Raven's Hoard

by Gill Jepson

  Nate was astounded and he fixed his eyes on the skull which had been so irreverently named Jeffrey.

  “But how can you know this? How did you get the skull, Chris, if it came from the abbey?” he interjected.

  “When the abbey was destroyed, some sought to protect and secure the treasures within. ’Tisn’t the only treasure to be in peril at this time, but others are assigned to those items. My ancestors were abbey masons and as such swore a great oath to keep God’s treasures safe. Some were known by the name Mason, but my forefathers lived on the marshes and worked the salt pans on the plain and were named for their trade.”

  Nate had never given much thought to where Chris’s name Salter had come from and this was a revelation. Weird!

  “We knew the ebb and flow of the tides, the secret tracks across the sands and the old ways to harvest the sea. We did this until our livelihoods were sold by the fat king, Henry, and squandered on those who had not earned it. The lands were sold to make rich men more powerful. They craved those treasures protected by the abbey and it became our undertaking to recover and conceal as many as we could. The skull was but one. The sword which smote this sacred head is yet another and one which is in peril in this time.”

  Chris stopped speaking and looked meaningfully at Nate. He was unsure how he should respond and cleared his throat uneasily.

  “Wow! I don’t know what to say… how does this involve me then?”

  “You too have kin who will help the abbey protect its treasure.”

  Nate remained unconvinced but humoured Chris. Really, he was beginning to think the old boy had lost it. All this about abbeys and treasure… it all sounded a bit far fetched.

  He rose from his bench and was about to rejoin the others in the field. Chris stood too, smiling strangely.

  “You’ll see, lad, you’ll see.”

  Nate shrugged and walked towards where Mel and Darren were working. He called to them and waved. They didn’t move or call back. Odd? They must surely have heard him. He yelled again, louder this time. Suddenly the small hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stood up and he shuddered involuntarily. They were stock still, each one of them. In fact everything was stock still – the sheep, Mick at the mill emptying his bin, a car in the road… and a sparrow mid flight, suspended in thin air, frozen in time. His flesh grew cold and clammy; he jumped as he felt a hand upon his shoulder.

  Chris smiled.

  “It’s a smart trick, isn’t it?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

  “Did you do this? Did you make everything stop?” Nate croaked uneasily.

  “We needed some time to talk, uninterrupted… so I gave us some. It’s something which has come in useful many times.”

  “Who are you?” asked Nate, looking at him as though for the first time. The scruffy, curmudgeonly archaeologist had disappeared and in his place Chris took on the mantle of a wise man of many years’ experience. It was him, but ancient wisdom shone through his eyes like a beacon.

  “I am who you know, but I am more than that, I am my ancestors and bear their duty to the abbey and its precious treasures. You must not be afraid. I have but little time and you must listen and follow my instructions.”

  Nate listened.

  “I have directions for you. You must seek an ancient map, which will take you along perilous roads ’til you find what you seek.”

  “But what do I seek?”

  “Oswald’s sword, ’twas hidden close by a great hoard,” answered Chris.

  “It was found, but is lost again. There are those who would take it for themselves. Beware, for they will stop at nothing to seize it.”

  “Where is the map? How will I find it?” pressed Nate.

  “You must go to the Motte. You may find what you seek there. But have a care, the road you embark upon is full of danger.”

  Time began to whirr into life once more and a solitary raven glided down from the trees and landed on the top of the mess tent.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE PARTING

  Nate sat in the passenger seat of his Mum’s car, listening to the prattling voice of the woman they were taking with them to Grange. He was inwardly fuming that she was intruding and the way she was going on and on, he wanted to shout out. It wasn’t her fault but he was mad. Ironically, it was a sunny day, wasn’t it always the way? It had been exactly the same when they had been to Granddad’s funeral last summer, hot and sunny. What was that all about? But the night he died, those few weeks ago – that was something different; he had died in the midst of a violent storm, thunder, lightening, the lot! Like the Viking gods were calling him, each thunder clap – a blow from Thor’s hammer! He would never forget it…Thursday (Thor’s day). Now he had to contend with Chris as well. Two people he relied on and believed in gone without a single thought for him!

