by Gill Jepson
“See you later, Nate!” he grinned. “So long!”
So long… so long… that’s what Granddad had always said when he said goodbye!
Nate was left staring at a swinging door. He now knew exactly who George was like! Granddad George! But Granddad George as a kid! What was that all about?
He rushed outside to catch the final glimpse of the boy running along Duke Street, narrowly dodging a tram. He turned again and waved, disappearing along the busy street. Nate stood bemused, his eyes prickling with hot tears. It was too cruel to be with his beloved Granddad again – for a whole afternoon… but not to know! How could he be so stupid? That old longing ached inside him again, disappointment washing over him like cold rain on a summer’s day. He roughly wiped a tear away and sniffed. He now had to work out how to get home again. It was like being on a piece of elastic – being flipped into one time and then another. The regal statue of Sir James Ramsden, the first mayor of Barrow, surveyed the scene unconcerned. Nate noted that there were railings around the statue which were no longer there in his time. As he did so they appeared to melt away in front of him and the picture around him almost pixilated, like when the computer went wrong. He felt giddy… here we go again…
He closed his eyes tight…When he opened them he sighed with relief. Whatever had happened, he was back in the present! How weird was his life becoming? But more important… would he see George again?
CHAPTER 14
SEEKING THE SWORD
Summer evaporated into golden autumn and the excitement of his adventures had left Nate restless and lonely. He had nobody to talk to or share his theories with – he actually missed Tom and Dolly. He had virtually haunted the abbey to see if he could get back to 1750 again and had crawled through the drainage tunnel umpteen times to no avail. In fact the only evidence of his strange experiences was the solitary raven which seemed to track him wherever he went. At least it wasn’t sinister, not like those awful magpies that were always perching on the trees in the garden. His sister was well nervous of them and he could see why, with their piercing black eyes and malevolent beaks. She seemed preoccupied too and was forever with those mates of hers up and down to the abbey.
Jeffrey was still in his hiding place and he was safe for the time being! But how Nate would find the sacred sword he still didn’t know. He had researched the story of St Oswald at the library and on the internet, but this only served to provide him with more jigsaw pieces to puzzle over – and they weren’t fitting together at all. He knew the raven was a sign of St Oswald – but it had also been on the sail of the long ship, a symbol of the Norse god Odin. He was still unsure of the link between them, but the evidence suggested that along with the physical relics of Oswald, the sword with which King Penda had slain him had disappeared too. Nate could only guess that the Viking had nicked it… well, they did stuff like that… as he had clearly seen during the battle, when they stacked the weapons taken from the dead Anglo-Saxon warriors. To top it off, Rampside had once been known as Hramn’s Saetr, which in Norse apparently meant Raven’s Seat!
Nate had found out what had happened to the sword after the Helms had discovered it. It had disappeared from view some time soon after. What was it the newspaper cutting had said? A couple of blokes from the Archaeological Society were holding it? Eventually it had been presented to the Municipal Museum and was now listed as part of the acquisitions of the new Dock Museum.
So, how did he set about finding something which nobody knew was lost? The old monk had said the sword in the museum was not the real thing. It was merely the rusted old remains of another sword. So who had removed it? Surely not the two historians? Or had they had hidden it because they knew what it really was? Maybe someone was after it… maybe they had to save it? Hmm! A lot of maybes there and no real answer! Another trip to the library. Nate groaned inwardly, he had more than enough reading to do for his GCSEs, never mind this stuff. He really wished he could find Dolly and Tom again. Between them they would be able to work it all out he was sure.
CHAPTER 15
GODI
The young boy was red faced and sweating when he eventually collapsed in the small hovel he called home. The village women were in hiding, probably terrified and wondering what had happened to their menfolk. Godi lay panting on the reed-strewn floor, staring up at the roughly thatched roof. He could just see the night sky through the open hole which served as a crude chimney. He gazed into the dark, terrible images flashing through his head. He could not believe what he had seen and even less what he had done. The red devil had fouled these lands before and struck terror into the hearts of his family and village. Many a seasoned warrior had tried to halt his furious raids on innocent people; he had even attacked the church today. None had succeeded in stopping him. Not even his father. Yet he had! He knew that God had been with him and it was He who must have chosen him to succeed where others had failed.
