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He stopped scrabbling amongst their bags and looked up. ‘What?’
‘Listen.’
He couldn’t see her face but he could hear the tone of her voice. He straightened and stared out across the river. For a moment both of them were silent. The squeak and pull of the oars was close by; several oars; the sound of a sail flapping and the thud of metal on wood. Ken scrabbled for the switch on the torch and, turning it on, shone it out across the water. The powerful beam lit up the empty river. Carefully he swept it first one way and then the other. The sound had stopped. All they could hear as the wind died for a moment was the lapping of the waves against the side of the Lady Grace. ‘Where is it?’ he whispered.
‘There’s nothing there.’
‘There has to be.’ He swept the torch round again then he stood up. ‘Ahoy!’ he shouted. ‘Who is out there? You are too close to the shore.’
There was silence. No oars. No sail. She could feel the emptiness. Whatever, whoever had been there before, had gone. Zoë sat down on the thwart. ‘It’s a ghost ship.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he scoffed. ‘Or men from Mars. More likely someone bringing illegal immigrants up-river.’
‘No. It is a ghost ship. People have seen it before.’ She hadn’t told him about Leo’s story or the picture. What was the point? He wouldn’t have believed it last night any more than he believed it now.
The mare was very lame the next morning, her legs swollen her head hanging listlessly. She had ignored her feed. Dan ran a hand down her near fetlock and shook his head grimly. He doubted she would recover.
‘How is she, Daniel?’ The soft voice at his elbow made him jump. He stood up too quickly and put out a hand to reassure the horse, but it wasn’t necessary; the animal had hardly moved.
‘Likely she’ll have to be shot,’ he said harshly. ‘Whoever did this has a lot to answer for.’ He turned to face Lady Emily.
‘It was your fault, Daniel. You didn’t see the injuries when I brought her to you.’
He clenched his jaw, keeping his temper with difficulty. ‘No, my lady, you are right. I was very remiss.’
‘It’s a shame. She was a nice horse.’ Her voice was light and careless. ‘Do whatever has to be done.’ She turned and walked back towards the large barn doors which stood open to the sunlight. Outside, a sprightly breeze tossed wisps of hay around the yard. The working horses had gone out early into the fields and the yard was deserted save for the roan pony tied to a ring by the forge. ‘I will need help to mount, Daniel,’ she called over her shoulder.
He gritted his teeth. ‘Of course, my lady.’ He walked out after her. ‘You have a new horse, my lady. I haven’t seen her before.’ He waited as she gathered the reins.
‘I’m thinking of getting my husband to buy her for me. I would have asked your opinion, but I see now you know nothing of horses.’ She glanced at him, her mouth curved with disdain.
‘I am a smith, my lady, not a groom,’ he said calmly.
She smiled. ‘Of course. I must remember that.’
He stooped to take her foot in his hands and tossed her up into the saddle; this time she was wearing a habit of Lincoln green with a lace jabot. The horse braced itself and shook its head as she looked down at him. ‘Tell me, was that your wife who was here before?’
‘It was, my lady.’
‘She’s expecting your child.’
‘She is, my lady.’
She raised an eyebrow haughtily. ‘Then she should take care not to overexert herself. It would be sad if she were to lose her job in the dairy. She does work in the dairy, I assume?’
‘Yes, my lady, she does.’ Daniel stood away from the horse and folded his arms. He looked up and met her eye.
She smiled. ‘I will see you soon, Daniel.’ She tapped the horse with her whip and trotted past him, pulling the animal so close he had to leap back out of her way.
For several minutes he stood still, looking after her, a deep frown on his face, then he turned and walked out of the yard. He followed the path across the field towards the woods; there, out of sight of the barns, he stopped and leaned back against one of the tall ancient pines in the lee of the oak woods and, taking a deep breath to stop himself shaking with anger, let the soft scent of the needles envelop him. Below him the river, swollen with the tide, glittered like silver, criss-crossed with ripples in the sunlight.
‘Did you enjoy your bath?’ Ken looked up at Zoë as she walked into his study. He had been standing behind his desk contemplating the darkness outside.
‘Yes, thank you.’ She was wearing a towelling wrap and her hair was still wet, standing on end as she rubbed at it with a towel.
‘I am sorry if you were frightened, darling. There wasn’t any real danger, I knew what I was doing out there.’
‘Did you?’
The heaviness of her voice startled him. ‘You know I did.’ He sounded wounded. He turned his back on the window and looked at her. ‘What are we having for supper?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Are you feeling all right?’
It was a moment before she replied. ‘Tired.’
‘Shall I make you something?’ He put his head on one side and gave her a small hopeful smile. ‘To cheer you up? Boiled egg and soldiers?’
‘I’m not a child, Ken,’ she snapped.