  They drew up outside the Victorian church and parked. He sat next to Mum in the wooden pew and fiddled with the order of service, so much that the hymn book fell from the ledge and fell with a clatter to the floor. He sighed ponderously and picked it up. He gazed at the front of the chapel and looked at the simple lines of the wood and masonry. He almost cried out in surprise as he recognised his maths tutor in front. He turned round and nodded politely at Mum and then winked at Nate. He could see a row full of archaeologists and historians that he had met at the dig and the usual crew were there too. He let a huge sigh escape again.

  Everyone stood as the mourners and the coffin came in. The family stood in the pew at the front and then the minister began the service. Time stood still for Nate. The service informed him of many things he had been unaware of, but each one made him feel his loss more keenly. The more he heard, the more remarkable he knew Chris had been. A tear stung his eye and his bottom lip trembled. His throat ached with unshed tears and he stood tall and straight. Mum sniffed into a tissue and the rest of the congregation looked as sad as he was. It was weird looking at the box in the aisle and imagining his friend inside.

  It was incomprehensible to think he would not see or hear him again. Incomprehensible and… and crap! Anger twisted his heart, wringing out the anguished tears and spilling them down his red cheeks. His shoulders shook with grief and he became so absorbed in trying NOT to cry that he didn’t hear another word of the service. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his tissue.

  When it was all over they stood in the car park for a time, talking to the other mourners. It was better outside, not quite so intense, and soon he and Darren were sharing memories together of the dig and things that Chris had said and done. Darren took off his jacket and went to his car. He delved into the boot for a moment and returned with a familiar object. It was Jeffrey, and a letter.

  “Chris wanted you to have these – said you’d know what to do with ’em. God knows what you’ll do with a smelly old skull! I’d donate it to the museum or something!” Even as he spoke the words, Darren knew that was the last thing Nate would do.

  Nate took the box and the letter silently to the car and sat with it on his knee. The chatty woman got in the back, chirping on about a lovely service and how nice it had been. She went on and on until they dropped her off at the top of her lane. He breathed a sigh of relief when she got out and was not sorry to see her go.

  When they got home tea was ready. Dad had made spaghetti bolognese. Well, that was one bright spot in an otherwise horrible day – at least Mum wasn’t cooking. He felt better after the meal and went to retrieve the box from the car. Naturally his brother and sister clamoured to see what was inside. He wasn’t really ready to share with anyone and he reacted grumpily

  “Come on, wally! Lets ’ave a look,” pestered his older brother Rob. “Go on! You know it makes sense!” he continued in a fake cockney accent. He was so irritating at times, he really was asking for a thump!

  “Leave him alone, Rob! He doesn’t want to!” interrupted Rebecca sensitively.

  “What is it? Go on! I only want to see,” Rob insisted. He made a grab for the box and Nate swu
ng away quickly, catching Rebecca on the chin with his elbow.

  “Ow! For God’s sake, Nate!” she cried, rubbing her chin.

  Rob lurched for the box again, unbalancing the three of them and sending the box flying across the room, the contents falling on to the carpet.

  The skull rolled to a halt at Rebecca’s feet, landing facing her, its lower jaw separating and producing a macabre grin. She shrieked and leapt on to the chair. Mum and Dad rushed in from the kitchen to find their daughter crying, the boys wrestling on the floor and a skull staring sightlessly up at them. Mum looked as if she would faint and dad wacked both boys with the tea towel, separating them.

  “What is going on? You’re like a couple of nursery kids you two! And what are you skriking, about Becca?”

  “Well, it’s a dead person’s head – ’s not very nice in your living room, is it?”

  The cacophony of noise was quelled by Mum picking up the offending object and replacing it in the box.

  “Well, I’m sorry Nate, but I can’t have that in the house, no matter who gave it to you,” she shivered. “It’s morbid and probably full of germs. It needs to go in the shed, NOW!”