He was exhausted from his race to escape and it took but a short time before he fell into a heavy sleep. Hours had passed before he woke. The daylight streamed through the same hole through which he had witnessed the night sky and warm rays caressed his skin and gently woke him. The hut was empty, but he could hear movement outside. He gasped sharply. His mind raced, wondering whether the Vikings had found him. Quietly he crept to the door and peered through a chink in the wood. He sighed with relief as he saw some of the village women and children cautiously venturing back. As he opened the door they jumped with fear, not immediately recognising him. When he did appear fully, a cry went up from his mother and two of his brothers.
“Godi, is it really you?” she cried, silent tears spilling down her ruddy cheeks.
“Aye, mother, it is me! I am safe…” his voice trailed off as they crowded round him. He remembered those sons, brothers and fathers who would not return and his voice died in his throat.
He was swamped on all sides and answered their desperate questions as best he could. Just as he believed he could stand no more, three of the warriors from his village arrived, bloody and beaten, but alive. Further cries went up from the congregated women and children and the men were reunited with their families. Slowly, another handful of men and boys trudged wearily into the village, engulfed by relieved women and children.
When the commotion had settled down, the cost of the battle could be calculated. Some of the families who had lost their men retreated to their homes, others were comforted by the old folk, and children wept. It was a sad day for the village of Aldingham, half of its men and boys lay dead and as yet unburied at Crivelton. As the day drew on and fires were lit, warriors were fed and wounds were treated; life was returning to normal. The warriors who were left had the unpleasant task of informing the lady that her lord Aldwulf was dead. She bore the news with dignity and retreated into the hall with her house carls and daughters.
An outrider had returned from Crivelton and announced that the Viking raiding party had left as quickly as they had arrived. They had buried their fallen and burnt every building to the ground, setting fire to the crops and slaughtering or stealing the cattle and sheep. In short the countryside was devastated, and the Vikings had made sure that any survivors would find it hard to farm the land quickly. The men decided to return in the morning to bring back their dead to honour them.
That night in the great hall the feasting tables were laden with food, and the honour of their chief was remembered with a marvellous feast and plenty of ale. In the midst of the proceedings, to Godi’s horror the warriors celebrated his own part in the battle. He was cheered and hailed as a warrior as brave as Beowulf himself. Songs would be sung in his memory for many years to come and children would whisper his name to ward off evil spirits. He shrank from the attention and his face flushed pink, radiating his deep embarrassment. His mother and brothers were plumped with pride at his feat and his grandfather’s blue eyes glistened with tears of contentment. Godi paused for thought and reflected how amazed his father would have been. He began to realis
e that he had avenged his father’s death… without even meaning to. The red devil had been responsible for this on the last raid in the previous summer. Who would have known that he would be the nemesis of his father’s killer?
Months passed into years and the Furness coast withstood many raids and battles. Godi grew to manhood and became a skilled warrior, who was indeed named in the sagas of his people. He married one of Aldwulf’s daughters and raised a strong, large family of sons and daughters, and he became a just and fair lord. He was able to repel the Viking raiders who plagued the coastline, but then when they came in peace and wished to settle he welcomed them and traded with them.
He never forgot the Battle of Crivelton and as an old man returned to the burial place of Red Hair. The monks had returned and St Cuthbert himself had blessed the church, built almost on top of the Viking’s grave. The saintly monk had dedicated a new church at Aldingham, the village named for Aldwulf and the church for Cuthbert. It brought a wry smile to Godi’s lips that the Viking’s resting place was on holy ground, musing whether he had ever reached his Valhalla.
