And the Rest Is History

by Jodi Taylor

  He smiled sadly. ‘I have always been an advocate of tradition.’

  I got up to go. I had a great need to be alone. ‘Was there anything else, sir?’

  ‘Not today, no. I understand you are off to Hastings next week.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I pulled out my scratchpad. ‘Mr Dieter says we can use Pods Six and Eight.’ He already knew this. Again, he was easing me back into the real world. ‘It’s cutting things a bit fine, but Mr Dieter has confirmed he can have both the pods and their plinths serviceable in time. After that, everything is on hold until permanent repairs can be effected.’

  ‘If you feel you would rather not…’

  ‘No, thank you, sir. I’d like to go.’

  Because when everything else has gone; when everyone else has left you; when all you had is lost for ever – there is always duty. For me, the one certainty in this world that was without Leon.

  ‘As you wish. By the way, at their request, I have given a copy of the tape to the Time Police.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There was a third person in their pod. The driver.’

  Oh God, I hadn’t even thought.

  ‘Sir, I’m so sorry. Please tell me it wasn’t Captain Ellis. Or Miss Van Owen.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Max, I can’t do that.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Miss Van Owen was piloting the pod.’

  Poor Greta Van Owen. Her life ruined once. And then taken from her too soon.

  ‘They wish to conduct their own investigation and I welcomed the opportunity to be able to assist.’ He sighed. ‘Relations between us are good at the moment. I would be happy if they could remain that way, but our two organisations do seem fated to misunderstand each other.’

  I nodded. We did, didn’t we?

  It had rained for Helen’s funeral, but the day of Leon’s, Guthrie’s and Markham’s service was fine and warm, with the sun shining on bright, fresh green leaves and shy spring flowers. The sort of day when it was good to be alive. A nice kick in the teeth from Mother Nature.

  Lingoss had taken Matthew to the cinema in Rushford. Which he adored. They would be back in time for tea.

  The Time Police had sent a delegation. Captain Ellis and Charlie Farenden escorted Elspeth Grey. She, I, and a white-faced Hunter sat together. It crossed my mind that it wasn’t so very long since we’d sat here for Helen.

  There were three coffins. I felt a dreadful laughter bubbling up inside me. An explosion that size wouldn’t have left anything worth burying. Were we solemnly interring kitchen waste? Or builder’s rubble? Or unwanted files? I pressed my mouth together and looked at my hands and struggled not to give way completely. I looked up at the Boards of Honour. At the three names, freshly inscribed underneath Helen’s name. Our four top people gone in only a few months.

  I thought of Leon – all he’d ever wanted was a family. I thought of Dr Bairstow and his lifelong unspoken grief for Annie Bessant. I thought of Helen Foster, and of Mary Schiller. Of Jamie Cameron and Big Dave Murdoch. Of Ian Guthrie, who had saved me at Troy. And of Markham – always just one surprise after another. They had, all of them, been good people. People who had left this world a better place. People who had died before their time.

  I looked around. Sunshine streamed in through the stained-glass windows. Glorious pools of blue, green and red reflected off the walls and floor, contrasting with St Mary’s – a solid mass of black in our formal uniforms. A few people were crying but most stood, stony-faced and still.

  Outside in the cruel sunshine, the three of them were laid alongside each other. I was saying goodbye to Leon for ever. I couldn’t get my head around it at all. Leon was gone. I stood quietly while something inside me howled like a wounded animal. I thought of the words of Henry Vaughan.

  ‘They are all gone into the world of light. And I alone sit lingering here.’

  After the service, people drifted away, leaving the three of us together. We stood, still and silent, like so many monoliths under a winter moon. I can only remember the disbelief. He was gone. Leon was gone. He was just – gone.

  Grey stirred. ‘I always thought it would be me,’ she said.

  I nodded. ‘I always thought it would be me, too.’

  Hunter sighed. ‘I always knew it would be him.’

  There was a small gathering afterwards. I can’t begin to say how kind everyone was, and it really didn’t help at all. The worst moment was when someone said, ‘You’ve had a really shit year, Max.’

  And someone else said, ‘Yes, a real annus horribilis,’ and we waited for Markham to make some comment about a horrible anus and there was a sad little silence, because the hole left by his death – all their deaths – was unfillable.

  That evening, after the service, I was in my room with Matthew. I asked him to tell me about the movie he’d seen that afternoon and he managed to outline the entire plot in about four words. We’d done half an hour on the jigsaw, watched a programme about a boy who had adventures with his robot, which I suspected was giving him ideas I wasn’t going to be able to cope with later on, and we’d had the book at bedtime. I’d told him to clean his teeth – something he couldn’t see the point of at all, and he’d stumped into the bathroom in a bit of a mood.

  He emerged from the bathroom. I wiped the foam off his mouth.

  ‘Where’s Daddy?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Bed now.’