For a moment she wondered if she was going to hit him but somehow she managed to restrain herself. ‘Sorry, I’m still feeling a bit frazzled,’ she went on at last. ‘An egg would be nice,’ and she headed back onto the landing. Below her in the shadows of the living room something moved and just for a second she thought she heard the chink of a horse’s harness and the scrape of a hoof on cobbles.
‘Ken!’ It was a whisper. ‘Ken, come out here.’
He didn’t hear her. Already he had become immersed in the screens on his desk. He had probably completely forgotten her. She stood leaning on the balcony’s wood and glass balustrade, looking down. There were horses down there, and with them a man; shadows, imprints in time. She could see them, sense them, hear them, then they were gone.
Edith threw down her spindle with a groan and walked across to the door of the cottage. She ought to be waiting on the Lady Hilda in the weaving house with the other women, but she had dawdled at home, hoping and praying that her husband might appear even if for only a short time. She had made him a new leather jerkin, stitched with waxed thread; it hung from a peg even now, catching her eye as it swung to and fro in the draught. She missed him desperately; his voice, his humour, his company, and above all his strong agile body in her bed. But he had decided suddenly, and as far as she could understand completely arbitrarily, that while he made a sword for the lord of their village he must abstain from his wife’s embraces and keep himself pure. Even thinking about it made her eyes fill with tears. As if she were impure. Something unclean. This was some heretical belief of the thegn’s. He had denounced the Christian beliefs of his family and his wife and begun praying to the gods of his forefathers.
As had Eric.
The knowledge had been there all along, buried deep inside her, and she had tried to ignore it, but why else had he turned away from her bed? Why did he make excuses not to go to church? Why had he agreed to make this sword a pagan sword; how else would he have known the spells and the charms to be recited over the blade as he forged it in the fire?
She sighed. The gods of their ancestors had been powerful gods. She found herself thinking suddenly about Frige, the goddess her great-grandmother had worshipped, the goddess who made marriages fruitful, whilst now, she bit her lip thoughtfully, though she prayed often and fervently to the Blessed Virgin, her own marriage to Eric was still childless.
‘Edith?’
Lost in her dreams she hadn’t seen the figure appear in the doorway. Eric stooped and came in, pushing the door closed behind him, shutting out the light. ‘Eric!’ She threw herself at him and for a moment they clung together. She nuzzled his neck, and pulled his face to hers, seeking his lips with something approaching hunger. ‘Have you finished the sword?’ she whispered. ‘Have you come home?’
For a moment longer he held her close against him then slowly he pushed her away. ‘I’m sorry. Not yet. But it won’t be long, sweetheart, I promise.’
Bereft, she stood for a moment, her eyes closed, fighting her tears, then she straightened her shoulders. ‘Why are you here then?’
He didn’t answer for a moment, then gave her a sheepish grin in the twilight shadow of the small house. ‘I thought you would be in the weaving house with Lady Hilda.’
‘Which is where I should be.’ She waited but he said nothing more. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then he turned to the door and lifted the latch. ‘It won’t be long, I promise, my darling.’ However long it took to engrave the magical runes, the special symbols, the words of power which would make this sword unique.
She watched as he strode away towards the edge of the village where the tithe barn hid his forge and workshop from her view, then she turned back to the fire. Overhead the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling rustled gently, disturbed by Eric’s passing.
‘I’m sorry. I was rude again, wasn’t I?’ Leo was standing on the back doorstep. He was empty-handed this time, his hair blowing in the stiff breeze, dressed in a heavy blue Guernsey and faded jeans. ‘Can I apologise?’
Zoë stood back and nodded towards the kitchen. ‘Five minutes. It’s my turn to be busy. I am just going into Woodbridge.’ Now that she was used to the scars on his face she could see what a good-looking man he must have been. She led the way into the kitchen where her handbag and shopping basket were sitting side by side on the worktop with her car keys.
He grimaced. ‘Bad timing. My trademark. Just like you.’ He followed her in and stood by the table. ‘I just thought a word might be timely about our mutual neighbours. I dare say you’ve noticed that they are here for half-term.’
‘I noticed but I haven’t spoken to them yet.’
‘The youngest kid, Jade, she’s a good mate of mine. Something she said rang alarm bells. I think there might after all be a plan to try and scare you both. Playing ghosts. Weird noises in the night, you know the sort of thing. They are a malicious bunch and their idea of a joke might not be yours. Or mine, for that matter.’
‘So the whole ghost thing is a scam?’ She heard her voice rise at the tightness in her throat. She exhaled sharply. ‘It’s all a joke?’
‘Not all of it, no,’ he said quietly. He glanced at her face then looked away again. ‘Sorry. But as they are here, and they appear to be in malicious mode, you might be in for an escalation of events for a few days.’
‘They weren’t here, though, when the noises started, were they?’ Her moment of relief disappeared as soon as it had come.
‘No they weren’t.’
‘So all the door banging was real.’
‘Might have been the wind.’