Time came and went. Godi’s time was almost spent and he had words with his eldest son Eadgar, who had settled a homestead a few miles north, called Eadgarley. He told his son to place his bones and chattels between Aldingham and Hramn’s Saetr and raise a mound in his honour. Eadgar kept his word and the barrow was raised in honour of Godi the great warrior. Long after Godi had been forgotten, years after the story of his bravery was lost by all but a few, his name was remembered at the coastal hamlet called Goadsbarrow.
CHAPTER 16
REVELATIONS
Life had returned to normal for Tom and Dolly. They began to think that it had all been a dream. Often, when night drew in and they sat beside the fire at Mote Farm, they whispered about their friend Nate, wondering when they would meet again.
Dolly was about to return to the inn. It would be safe now that Swarbrick’s gang had disappeared. She was reluctant to return because her father was not wholly to be trusted. She consoled herself that it would not be too far distant until she and Tom were wed. He had finally asked her, as she had hoped, when they returned from the abbey, and she was getting older… at 17 she did not wish to wait too much longer.
As they reached the inn Dolly’s heart sank. It looked shabbier than ever and brought back bad memories of the night that they had been captured by Swarbrick. They walked across the yard towards the door. Tom grabbed Dolly’s hand and smiled reassuringly as they went in. Their welcome was a cool one. Dolly’s father was still ashamed of his part in their imprisonment and had hoped not to see them again.
Time ticked by… relentlessly. Tom had rounded up more of the smugglers and the coast was more peaceful than it had ever been. The small port was busy, but most of the ships passed through without trouble. He and Dolly had called the banns at Rampside church and were due to marry in May. Dolly’s father had come to terms with their marriage plans and inwardly was relieved that his smuggling days were over. The marriage approached and all thoughts of their adventure with Nate had been forgotten. They had secured a small cottage half a mile down the road from the church at Moorhead and this is where they would raise their family. They were happy and absorbed in their lives, with hardly a backward glance to the past… and Nate.
Nate had been researching. Weeks of inactivity had spurred him to find out as much information as was possible. Oddly, his efforts had revealed something very strange. His many trips to the archives had turned up some interesting facts which had made him shiver. Tom was well documented and he found his marriage to Dolly in the parish records almost immediately. He tracked their children and plotted their passage through time. They had three and all lived locally in familiar villages. He had not intended to go so far but it did capture his interest and he had to admit to himself that it was compelling.
He left his research on the desk in the dining room, unsure what to do with it. He was lying on his bed listening to music and thinking when suddenly his mother called up to him. He raised his eyes and grudgingly dragged himself off the bed and clumped down the stairs to see what she wanted.
“What’s all this on the desk? Have you been going through my family tree records?” she demanded.
“What you on about?” Nate asked grumpily.
“These,” she insisted, grasping the bundle of papers and waving them in the air.
“They’re mine!” he said bluntly.
“Well, how can they be? They are my family tree documents,” she pressed.
“No they’re not! I got them from the archives… er… I’m doing a project.”
“Really? Well…” her voice trailed away.
“That is so odd! These people…are family,” she whispered.
Nate could hear the clock ticking. Each tick resounded and hung in the air.
“Family…” He gulped at the strangeness of it.
“Well… yes. This person here is your great, great grandfather.” She pointed to a Robert Rallison. She peeled back the papers to the final one, which had Tom and Dolly’s marriage details.
“And these two… are your great, great, great, great, great grandparents. However did you find them?”
“Erm… I don’t know… they kind of just appeared,” he said sheepishly.
“Well, that is very strange… for you to come upon them randomly. Odd!” Mum shook her head and collected the papers up and handed them to him.
“So which part of the family do they belong to then?” he asked.
“My mother’s paternal line… the only truly local branch of the family actually and quite an interesting one too.”
You can say that again, thought Nate wryly.