  ‘Not sleepy.’

  ‘You can have the Time Map for half an hour.’

  He played for a while. I watched him whizzing great lumps of Time Map around the room while I put his clothes away. By the time I’d finished, he was asleep.

  I had a long bath and decided against pouring myself a stiff drink because that wasn’t a road I wanted to go down. I stood looking out of the window into the dark. It occurred to me that this was exactly what Peterson had done. I sighed, wondering whether I would be able to put my life back together this time. And actually, did I want to?

  Someone knocked at the door. Initially, I ignored it, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and go away. Fat chance. This is St Mary’s. Hint-taking is something that happens to other people. Whoever it was knocked again.

  I opened the door. Peterson stood in front of me. He’d changed from his formal uniform and was wearing an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

  I swallowed my surprise and held the door open for him.

  He sat on the sofa. I softly closed Matthew’s door and sat alongside.

  ‘How are you, Max?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Can I do anything?’

  I looked at my lap. ‘Does it ever go away?’

  He said quietly, ‘No, but it does become easier to bear.’

  I nodded, still not looking at him.

  ‘Max, this too will pass. You’ll rebuild your life.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to. It seems to me that every time I build it up then someone knocks it right back down again. Every time. The moment comes when any sensible person says, “Enough. Leave it. It’s just not worth it any longer.”‘

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I think I do. I’m lost and alone, and I’m not sure I have the strength to pick myself up again. And why would I want to? It’s not as if I’ve ever…’

  ‘That’s not true. Listen. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. Bashford and Grey would be dead in Colchester. You saved Dr Bairstow at the Crystal Palace. You gave young Hoyle something to die for. You’re part of the framework on which this organisation hangs, Max, so don’t try to tell me you’re not worth anything. You’re the most important person in my life, and it terrifies me to hear you say such things.’ His voice wobbled. ‘And what about that little boy next door? What will he do if anything happens to you? For God’s sake, Max, you must stop thinking like this. You and I are the only ones left. Please don’t you leave me, too.’

  We were both crying now and perhaps it was what we both needed. I wondered if he’d cried o
ver Helen, or had he kept it all deep inside. I buried my face in his shoulder. He put his arms around me. I could feel his tears in my hair.

  After a long time, I pulled back, kissed his cheek and said quietly, ‘Give me a minute.’

  While I was in the bedroom, he’d put the kettle on. When I came out, he somewhat shakily handed me a mug of tea. We sipped quietly together.

  ‘I forgot to ask you, why have you come to see me?’

  ‘What? Oh, no particular reason – I just came to see how you were and to say – well, if you don’t want to be alone tonight then I’m happy to stay – on the sofa, obviously – not that I meant – I mean – will you stop looking at me like that.’

  ‘Oh, Tim – smooth as a cheese grater. No wonder Helen was so drawn to you.’

  I stopped. I hadn’t meant to say that. I hadn’t meant to bring up Helen. There was a long silence, and then he said, ‘What do you think of our new doctor?’

  I wondered if he wanted to change the subject.

  I said cautiously, ‘He seems OK. What do you think?’

  ‘He wants to syringe my ears. I wasn’t keen.’

  I couldn’t help laughing. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

  ‘That’s what he said. He asked me if I’d had it done before and I said yes, but the way Helen did it, it was like waterboarding but with clean ears afterwards.And then he looked at me a long time and told me to talk to you about Helen.’

  I suddenly realised our new doctor was a very clever young man. Because Tim wanted to talk about Helen. Finally, he wanted to talk about Helen.

  We did. We talked about Helen for hours. And then we talked about Leon. We talked all night, sitting together, drinking tea, remembering, and watching the moon move across the sky, and when the sun came up the next morning, it was the beginning of a new day for both of us.

  They slung tarpaulins over Hawking and we carried on. We’d get Hastings out of the way and then effect permanent repairs. We had no choice really. We had to keep going. We’d only just reinstated ourselves in Thirsk’s good books and presentation dates were looming.

  I took the Hastings briefing myself. I didn’t want to. I wanted to sit quietly in my room, but I had to come out sometime, and the longer I left it, the harder it would be.

  I decided to hold it in my office, rather than the Hall, requested refreshments from Miss Lee, made sure we had enough chairs, requested refreshments from Miss Lee, distributed briefing notes, and informed Miss Lee that if tea and biscuits were not forthcoming right now then I’d transfer her to Professor Rapson and see what she made of that. She crashed around for ten minutes but at the end of it we had tea and biscuits. I would have gloated, but she seated herself at her desk, ready to take notes with such a grumpy expression that I let it go. There was enough conflict in my life.

  Present were Clerk, North, Sykes, Atherton, Bashford, Evans and Keller from Security, with Dieter and Lindstrom representing the Technical Section. Mr Lindstrom – for whom the word sapling could have been invented as a description – was famous for his nervousness around women. With both North and Sykes in the same room as him – equally terrifying in their own, separate ways – Dieter was acting as an enormous buffer zone and Mr Lindstrom was sheltering gratefully in his shadow.

