‘But you can’t do that!’ Susannah cried. ‘You mustn’t, it’s not safe, sitting in the middle of a field all by yourself. You never know who might – ‘
‘I’ve sat in fields before,’ said Janet. ‘Anyway, Anna and Mike will be back soon. Trevor’s coming over later, too.’
‘Come back to the van, at least.’ Susannah took Janet’s arm. ‘We’ll have a cup of coffee. Then when Trevor gets here, we can all go back to Marbury.’
But Anna and Mike were as reluctant as Janet to leave the Saxon’s grave. Even when Trevor arrived to do his security shift, they were unwilling to go home, and in the end all four of them stayed put in Little Wellesley, sleeping in the back of the Transit van, and taking turns to watch the grave.
The following morning, Sir Alec Fletcher arrived at dawn. Pink, plump and immaculate, he bounced out of his Rolls and waddled over to the site.
‘But how did he know what was going on?’ demanded Anna.
‘Suke rang the police last night. Sir Alec must play golf with the Chief Constable. God’s sake, Mike, you lazy sod – get up!’
Raking her fingers through her slept-on hair, Janet turned to face the visitor. She smiled her warmest smile. ‘Sir Alec, what a pleasure!’
‘My good friend Inspector Lawson phoned.’ Sir Alec Fletcher grinned. ‘I have some ministerial business in South Wales, so I was going to call in anyway. Well, this is most exciting!’
He turned to a companion, who was hovering at his side. ‘When are we due in Newport?’ he enquired.
‘At half past nine,’ the minion replied. ‘Sir Alec, the permanent secretary will be most annoyed if he’s kept waiting.’
‘My dear Malcolm, don’t upset yourself. Henry Mainwaring was my fag at school. Miss Collins, perhaps you’d show me this most interesting find?’
So they all trudged across the field to see the Saxon’s grave. Sir Alec peered into the pit. ‘So will you clean and lift the bones this morning?’ he asked Janet.
‘Yes, if the police will let us,’ Janet said.
‘Leave everything to me, my dear.’ Sir Alec tapped his nose. ‘If I were you, I’d just get on with it. I think it most unlikely that you’ll have any difficulties today.’
He turned to his companion. ‘Well, Malcolm? I don’t wish to rush you. But it must be time we made a move?’
‘What it is to have friends in high places,’ said Susannah, as they watched Sir Alec drive away.
Janet was staring at the swaying Rolls. But then she shook herself and turned back to the others. ‘Well, you heard the man,’ she rapped. ‘Mike and Anna, get your stuff and carry on where you left off yesterday. Suke, you go to Marbury and get us some supplies. Yeah, I know you’re supposed to be at the library today. But I need you more than David does.
‘Get him to come and visit us,’ she added, when Susannah said she had some stuff to finish for the millennium project, and David wanted it to be done that week. ‘Tell him to find his wellies, then he can have a potter round as well. He’ll want to come, you’ll see.’
* * * *
‘So Janet says,’ Susannah concluded, after she’d told David everything, ‘that you should come and have a look yourself.’
‘Of course I’m coming.’ David grinned. ‘After all, it isn’t every day a mad old woman waves a stick, jumps up and down a bit, and finds a genuine Saxon grave. It must be worth a look.’
By the time Susannah and David got there, the police had been and gone. Although it wasn’t clear how the Saxon had met his death, it was obvious he had met it in antiquity. They told Janet she could go ahead and lift the body.
Jerry and Mike had rigged up a plastic canopy and some lights. Under Janet’s hawk-eyed supervision, Anna was working on the skeleton. Using a paint-brush, spoons and dental tools, she cleaned all round the head, and gradually revealed a large, high-cheekboned, straight-nosed skull. The widely-spaced eye sockets and firm jaw suggested that in life the Saxon had been a very good-looking man.
‘Suke, stop gawking like a tourist in the Forum. I want you to record.’ Giving Susannah all her notebooks, pens and files, Janet slung a camera round her neck. ‘When Anna’s cleaned down to the feet, but before we actually lift the bones, you take a set of levels. Then make some sketches and fill in the context sheets, all right?’
‘Okay.’ Susannah looked into the grave. ‘Did this guy have a coffin?’