  Nate knew better than to argue and he didn’t trust Mum not to get the Dettol out to disinfect Jeffrey if he didn’t move him quickly.

  Rob sniggered and whispered “Loser” under his breath as he walked past. This provoked a kick and another short scuffle, until Dad reprimanded them again.

  Nate reflected for a moment in the shed. He took out the letter and quietly read its contents.

  My friend,

  I told you that day at the dig that I didn’t have much time and although I can slow down time, I have no power over the end of a life and when its time runs out. I leave you Jeffrey – you know his true identity and must guard him until the other treasure is found. He will guide and remind you of the quest and I will help you in time… but I cannot say when or how. Be vigilant and trust only those who prove their worth. Evil forces are around you and will watch for your movements – use time to help you and learn from it… I will be there with you in spirit

  Your true friend

  Crispin Salter

  Crispin? He had no idea that Chris was short for Crispin. In fact he had never heard the name before. What on earth did that mean – he would help him “in time”? He’d have a job! How could he possibly help from the grave? No! It was up to him now. Chris was gone and he must complete the quest – no matter what! As he locked the shed, he noticed a lonely raven perched on the tree behind, its glittering eyes staring knowingly at him. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought it was the same one from the dig.

  CHAPTER 6

  WEIRD STUFF

  Nate spent a restless night. It was humid, as late summer sometimes was, and he felt uneasy and apprehensive. He put it down to the upset over Chris today and the fact that it had all brought up the sadness of losing Granddad too. He finally dropped off into a fitful sleep, which left him tired and irritable next day. He got up late, coming down to a scene of destruction.

  Something had got into the back garden and tipped up all the pots and wrecked the place. His sister had been sent to Gran’s to get some spare pots and she seemed a bit spooked. Probably still scared of the skull… the skull… oh no! He ran through the kitchen and out to the shed. Luckily it was still locked, but all around it were scores and scratches as though an animal had tried to get in. Around the base of the shed were chunks of sandstone and dust – weird! Dad was sweeping up and told him to get the shovel.

  He was puzzled and a little worried. Was the destruction because someone was after the skull? He suddenly remembered the night at the camp when they had all been disturbed. Perhaps this was the danger that Chris had warned of.

  When they had finished clearing up, Nate unlocked the shed and checked the box. He knew he would have to find somewhere safer – but where?

  The idea struck him later that day. Everyone was out. Mum had taken Rebecca and her friend Danny down to Furness Abbey for the afternoon, Dad was at work and Rob was playing football somewhere. It was inspired. He had been helping Dad to fix the slabs on the patio and they were almost finished. All that remained was to place the bird bath on the central stone and it would be done.

  It didn’t take him long to dig a hole in the centre of the patio. He dug furtively, feeling he was being watched. He was suspicious of everything, including the birds. He had noticed loads of magpies fluttering around earlier, but they seemed to have gone now. However, one bird did remain – the sleek, black raven. It sat perched on the hedge and peered at him curiously. He ignored it. It seemed benign enough and it couldn’t be bad if it had been at the dig, could it? He was really cracking up! Birds weren’t good or bad! They were… just birds. Weren’t they?

  He placed the finds box into a big polythene bag and tied the top. He hoped that this would protect the skull until he could find a better place. He hurriedly covered the hole with soil and replaced the slab and finally, with all the brute force he could muster, dragged the stone bird bath over and pushed it into place, concealing the hiding place fully. He stood back, admiring his work, and then set to, sweeping and tidying so that everywhere was clean. Not bad for an afternoon’s work, a hidden treasure and brownie points for finishing a job without being asked!

  The raven glided down from the hedge, and balanced on the rim of the bird bath and peered at Nate. It seemed to be offering its approval. He smirked at the thought, but then was shocked, as the bird jumped up on to his shoulder. He knew now that the bird was not any random bird, but rather was an ally.

