Elegy for a Queen

by Margaret James

  ‘Yes, of course I could.’ Susannah now forgot her own fatigue, and all her other plans, which had included Saturday morning lying asleep in bed, and an evening of serious drinking with the other diggers in the Lamb.

  She said goodbye to Julius. She walked crossed the silent Cathedral Close, then let herself into the library.

  It was warm and comforting inside. It smelled of books and leather, of ink and dust. Timber framed, the building creaked and shifted constantly, and on blustery days it was like being on board ship. Susannah locked the door behind her, then ran up the narrow spiral stairs.

  She read the Saxon poem through again, and found that even though the text was very familiar now, the poet’s grief still had the power to move her, make her cry.

  She heard light footsteps pattering on the stairs. She spun round, half expecting to find somebody behind her, but whichever ghost it was had swished off down the book stacks, leaving a faint smell of roses hanging in the dust.

  ‘What do you want?’ Susannah gazed into the velvet darkness. ‘Aescwin? Beorn? What are you trying to tell me?’

  But there was silence, except for the rustle of autumn leaves being blown around the Close. She looked down at the poem. ‘You buried her,’ she murmured. ‘So tell me, where’s her grave?’

  A gust of wind swept through the Close. It rattled the windows of the Abbot’s Library, and slammed shut all the doors. Startled, Susannah stared into the gloom, expecting, hoping to see – what? She shook her head and went back down the stairs.

  Rustling, scuffling footsteps followed her, the skirt of a monk’s habit brushed her ankle. Childish giggles echoed off the walls, and scents of tallow, strewing herbs and incense filled the air.

  ‘Goodnight, Beorn,’ she said, switching off the lights. ‘Sleep well, Aescwin.’ I must be mad, she thought, as she walked back across the Close.

  At the Dean’s House, she had a bath in water which – thanks to the hygienic Aubrey Gordon, who had pinched a tank’s worth – was as near as dammit cold.

  * * * *

  Since she wasn’t keen to drive Jemima on the motorway, and going on minor roads would take forever, Susannah had decided to go by train to Oxford. But on Friday evening, Gavin phoned. ‘How are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, thinking I mustn’t sound so pleased to hear from him, I mustn’t give myself away. ‘But I’m really tired. We’re very busy these days.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Gavin asked.

  ‘Getting on with cleaning some new bits of wall, opening more test pits, looking – ‘

  ‘What are you doing tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Going to Oxford.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To see Professor Greenwood. You remember – that old man who came into the library when you called in that day. He’s found a document at the Bodleian, he thinks I ought to see it.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll drive you there.’

  ‘What?’ Susannah frowned. ‘But you live in London. It would be silly to come all the way to Marbury, to drive me back to Oxford – ‘

  ‘I said, I’ll drive you.’ Gavin didn’t give Susannah a chance to interrupt. ‘I’m not doing anything else, I need to rack up some expenses, and I have a brand new company car. So a few hundred miles on the clock ought to provide an alibi for all the restaurant meals I mean to claim. Just kidding about the meals, but listen, I love to drive, it isn’t really all that far, and I – ‘

  ‘All right, then,’ said Susannah.

  ‘I’ll come and fetch you, yeah?’

  ‘Yes – if you like.’

  ‘Right, then.’ Gavin breathed out carefully. ‘See you tomorrow, then?’

  ‘Round about nine, if you can manage it.’

  ‘No worries, I’ll be there.’

  * * * *

  Gavin turned up at nine o’clock, driving his boss’s brand new silver Rover. The boss had had to fly to Atlanta earlier that morning, and he’d been delighted when Gavin had said he’d drive him to Heathrow, then take the his car back to his wife, which Gavin did mean to do – eventually.

  ‘You’re not supposed to park in the Close,’ Susannah said by way of a greeting, when she finally opened the door to him.

  He merely shrugged, and grinned. She looked amazing, he decided, in tight black jeans and a red ribbed top, which clung seductively and showed her nipples – accidentally?

  She walked in front of him towards the gleaming Rover. God, he thought, she’s got fantastic legs! Why hadn’t he ever noticed them before?

  ‘Come on, then,’ he muttered. ‘Let’s go, before I get a parking ticket. I don’t want to have to thump a meter maid.’