‘We haven’t found any trace of one,’ said Janet. ‘It could have rotted away, of course, but then we would expect to find some nails, or at any rate some soil discolouration.’ She chewed her lower lip. ‘I have a feeling that this particular burial could have been a bit of a rush job. Goodness, David – fancy seeing you here!’
‘I couldn’t keep away.’ David took the camera from around Susannah’s neck. ‘Why don’t I take the pictures, then Susannah can get on with the drawing.’
* * * *
Carefully, so carefully, Mike and Anna worked their way along the Saxon’s skeleton, and eventually the whole thing was revealed.
‘Quite a big chap, wasn’t he?’ said David, as he took some close-up pictures of the Saxon’s skull, then stood up to take more full length shots of the whole body. ‘Six feet tall, and just look at those shoulders! Jan, do you think he might have been a Dane?’
‘Yeah, it’s possible,’ said Janet, nodding. ‘He was quite big for an Anglo-Saxon.’
‘I reckon he was English, just the same.’ Mike flexed his aching muscles. ‘After all, he had a Christian burial.’
‘How do you know that?’ Susannah asked.
‘His body is aligned east-west.’ Anna stood up and stretched. ‘That usually means – ‘
‘There’s a bit of rusted metal here.’ Janet had slipped into the grave, and brushed away some soil. Then, taking Anna’s trowel, she shaved a curl of orange clay.
She stared in blank astonishment. ‘I don’t think I believe this!’ she exclaimed. ‘How could Mrs Fleming know?’
‘But it is a sword!’ cried Mike. ‘I can see the outline. Jesus, look at that!’
‘David, take a photograph. Take lots and lots of photographs!’ Janet reached for Anna’s finest paint-brush. She stroked the strip of pale gold, gradually revealing something that had once been part of an enormous, heavy sword. The pattern of its rusted blade was clearly visible in the glutinous clay.
‘They didn’t often bury swords,’ breathed Mike. ‘They were much too valuable.’
‘But this was a very special sword.’ Brushing away a bit more earth, Anna revealed the dull red gleam of garnets set in gold. ‘It was made for him.’
‘How do you make that out?’ demanded Mike.
‘She means he was left-handed,’ said Susannah.
‘Yes, he was!’ Janet looked up and beamed at them. ‘Why else would they put his sword here, on his right hand side? Poor man, I wonder how he died?’
‘He must have been quite sick.’ Mike pointed. ‘You see those chalky lumps inside his rib cage? They’re hyatid cysts. The body makes them, as a reaction to a tapeworm infestation.’
‘Yuck,’ said Anna, shuddering. ‘But I suppose they all had worms in those days?’
‘Probably,’ said Janet. ‘Fleas, worms, ticks and lice – would we have wanted to know these people? Suke, why don’t you go and tell the others to come and have a look?’
They cleaned and photographed the skeleton. They lifted the golden hilt and pommel of the dead man’s sword, but found the blade itself had disappeared, and only tiny flakes of rust remained.
But then Susannah had a sudden inspiration, as if a ghost was whispering in her ear, telling her she only had to seek and she would find. She asked to hold the pommel.
‘Yeah, okay, but you be careful with it.’ Janet watched Susannah anxiously. ‘What are you looking for, anyway?’ she asked, as Susannah peered at the little golden globe.
‘I want to see if it’s got a name.’
‘Do swords have names?’ asked Anna.
‘Wel
l, I think this one might.’ Susannah brushed some specks of dirt away. ‘Yes, there’s an inscription here, in Latin. Ego flamen Christi.’ She turned the pommel round. ‘Ego Sicarius vocor.’
‘Meaning what, professor?’
‘I am the spirit or priest of Christ. Or maybe storm of Christ? I am called murderer, or slayer.’
‘The Latin’s more concise,’ grinned Mike.
‘Slayer,’ murmured Anna. ‘Yes, I like it.’
Cenred and Sicarius wounded many thanes and churls from among the king’s own bodyguard. Susannah shuddered, for now she remembered – she’d seen the name Sicarius before.
* * * *
As it was getting dark, a big black car came trundling through the field. After circling for a while, like an indecisive carrion crow, it stopped by Janet’s van.
‘Our friendly government minister returns,’ said Anna, drily.
‘He’s a nosy bastard,’ muttered Mike.