  CHAPTER 7

  A SAFE HAVEN

  Dolly and Tom awoke early. Elias Sharpe had just returned from milking and had worked up an appetite. His mouselike wife, Sarah, scuttled about, busy preparing breakfast for her husband and the farm lad. The large kitchen table was big enough to seat them all comfortably. Sarah served up porridge, followed by bacon with newly made bread and butter. There was small beer to drink and everyone took a pewter pot to drink from. The pair ate hungrily. It seemed hours since their last meal and they fell upon the cured bacon like ravenous dogs. Sarah bustled about lifting her small babe from the ancient wooden cradle by the fire. She sat down on the wooden rocking chair and snuggled the child to her closely to feed him. She watched the proceedings, steadily rocking back and forth, with a hypnotic rhythm.

  Elias wiped his mouth with the back of his huge hand. He let out a tremendous belch and took a swig from the tankard of ale before him.

  “So, lad! What’s happened to thee?” He turned to face Tom.

  “We were caught by Swarbrick’s crew! ’Twas troublesome to escape…” his voice tailed off as he remembered the brutal smugglers.

  “Aye they’re a bad lot, lad! But how hast tha got saddled with yon wench?” He waved his hand at Dolly.

  Tom shot Dolly a swift glance, smiling quickly to reassure her.

  “We have an understanding Elias”

  “An understanding? Tha’s on thin ice, lad! She’s that crooked Jackson’s bairn, tha can’t trust her!” He shook his head solemnly. “And thee a Revenue man! ’Twill come to tears, mark my words!”

  Dolly flushed, hot with embarrassment at his sour words. She looked him straight in the eye, challenging him.

  “I won’t betray Tom! We… care for each other!”

  Tom smiled quietly. Elias ignored her statement and slowly filled his clay pipe with tobacco. He sucked on the pipe as he lit it and drew the tobacco until a thin grey spiral of smoke rose around him.

  “Well… we’ll see lass… won’t we?”

  Tom grabbed her hand beneath the table and squeezed it to reassure her again.

  The young couple sat beside the fire and discussed what they should do next. It would not be easy to escape the scrutiny of Swarbrick’s gang. They had to get a message to the Custom House at Lancaster, but that would take more than a day by horse. Before they did anything Tom had to find his superior office
r, the Revenue agent, and inform him of the situation. The problem was, he was based at Piel, which meant travelling back towards Rampside… and the smugglers. They might never make it to Piel, but if they split up, then maybe they would have a chance.

  It was decided that they would go to Mote Farm, where Tom’s brother lived. Tom needed a fresh horse, since his was still in the yard of the Concle Inn, probably claimed in compensation by Swarbrick for losing his prisoners. Dolly was to make her way back to Rampside along the coast and hide until low tide so that she could cross the sands to Piel Island, where the Revenue agent stayed. They would need reinforcements and Tom would see to that. He would ride through night and day to Lancaster, covering the miles on horseback.

  At daybreak Tom slipped out of the house and saddled the horse. The way was long and dangerous; he was determined to take a risk and travel across the sands to Lancaster. He had done it before, with a guide, but he believed he could remember the way. It would be too dangerous to appoint a guide this time; Swarbrick would hear about it and give chase. He knew the sands were treacherous and ever shifting, but this was the only way to shorten his journey and return to Dolly quickly.

  It was barely light. A thin greyness wisped its tendrils across the bay, snatching at the weak sunlight, forcing its way through the clouds. Tom rode on across the bubbling sand, the horse unsure of the ground and faltering. A dense blanket of mist descended, wrapping Tom in a damp, clammy cloak. He could see neither ahead nor behind, his vision totally obscured by the impenetrable fog. The horse grew nervous and he gave an anxious whinny. Tom patted his neck, whispering to calm him. Beneath the horse’s feet, waves lapped and bubbled up from under the sand. The horse reared and fought against the rising tide, shaking Tom from his back like an annoying insect. He reared again, jumped and raced into the mist, leaving Tom stranded and rolling in the wet sand. He rose to his feet and looked round in panic, staggering, his feet being sucked into the sand with each frenzied step he took. Within mere minutes he was knee deep in cloying, heavy mud. He knew his end had come. He would perish here on the sands, so close to Dolly yet so far and never to see her more.