings drew in and kept his counsel. If he had any theories as to the fate of his wife, no one knew what they were.
The farm workers were equally baffled as to what had happened to her. None of them had seen her, and she hadn’t even bothered to send flowers to Susan’s funeral, something which had been noted with extreme displeasure in the village. If George and Robert discussed it as they worked together in the fields, or supervised the repairs to the three great barns, no one heard them. Betsy and Jessie Turtill voiced the views of everyone for miles. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ they said. ‘If she never comes back, it’ll not be a moment too soon.’
Zoë stood in the dark on the edge of the landing stage watching Leo row away from her. He rested on his oars for a moment and raised a hand to wave. She waved back then resolutely she picked up the bag, as always surprised at how heavy the sword was, and headed up through the trees towards the lane. The second they had kissed goodbye and he had lowered himself back into the dinghy she had felt her courage deserting her. She wanted to call him back, she wanted to hurl the bag with its cursed contents into the river but she didn’t allow herself to hesitate. There was too much at stake. Their happiness and maybe Rosemary’s life depended on her taking this thing back to where it was found.
A breath of wind touched the back of her neck with cold fingers and she shuddered. She had Leo’s torch in her pocket but she didn’t want to use it, it would only draw attention to her if there was anyone in the fields. Her eyes were anyway rapidly getting used to the dark. She could make out the sky above the hedgeline now, the clouds swelling heavy and dull across the deeper black behind them. She was trying to walk quietly, glad of her rubber-soled sailing shoes. Somewhere nearby an owl hooted and she stopped in her tracks, her skin prickling with terror. ‘Stupid!’ she muttered. She took a deep breath and moved forward again, afraid now that she would miss the gap in the hedge that Rosemary had cut. Somewhere behind her Leo was quietly pulling up the sails, slipping the mooring and drifting silently out into the river. There was no going back now. If she failed he would be in danger not just from the police but from the sword and its curse. She tightened her grip on the bag handles, feeling her palms wet with sweat, and walked doggedly on.
She had almost passed the gap in the hedge when she saw it at last. She stopped and headed towards it, feeling her feet slip on the wet grass of the bank at the edge of the lane. Then she was in the field stumbling over the furrows, feeling the weight of the newly turned mud hanging from her shoes. There was no shelter, nowhere to hide as she made her way towards the centre, thankful there was no moon at least. She couldn’t see the state of the site in the darkness; all she could make out was the silhouette of the small oak tree which stood out above the mound. Then suddenly she saw a light. She stopped dead, her heart pounding. There was someone there.
There was no point in turning back. Whoever was there might see her at any moment. She crept on, bending low, and realised as she drew slowly closer that the light came from a small tent which had been pitched at the edge of the copse. Almost as she recognised the faint outline she heard music and suddenly a muffled shout of laughter. Holding her breath she crept closer, aiming now for the far side of the copse furthest away from the tent. If the people in it were there on guard they weren’t making a very good job of it; the entrance was firmly zipped up.
She felt better when she had reached the copse and crept into the shelter of the trees. The undergrowth had been cut back and the barbed wire had gone, but there were still a few small trees and shrubs which gave her enough cover in the darkness as she felt her way forward. Suddenly she noticed there was another tent, this one larger and square and in total darkness. It had been erected over the site of the excavations and appeared to be deserted. She paused, taking stock. She had reached the burial mound; whoever had taken the sword did not appear to have dug very far to find it. Surely the important thing had been to get it here. She didn’t have to put it in the grave itself.
As she stood pondering what to do her eyes were caught by a movement in the distance. A shadow had moved in the tent and then as she watched the tent flap was unzipped from within and a figure stepped outside and stretched, yawning so loudly she could hear it from where she was crouching. She dropped to the ground and remained motionless. It was unlikely he could see her even if he turned round, but her heart was thudding like a hammer as she lay, her face pressed into the grass. He had flicked on a torch and she was aware of the powerful beam directed into the trees above her head and sweeping round the site.
‘I can’t think why they would assume anyone would come out to such a godforsaken spot with all that fog coming in!’ The man’s voice was clear as he spoke over his shoulder to someone in the tent. ‘I’m going to take a slash then I’m for my bed.’ She hardly dared breathe, held her breath praying he wouldn’t come in her direction. He didn’t. Minutes later he had ducked back inside the tent and the flap was zipped up once more. She waited several more minutes then cautiously she scrambled to her feet. She had to get rid of the sword, and quickly, and get away from here. She glanced over her shoulder back towards the river. It was growing misty and Leo was out there on the water alone.
Somehow she forced herself to take a step or two forward. Beneath her feet the ground was a tangle of grass and weeds. She couldn’t dig a hole; stupidly she had brought nothing to dig with. Crouching down again she felt the ground round her in the darkness and found almost at once what appeared to be a rabbit hole. Her fingers touched bare e
arth and she felt the crumbly soil opening up beneath them. Moving as quietly as she could she put the bag down and drew back the zip. She pulled out the sword, cursing as the newspaper rustled in her hands. At last it was free of its wrapping. She shoved the paper back in the bag and carefully pushed the sword down into the hole. It met resistance almost at once, but she persevered, waggling it gently, not wanting to force it, feeling a strange sense of reverence now that she was returning it to the earth. As soon as it was level with the surface of the soil she stopped, looking down at it blindly in the darkness. Strangely she found she wanted to pray, but she didn’t know what to say.
‘I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have been taken away. It belongs here,’ she whispered. It seemed inadequate, but it was all that was needed. She bowed her head in silence, then slowly she began to fill in the earth over the rusty blade. Either it would remain there for ever or perhaps tomorrow, perhaps months hence, it would be rediscovered by the archaeologists and they would decide its fate.
It would be up to the gods of old what happened next.
Somewhere a bell was ringing. Footsteps echoed over the floor and a flurry of voices was speaking over her.
Rosemary frowned and for a moment her eyelids fluttered.
‘She’s waking up.’ A male voice, deep and authoritative. ‘Where is her husband?’