‘And last night,’ she was silent for a moment, trying to make up her mind whether to tell him or not, ‘we came back tired after the most god-awful sail I have ever had and I was upstairs, looking down over the balcony and I thought I saw, heard, horses, quietly munching their hay, scraping their hooves. Maybe I didn’t actually see or hear them. I just sort of sensed it.’ She shook her head, embarrassed, sorry she had mentioned it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. ‘Don’t laugh at me. I expect I was hallucinating. I was so tired.’
‘I’m not laughing. I am sure horses have lived in here on and off over the centuries. Buildings hold memories. You were tired; your mind was relaxed, open.’ He hitched up to sit on the corner of the work station, one leg swinging. ‘So, what was so awful about the sail? I got the impression you were seasoned mariners.’
‘Ken is. He loved it. We were out in the sea, it was a bit rough, I suppose, and he decided to come back and we touched the bottom and suddenly I realised I was scared. Really scared, more scared than I have ever been in my life.’ She put her hands to her face for a moment.
‘We all get scared from time to time.’ He spoke with an unexpected gentleness. ‘That’s what gives the adrenaline.’
She shook her head violently. ‘No. Not like this. It is supposed to be fun. And yes, exciting, but not so deeply, deeply frightening.’ She looked at him for a second and then shook her head again.
‘Why did you let him drag you up here if you hate it?’ he asked after a moment. ‘The move wasn’t for your benefit at all, was it?’
There was a long pause. ‘I don’t hate it. I thought it would work. It was a challenge.’ She held his gaze defiantly.
‘And sailing, is that a challenge too?’
She walked across to the window and stared out. ‘I can’t live my whole life afraid.’
‘It strikes me that you would be afraid of very little,’ he said thoughtfully.
She grimaced. ‘But then you don’t know me very well. Perhaps afraid is the wrong word. In a rut, then. London was comfortable and safe.’
‘And sailing isn’t safe.’
‘We sailed before.’ She hunched her shoulders defiantly. ‘It was fine. It is fine.’
In the distance the river water was dull, sluggish, creeping in, creeping up between the banks. She could feel the cold tiptoe across her shoulders and deliberately fought the reflexive shiver. The kitchen was warm.
‘It was partly because of his enthusiasm that we came here, of course it was. Our life together has always been like that. He’s the match, and I smoulder into flame.’ She broke off and it was a moment before she laughed. ‘But this time the flame hasn’t caught. Or not the way I expected. I thought I would like it here. I did – do – love it here. But something is wrong.’ Why was she confiding in him like this?
‘Does Ken know how you feel about all this?’ he said after a long pause. He had been watching her while she spoke.
She nodded.
How could she explain the complexity of their relationship? It was Ken’s enthusiasm, his drive, his passion which attracted her, his wiry single-mindedness. But it was that same single-mindedness which excluded her, blanked the parts of her personality which did not fit his template. Once she had thought she could change him, but the change, if there was to be change, would have to be hers, and that admission, that she had judged him wrongly, and that she must change herself or be for ever sidelined had been too hard to make.
‘You love the river,’ she said, turning back to face Leo.
‘Yes.’
‘And you love sailing.’
He nodded.
‘Are you never afraid?’
‘Everyone is afraid sometimes, Zoë.’
‘Yes, but in Ken’s case he’s hooked on the adrenaline. He’s competitive. He is always testing himself against something. Fear excites him.’
He made no comment and she turned back to the window. ‘Ironically it was the river that drew me to this house. It fascinates me. But now we are here for some strange reason it –’ she hunted for the right word – ‘it repels me as well. I find it as sinister as it is beautiful.’
‘I saw you sketching it.’
She glanced at him, startled. ‘When?’
‘You were down on the boat.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t draw. I can’t do anything. I was trying to find something to occupy me while he tinkers with the boat. Sketching will not be it.’
‘I’m sure you will find something.’ He grinned. ‘Do you have to go down on the boat to keep him company?’
‘I don’t think he even notices I’m there half the time.’
‘There you are then. You need a land-based hobby.’
‘I jog, but that is hardly a hobby. Not for me, anyway. I need to sort out my life, my relationship, my whole raisond’être.’ She shrugged. ‘No. Forget I said that. That is part of something I have to sort with Ken.’
He gave a half-nod. ‘Fair enough. It’s forgotten.’ He stood up. ‘My five minutes is up. Just keep a wary eye out for the kids from hell, OK?’
She gave a faint smile. ‘So, apart from your mate, Jade, how many did you say there are?’
‘Three boys. Darren, Jamie and Jackson. Jackson doesn’t feature much, thank goodness,’ he grinned. ‘He’s left school and is for all I know collecting ASBOs; I doubt he has any other qualifications. Which is a shame. Jeff and Sharon are decent people, chaotic and noisy and sometimes irritating to a grumpy codger like me, but still salt of the earth.’
Zoë put her head on one side. ‘In my experience when people are described as salt of the earth it usually means they are just the opposite.’
‘Then your experience is unfortunate. I meant it.’ His voice had hardened.