  * * * *

  ‘What’s in this document old Julius has found?’ As Gavin checked the petrol gauge, he noticed that Susannah had very pretty hands, but they were covered in cuts and bruises, and her nails were black and broken, too.

  ‘I don’t really know.’ Susannah shrugged. ‘He phoned me earlier this week. But it was late at night, and I didn’t take in all he said. It seems the scribe who copied out the manuscript he’s found in Oxford copied the one in the Henry Codex, too.’

  ‘How does Julius know?’

  ‘The writing is the same.’ Susannah started scrabbling in her bag. ‘Gavin, d’you want a Polo?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A mint.’ Susannah opened a new packet. ‘Open your mouth. I’ll pop one in.’

  ‘I - I don’t really like them.’ Gavin could feel his colour rising fast and, determined nothing else should rise to keep it company, he concentrated on the motorway.

  * * * *

  ‘I meant to tell you, I saw your professor down in London recently.’ Gavin had parked the car, and they were walking through the Westgate Centre into town. ‘I was with my new boss and we were having lunch clients. My job was to get the buggers drunk, and echo everything old Taylor said. I had to – ‘

  ‘Anyway,’ Susannah prompted.

  ‘Anyway, we were into brandies and cigars and telling the clients our firm wasn’t going down the pan, Black Monday or no Black Monday, when in comes Julius Greenwood. It was definitely him. I couldn’t mistake that hair! He met two more guys – one he called Alec, and one called Mr Clark.’

  ‘Did he speak to you?’ Susannah asked. ‘Julius, I mean – did he say hello, or anything?’

  ‘No. I nodded to him, but he ignored me.’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t see you.’

  ‘Maybe not – he wasn’t wearing glasses.’ Gavin laughed. ‘He’s a pretentious bastard, isn’t he? I mean, with the hair and scarves and velvet jacket. He looks like Doctor Who.’

  ‘I think he’s rather sweet.’

  ‘He’s gay, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I had realised that,’ Susannah told him sharply.’ But I didn’t say I fancied him, I just said he was sweet.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ Gavin shrugged his shoulders, stopped outside a college. ‘This is it – All Souls. I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  I’ll get pissed, thought Gavin, I’ll try to get over being put down by you. ‘I’ll have a pint, and then look round the shops. It’s my mother’s birthday soon, I’ll get her a book from Blackwell’s, she can always take it back. Listen, Susannah – ‘

  ‘What?’

  ‘Be careful, don’t give anything away.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think your professor might be up to something.’

  ‘What?’ Susannah laughed. ‘He’s an Oxford scholar, Gavin, not a City crook!’

  ‘All the same, just watch your step.’

  ‘Julius is all right,’ Susannah said, and grinned. ‘Look, shall we meet for lunch? My treat, of course. Outside Lloyd’s Bank in Cornmarket, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Gavin took Susannah by the shoulders, and kissed her very lightly on the lips. ‘You take care,’ he murmured, and then he walked away.

  Chapter 11

  Susannah stood there for a moment,
staring after him. A woman stopped, to ask if she was ill.

  ‘I – I’m fine,’ she said. She forced herself to smile. But then she shrugged. She hadn’t been expecting it, and Gavin had only kissed her, after all – it wasn’t as if he’d snogged her in the street.

  She walked into All Souls, asked at the gate house for Professor Greenwood, and was told she was expected. The porter took her up the stairs.

  Julius beamed and told her he was very pleased to see her – and he hugged and kissed her too, and that was no big deal. Then he took her to his sitting room, which overlooked some formal gardens.

  ‘This is a lovely room,’ she said politely, gazing at all the books, the polished antique furniture and the pictures covering the walls.

  ‘I think so.’ Julius smiled. ‘Of course, it’s even lovelier today, graced by your charming presence! Now, let me see. First of all, we have some coffee – yes?’

  ‘Please,’ Susannah said, and smiled back. ‘Julius, this book you found – ‘

  ‘Yes, yes, we must look at that. But first, I need to make my small confession.’ Julius poured coffee into fine bone china cups. ‘I had meant to take you out to lunch. After all, I drag you here, all this long, long way. But this morning, someone from of Trinity phones me, reminding me I must attend a meeting at one o’clock today. I must scuttle across to Balliol, where this old men’s nattering is to be.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Susannah said. ‘I’m meeting Gavin, anyway. You remember Gavin? You saw him at the library that day.’