‘It is his land,’ said Janet.
But it wasn’t plump Sir Alec Fletcher who came hopping and skipping over the ruts and puddles, but a gaunt and wild-haired Julius Greenwood. He was greeted warmly by the diggers, who now besieged his Jag. He looked like an enchanter, thought Susannah, mobbed by grubby trolls.
‘Hello, Julius!’ She hugged him. ‘Come and see what we’ve found.’
David took his other arm, and Julius stumbled gamely through the mud. ‘This is like the old days,’ he said, smiling.
‘The old days, Julius?’ grinned Susannah. ‘Did you used to be an archaeologist?’
‘But of course, dear child! Just before the war, my team and I made wonderful discoveries near Cologne. This, as you must know, was a famous Roman city during the first century AD.’
Julius stared into the middle distance. ‘But by 1939, when your Sutton Hoo hoard was discovered, I had many problems. I was suspended by my university. Many of my friends and my relations had gone into the camps, and I was trying to leave Germany.
‘But enough of that. Miss Collins, do you think this is a Saxon cemetery?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Janet. ‘Mrs Fleming thinks the Saxons might have built a church here. This whole area could have been a graveyard.’
‘But to establish this, you need more time, more funds, more people. Everything you do not have, in fact.’ Julius stared up at the mackerel sky. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
When they reached the grave side, Julius peered and nodded. ‘It’s definitely Christian,’ he observed. ‘Look at him, poor fellow! So broad, so tall, so handsome! You say your dowser friend located him? I’d love to meet her some day.’
‘I’ll arrange it,’ said Susannah.
‘Splendid.’ Julius sighed ‘My dear David, dear Susannah – I am a very tired, weak old man. Could you help me stagger back to the car?’
* * * *
The following morning, Susannah was at the site before others. She parked Jemima in a corner of what used to be the bean field, then walked over to the Saxon’s grave. Lifting the tarpaulin, she looked down at him.
‘He can’t have been very old,’ she said, aloud.
‘Why do you think that?’
Susannah spun round to find Mike right behind her, rubbing his ginger stubble. ‘Sorry, Suke, I didn’t mean to spook you,’ he said, grinning. ‘I stayed in Trevor’s portacabin last night, we had a few beers and stuff. Why do you think this guy was young?
‘He has all his teeth.’ Susannah pointed. ‘Look at them, still smooth and white, after – what is it? A thousand years?’
‘Yeah, they’re okay,’ conceded Mike. ‘But our man was a nob, remember. So he ate loads of fish and meat, a bit of fruit and veg, but not much bread or porridge.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘People who ate a lot of bread and cereals often had big problems with their teeth. I’ve seen skulls where dental abscesses have eaten through the bone. The grit and stones in hand-milled flour broke their teeth, you see. Bacteria and food got in the cracks, so then the teeth decayed.’
Mike slid into the trench. ‘Now, we have to work out how he croaked. Yeah, he had bad tapeworm infestation, but this would have made him just feel rough. It didn’t kill him.
‘He didn’t have arthritis – there’s no damage to any ball and socket joints, and his bones are nice and straight. But look at his right arm.’
‘You mean here, where the bone’s all notched and pitted?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Mike. ‘It must have been a really nasty wound, but I’d say it probably healed quite well. This sort of scraping, gouging injury is what you get when you come up against a scramaseax, which is – ‘
‘A stabbing sword?’
‘Yeah, and a nasty little weapon, mostly used by churls,’ said Mike. ‘So this bloke saw action, but he lived to tell the tale. Let’s hope we do, too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It looks like we have company – Suke, do you like Alsatians?’
‘I don’t mind them. Why?’
‘Stand up, turn round and smile.’
But in spite of looking mean, for they were dressed from head to foot in black, and each one held the leash of an enormous, grey Alsatian, the two security men turned out to be quite friendly.
‘Securiwatch,’ said one, and grinned. ‘It’s all right, love, don’t look so scared. Old Demon here don’t bite. But he could suck you hard.’
The other man guffawed. Mike and Susannah grinned obligingly.
The men had sheets of names, and after ticking off Susannah’s and Mike’s, they gave them metal badges. ‘You got to wear these all the time,’ said Demon’s master, smirking as he pinned Susannah’s on.
