The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (books you have to read txt) 📕

round slowly and with a shiver Bea felt her gaze. ‘I see you watching,’ she said softly. ‘You who stand at the door so silently in the light of the silver moon, but I sense you mean no harm and will keep our secrets.’ There was a long pause. Bea stared at her, transfixed. ‘That was why I showed you the way into the realm of the Wyrd sisters with a pebble to guide you. You heard my call and you answered it. You are stronger than I expected. But you must beware. The queen did not see you this time and I shall not tell her, for she will not be so understanding if she knows you were there, be you ghost or spirit or witch from a distant land. Beware. What happened here is done and written in the chronicles of time. It cannot now be undone.’

*

‘What happened next?’ Simon and Emma were peering over Felix’s shoulder as he fiddled with the adjustments. The page on the screen flipped sideways. ‘Look, see here?’ He moved the cursor arrow as a pointer. ‘Someone has written lots of extra stuff down the side of this page. I don’t think it’s been rubbed out like the previous section, but it’s faded a lot. It’s written in a different ink.’

Simon bit his lip, trying to curb his impatience. Part of the deal was listening to his son’s detailed description of the methods he was using to decipher this stuff. All Simon wanted to know was the contents of the text.

‘That red bit—’ Emma was leaning forward, her finger dabbing at the screen.

‘Don’t touch!’ Felix let out a shout.

‘Sorry, but I thought it might be blood. Maybe that’s the moment the Vikings broke in.’

‘Or the Welsh.’ Felix didn’t look up. ‘Didn’t Dad say they were Welsh? The Vikings were an awfully long way away unless they sailed up the River Wye in their great boats with prows carved like dragons.’ He leaned forward a little, fiddled with the onscreen tools as he tried to enhance the blob his sister had pointed to.

‘If it was blood it would be brown,’ Simon put in. ‘I don’t think it’s that – maybe another ink that was on the desk and got knocked over.’

‘By the invaders.’

Felix was obviously taken with his father’s theory about the untidy ending on the last page of the manuscript. ‘The Vikings did sail up both the Wye and the Severn,’ Simon said absent-mindedly. ‘The chronicles were initially distributed throughout the land sometime in the tenth century, after King Alfred came up with the idea. They covered very early history, going back to the fabled ancestors of the royal line of Wessex, long before the Vikings made their first raids on Britain. Then slowly they bring events up to date and that’s where they shift to being more of a journal with the history as it happens. But the raid in 1055 was the Welsh again, I was right; I looked it up to check. Right, now let’s concentrate on what this says about the murder of Ethelbert.

‘The ghost of the dead king’ – he screwed up his eyes as Emma picked up her notebook and scribbled the words down as he spoke them out loud – ‘was not laid by prayer but by revenge. Offa did not sleep again, nor did his queen.’ He turned to Emma. ‘There is a theory that the murder was instigated by Queen Cynefryth out of jealousy that her daughter was to marry such a handsome and gifted young man, and that seems to be the version our chronicler subscribes to.’

‘She was obviously a cow,’ Emma put in.

‘That I think is an understatement. But we will never know for sure.’

‘Unless our friend here has written it down,’ Felix put in. ‘There is lots of stuff here. Go on, Dad, what does it say next?’

‘Our King Offa made many gifts of land and money to the Holy Church and built a shrine to the saint, in a church dedicated to the Holy Virgin that he set up by the river near his palace.’

‘Like you did, Em,’ Felix put in.

‘I only put two quid in the box. It was all I had.’

‘I meant you prayed. But the fact that you saw the ghost means he was not laid at all, he is still not a happy bunny. Go on, Dad.’

‘The sword that took off the head of the saint was found in the river and was brought to the minster to be blessed with the saint’s holy blood still hardened upon the blade.’ He frowned and looked up again. ‘Unlikely, I would say. Surely the river water would have washed it off.’

‘Not if it was magic blood. He was a saint, don’t forget.’

‘I think the word you’re looking for might be sanctified, not magic.’ Simon went back to studying the page. ‘Our King Offa would not believe that the queen had wielded that sword, though many thought hers was the hand that guided it. There you are! It was gossip even then.’

‘Will this be useful for your book, Dad?’ Felix was looking extremely pleased with himself.

‘It will indeed. Let’s see what else it says.’ There was a long pause as Simon studied the band of calligraphy that had grown ever smaller and more compacted as it reached the edge of the page.

‘Many thought the queen should die for her actions, but none dared a … a …’ he hesitated. ‘I think this word must be accost – accuse? – her. I should think not. She sounds as vicious as her husband. And still the ghost of the king walked the March.’

‘Ooh.’ Emma shivered. ‘And still does today. So he was never revenged.’

‘Avenged.’ Her father corrected her automatically. ‘But our friend the chronicler says he was.’

‘Isn’t there anything else?’ Felix was staring at the page on the computer. ‘Let’s see if there are any other bits written in.’ He moved to the next page of text. This one was blank