  ‘Ah, your handsome Figaro. I trust he’s well?’

  ‘He’s fine.’ Susannah put her cup and saucer on the butler’s tray. ‘So what about this document? I don’t have a reader’s ticket to the Bodleian. But I assume they’ll let me in, if I’m with you?’

  ‘Well, dear child, as it happens, there’s no need for that. I’ve borrowed the book, you see.’

  ‘They let you borrow a mediaeval codex? As if it were a novel, from a public library?’

  ‘This is a great privilege, I admit.’ Julius looked smug. ‘But I am a highly-respected member of the college, not someone who has walked in off the street. My dear, shall we look?’ Julius handed her some clean, white gloves.

  The codex lay on Julius Greenwood’s desk. The mediaeval binding was cracked and stained with damp. A silken bookmark lay in mouldy tatters. The edges of some pages were very badly foxed.

  But the document Julius had found was well preserved, so clean and white, and written in ink so black, that it could have been copied yesterday.

  Susannah saw at once that Julius was right. The person who had copied out this document had also copied the one in the Henry Codex.

  ‘My dear, can you translate this?’ Julius asked.

  ‘My sweet, beloved lady,’ read Susannah, ‘I wish you great good health, and send you my most hearty greetings – ‘

  * * * *

  ‘Well done,’ said Julius, when Susannah looked up at him again. ‘Here,’ he added, handing her a single sheet of paper. ‘It’s against all the rules, of course. But I think you must have it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Taking the photocopy of The Lady and the Counsellor – a title given to the document by some Victorian scholar – Susannah put it in her bag. ‘What are we to make of it?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, what do we have here? A little homily, addressed to an unknown lady. Perhaps she was a queen, although we must remember that cwene and hlaefdige were often interchangeable. The gist of it is, be wary of men who smile too much, and never take any strangers at face value. Remember that one wise action is worth a thousand foolish words. But who was the lady, and who was her friend?’

  ‘A relative, maybe – an uncle, or a cousin?

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Julius. ‘I think the lady is the author’s wife, or maybe his mistress.’

  ‘Why should you think that?’

  ‘He knows so much about her, for a start.’ Julius scanned the text. ‘She rises before dawn to say her prayers. She reads and writes in Latin as well as English. She loves the scent of roses, so she was delighted when a Frankish merchant brought her a flask containing oil of roses from Byzantium.

  ‘She has a special shoulder clasp, of gold inlaid with garnets, and she lost it once. But she prayed to St Raeda – whoever he might have been – and lo, it was miraculously found.’

  ‘But if this man was in the lady’s household,’ said Susannah, ‘of course he’d know these things.’

  ‘Maybe. But don’t you feel the style is very intimate – too intimate, perhaps? He reminds her of a time when she was ill, and says she must remember a royal court is like a human body. When sickness comes, strong medicine must be taken, to expel the worms. It’s surely not polite to mention that a woman has worms? Unless of course you know her very well?’

  ‘Julius, everyone had worms in Anglo-Saxon times. They must have been as common as a head cold is today.’

  ‘Yes, well – possibly.’ Julius glanced at his watch. ‘So, my little scholar, you take this photocopy away. Maybe you do some work on it, if you can spare the time?’

  ‘I’ll find the time.’ Susannah stood up. ‘I hope the meeting goes well.’

  ‘It will be a waste of time, as these things always are,’ said Julius, scowling. ‘I would much prefer to lunch with you. Perhaps some other time?’

  ‘That would be great,’ Susannah said.

  ‘I shall phone you soon, then.’ Julius grinned. ‘Or maybe you phone me, with all your thoughts upon this document?’

  ‘Okay.’ Impulsively, Susannah kissed him. ‘I’ll be off,’ she said. ‘You go and put a coat on. There’s a bitter wind today.’

  * * * *

  Gavin stood at the cashpoint, punching apparently random numbers in, while a muttering queue snaked off behind him.

  ‘Hello,’ said Susannah, wishing she wasn’t quite so pleased to see him and determined to be cool, ‘how much are you worth, then?’