‘Right.’ Susannah nodded, wondering if she pushed the man away, would Demon have her leg for breakfast?
The diggers got to work. At coffee time, a reporter and photographer turned up, their old friends from the Marbury Times. They had Mrs Fleming in their car. They helped her out then posed her, hair a billowing mass and serape thrown over her left shoulder, hazel wand aloft.
‘Why not take some photographs of Lucifer and Demon?’ Janet pointed to the men in black, whose huge grey dogs were sitting looking bored, upon the tailgate of their yellow van. ‘If they know the site’s well-guarded, maybe the local metal-detecting riff-raff won’t come snooping round.’
At lunch time, Julius and David arrived in David’s Peugeot. Susannah walked across the field to greet them. ‘Dear child, this all gets more and more exciting,’ Julius exclaimed. ‘What have you found today?’
‘Oh, nothing yet. But Anna’s doing something with the bones.’
‘Let’s go and watch her, then. Susannah, I was hoping you and Figaro might have lunch with me in college some time. This weekend, perhaps? If you’re not too busy, and if Figaro is free?’
Susannah reddened. She’d been trying not to think of Gavin, who – in spite of what he’d promised – hadn’t rung her since she’d wept all over him.
‘Actually, he’s called Gavin,’ she told Julius. ‘So please don’t call him Figaro to his face. He wouldn’t get the joke, and I don’t suppose he’d find it funny if he did.’
‘But surely he must know the opera,’ said Julius, frowning. ‘I thought he studied with you at QAC?’
‘Julius, Gavin spent his time at college drinking, getting stoned and getting laid.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Julius. ‘Well, my dear Susannah – might you and Gavin come to lunch with me on Saturday?’
‘I would be delighted. But I can’t speak for Gavin. I’ll have to ring and ask him if he’s busy.’ Susannah forced a smile. ‘He said he saw you up in town a couple of weeks ago. You were with Sir Alec and Gordon Clark.’
‘Ah yes – dear Mr Clark.’ Julius shook his head. ‘A strange, obsessive fellow, but just recently he’s become a friend – and sometimes, dear Susannah, one needs friends.’
‘Susannah!’ shouted Mike. ‘Come and take some levels for us, will you?’
<
br /> ‘You’re needed,’ Julius said.
* * * *
Susannah fretted all that day, but finally managed to summon up the courage to phone Gavin.
To her relief he seemed quite pleased, and told her he had meant to ring. ‘I’ve been busy going to meetings and doing other boring stuff,’ he said. ‘So what have you been up to?’
She talked a bit about the excavation, and told him about the dowser and the grave. Then at last she managed to blurt it out.
‘But why does he want me to come?’ asked Gavin. ‘I hardly know the guy.’
‘I suppose he likes you,’ said Susannah.
‘God, I hope he doesn’t!’ Gavin sounded horrified.
‘I didn’t mean like that.’ Susannah tried again. ‘Look, I’m only passing on a message. I told him you would probably be busy. So don’t feel you have to come.’
‘Oh, I’ll come,’ said Gavin. ‘I’ve never been inside an Oxford college, so I’d like a snoop around.’
‘I’ll see you at the station, then – about half twelve, okay?’
‘No, don’t get the train, I’ll come and fetch you.’
‘There’s no need for you to drive to Marbury! It’s miles out of your way. I can meet you in Oxford.’
‘I said, I’ll come to Marbury. I’ll be there by nine. Oh, someone’s just come in, I’ll have to go.’
Susannah found she was listening to the dialling tone.
She wished she hadn’t rung him. Lunch with Julius Greenwood, honestly. Now Gavin would think she was insane, or weird – or desperate. She wondered if he was still going out with Gina Sullivan, if it was serious.
Perhaps she’d be struck down by some convenient bug or virus, she decided. Then she could spend Saturday in bed...
* * * *
Gavin had expected to fetch Susannah in a gleaming Vauxhall Cavalier or brand new Ford Fiesta. But in the event he had to get up early and go to Marbury by train, although he didn’t like using public transport and he really hated trains.
The notice had come round an hour after Susannah called. The firm was selling half its company cars, so management trainees would not be allowed to use them any more, and even senior staff wouldn’t have them as a matter of course.
Elegy for a Queen Page 13