Later on during that grey, damp day as Nate sat in the churchyard at Dalton he went over the amazing revelation about Tom and Dolly. Apparently, they rested in this very place. There was no marker, no stone, most of the gravestones had been moved to the edge of the yard or broken up and placed into a kind of patio. Not very nice… he thought. He had not considered before that Dolly and Tom would be dead. It blew his mind that he had met his great, great, whatever… grandparents. To him they would always be his friends, he could sort of see a family look about them, but he could not easily relate to the idea. What would they think if he told them? He would be able to tell them how their kids turned out, grandchildren and so on… but would it be good for them to know? Anyway, it looked unlikely that he would ever see them again.
He shivered; the dampness had struck through to his very bones. He put his head on his knees and closed his eyes. Lost in thought he hardly noticed the cold wind rustling the last threads of the summer leaves on the bare trees. A twig snapped and intruded into his silence like an unwelcome visitor. Nate raised his head to see what had disturbed the peace of the churchyard.
A shadowy shape emerged unexpectedly from the corner of the church. The dull light muted the figure. He skulked for a moment and then darted from the shadows like a lizard into sunlight. The tall figure gazed unblinkingly at Nate and raised himself, cobra like, to his full height. It was Silas Dixon, the man who had upset Chris so much at the dig. Nate jumped to his feet, alert and wary. He backed up, tripping over the grass verge, trapping himself against the wall. Dixon leaned over him malevolently, like a malnourished vulture. He smiled a self-satisfied, predatory smile.
“So, you are still trying to make sense of this puzzle? You will have no way to solve the mystery now that old fool is no longer here to help you.”
Nate glowered at him but did not respond.
“You need my skills… and powers to find that which you seek.”
Again no response.
“You cannot move through time without the help of a learned one.”
“Ha! Well, that’s all you know!” retorted Nate savagely.
The man’s eyebrows shot upwards, disappearing into his hairline. A scowl knitted his dark brows.
“You cannot pass through the folds of time – you are not of
the bloodline!” hissed Dixon. His mouth was pulled taut across his sharp, short teeth, creating an unsettling, reptilian countenance.
“Dunno what you’re on about, mister, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve done!” Nate proclaimed triumphantly.
The man’s face drained of colour to a sickly white, like alabaster. His eyes narrowed to slits, his stature swelling sinisterly. Nate flinched and instinctively drew back from him, sensing the threat.
A gust of wind swept between the two adversaries, the trees creaking and swaying ominously. Beyond the church wall a misty cloud emerged slowly, hanging strangely in the damp air. They turned to look at the disturbance and Nate gasped in astonishment as he watched the haze swirl and curl, carving out a shadowy figure.
As the haze cleared the figure of a monk was revealed. Nate immediately recognised him. He exuded serenity and his presence reassured the frightened boy. Silas Dixon on the other hand became extremely agitated, visibly shaking and edging away as fast as he could. Behind the monk another shadow appeared. It was barely visible at first, but for a golden halo of shimmering light outlining its shape. Nate was unable to define the image but it was obvious that Silas was terrified of whatever was contained within.
As he stumbled, cowering in retreat, yet a third image materialised. Nate was transfixed by now and the first shade was now fully identifiable. His eyes filled up as he recognised Chris. He took a huge gulp and cleared his throat. He looked just as he had when he had last seen him, but maybe slightly younger and less drawn. Chris smiled the same wry smile he had sported in life, but remained silent. He turned to face Dixon who was cringing with fear and as he did so the third shadow solidified. Nate felt his stomach drop and every hair on his head stood on end with static electricity. He rubbed his eyes in sheer disbelief.
The third figure was instantly identifiable as Tom Rallison. He grinned at Nate and, with a polite tilt of his head, bowed and stepped back beside the monk and Chris. A dull hum resounded around the churchyard and a throbbing golden glow radiated from the three souls. The effect was uplifting and gloriously happy, making Nate invincible. He turned, facing Silas with new resolve. He challenged him to leave with renewed vigour and to his amazement Silas turned and ran, tripping and falling as he went. He was whimpering like an injured dog and Nate felt a little sorry for him.