  ‘Less than fifteen quid, until next Thursday.’ Gavin grinned, and Susannah’s heart turned over, jumped for joy. ‘So thank God for Visa. Where shall we go for lunch?’

  * * * *

  They went to Brown’s, where Gavin worked his way through that day’s special and Susannah’s pudding, too. Then they wandered round the shops, where Gavin bought a couple of shirts for work and Susannah bought a jumper in a gorgeous shade of raspberry, which Gavin had noticed in Oasis and said was just her colour.

  When he’d encouraged her to buy it, he’d also meant to pay for it. But when Susannah took it to the till, the thought of being snubbed in public scared him into silence, and he didn’t dare offer.

  He was going to suggest they had a coffee when Susannah said that if he’d drop her at the station, she could catch the next train back to Marbury.

  ‘What did you say?’ He stared at her, appalled. God, he’d been so careful. He’d walked on bloody eggshells all that day. So what had he done wrong, why did she want to get away?

  He’d finally got his act together, screwed his courage to the sticking point, decided how he’d deal with scorn, with horror, with amusement, with any reaction she might have, but now she wanted to go home. ‘But I’ve already told you,’ he began, ‘I’ll take you home.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Gavin.’ Susannah smiled, and his heart began to thump. ‘I can easily get the train. There’s no need for you to drive to Marbury.’

  ‘But – but I don’t mind,’ he faltered.

  ‘I do,’ said Susannah, zipping up her jacket.

  Gavin thought of arguing, of cajoling, but Susannah looked determined. Suddenly, all the fight went out of him. Now, he just wanted to get rid of her, then he could go and drink himself into a mindless stupor. So he led the way back to the car.

  * * * *

  Much to everyone’s surprise, Sir Alec Fletcher seemed to be really interested in the excavation. After that first visit, he drove over once or twice a week, looking as plump and prosperous as ever – much to the disgust of
all the labourers turned security guards, who were all existing on fifty pounds a week.

  He must have lots of other assets, thought Susannah, as she watched him grinning and chatting matily to Janet, who obligingly grinned back. Black Monday might have decimated many of his investments, and halved the value of his real estate. But he still drove his Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, he still smoked cigars, and his dark, immaculate tailoring always looked brand new.

  ‘He’s hoping we’ll find buried treasure soon,’ said Janet grimly, as she checked the context sheets and wrote up the site record at the end of yet another unspectacular day. ‘He wants to stand up in the House, and announce we’ve found the Saxon version of Tutankhamun’s tomb.’

  ‘Gold and silver grave goods,’ muttered Mike, ‘treasure trove, that’s what the bastard wants, so he can flog it and buy a yacht.’

  ‘Great big golden buckles,’ said Anna, dreamily. ‘Amethysts and garnets set in shoulder clasps and wristbands, silver bowls inlaid with jewels and lapis lazuli...’

  ‘But doesn’t treasure trove become the property of state?’ Susannah asked prosaically.

  ‘If it seems the owner had meant to come back and get it, then it might,’ said Janet, shrugging. ‘Old Alec would still be paid its market value, anyway.’

  ‘I do hope Julius hasn’t promised him anything like that,’ Susannah said.

  ‘I’d imagine that’s exactly what he’s promised him,’ Janet said. ‘How else would that old charlatan have managed to persuade a greedy bugger like Sir Alec to finance all of this? I hope things don’t get awkward for him when Sir Alec realises there’s no gold or silver on this site.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll find a ring or two.’ Susannah crossed her fingers. ‘Or a pin or a few earrings, anyway.’

  ‘Yeah, well – don’t bank on it.’ Janet stared out across the muddy site. ‘Those people Julius found us are very good,’ she added, as she clipped the context sheets into their spiral binder. ‘He was lying to us, either – he did advertise in Archaeology Today.’

  ‘Why, where did you think he’d found them?’ asked Susannah, frowning.

  ‘Oh, I’d wondered if they might be spies. Okay, call me paranoid. But Suke, you must admit our dear friend the professor is incredibly interested in this little dig. Sir Alec is a devious bastard. Gordon Clark is definitely a crook. It did occur to me that these new diggers might be Gordon’s moles.’