  I began. ‘Good morning, everyone. Thank you for coming. Firstly – as you’ve guessed, notwithstanding recent events, we are proceeding with the Hastings assignment as normal. Mr Dieter informs me he can have Pods Eight and Six ready for next Monday. After the completion of this assignment, Hawking will be shut down while permanent repairs are effected and the pods rebuilt.’

  ‘Do we have a completion date?’ asked North, managing to sound critical as usual, but she was only a squashed insect on the windscreen of Dieter’s good nature.

  ‘Months,’ he said, stretching his long legs in front of him.

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  He thought for a while and then turned to consult Mr Lindstrom. The two of them held a whispered conversation, and then Dieter turned back again.

  ‘Many months.’

  Sykes coughed and I ploughed on.

  ‘Right, situation update. The Pope has ruled that Harold is a perjurer and given William a consecrated banner as a token of papal support. The deal is that William will hold England as a fief of Rome and pay tribute to the Pope.’

  ‘Always good to see an impartial decision,’ muttered Bashford.

  ‘Because of this, England is in turmoil. In what many people see as a punishment from God, the northern army has been shattered. The Normans have landed in the south. Harold is racing down from Stamford Bridge, and just to make things even worse – Halley’s Comet is back. This is a deeply superstitious age, and the Norman propaganda machine has swung into action, claiming the sighting is in their favour, although even William has been heard to mutter that in that case, it’s pointing in the wrong direction.

  ‘In England, the comet is widely regarded as a sign of God’s anger at Harold the Oath Breaker and the Normans are quick to capitalise on this. William of Jumièges says it portends a change in kingdoms. And it will, one way or another because if William had failed at Hastings, then it would have been very unlikely he’d have found his dukedom waiting for him, even if he had survived the battle and returned home. Always willing to utilise the social media of the day, the Normans later incorporate the appearance of the comet into their version of Facebook, the Bayeux Tapestry.’

  Sykes pulled out her scratchpad. ‘Yes, everyone seems to feel it was a bad sign for the English. Elmer of Malmesbury seems to have taken the comet’s appearance quite personally. He says, “You’ve come, have you? … Source of tears to many mothers, you evil. I hate you. It is long since I saw you, but as I see you now you are much more trouble, for I see you brandishing the downfall of my country. I hate you.” Strong stuff.’

  ‘It certainly is. Everyone knows this is a fateful time. This is a key point in History. There are many of those, obviously, but this is one of the … key-est.’

  It was only a very tiny joke, but people smiled, relaxed and reached for the biscuits. This was better.

  ‘Right then, back to specifics. Harold has won at Stamford Bridge. His losses are heavy however and he’s forced to march south to meet William, leaving the northern army behind to regroup under Earls Morcar and Edwin and follow on as best they can.

  ‘He spends a few days in London, resting his men, recruiting, replenishing supplies, and repairing weapons. They finally set off, picking up the shire levies on the way, arriving at Caldbec Hill on the night of the 13th October. Eighteen days after Stamford Bridge. It’s a good position – on a slight rise with good all-round visibility. And close to Duke William’s forces camped only eight miles away.

  ‘On to William now. He’s been busy since we last saw him. He’s sent out a call to anyone and everyone, offering land, money, or both, for their support. Adventurers and mercenaries have flocked to his banner. Reports say he was able to put together nearly seven hundred ships. They carried twelve thousand mounted men and twenty thousand men at arms.

  ‘The fleet lands between Pevensey and Hastings, where William strengthens an existing Roman stronghold and then pushes on towards Hastings, where he builds the first of his trademark motte and bailey castles.

  ‘Harold is still in London at this point, and would have done better to have waited there and drawn William further and further from the coast, but he’s sworn an oath that William will not advance into England,’

  ‘Oh,’ said North, nastily. ‘He’s going to keep that one, is he?’

  Sykes opened her mouth to respond and then jumped in the manner of one kicked under the table by Mr Bashford.

  I moved hastily along. ‘William has been at Hastings for two weeks. His troops are fresh and ready to go, but he has to move soon, because his supplies are running out and feeding his army is becoming a problem. Harold’s arrival solves this for him. He cannot afford to be surrounded and starved into submis
sion. He must close with Harold as soon as possible.

  ‘The battle will take place the next day. No one knows why Harold allowed his hand to be forced in this way. He’s known to be impetuous and impatient, however, and let’s face it, politically and personally, these two have been at war for years. Perhaps they just can’t wait to get at each other. Any questions so far?’

  Nope. I pulled out a map of the battleground.

  ‘Right. Mr Bashford, Miss Sykes and Mr Evans will be with me in Number Eight. I looked over at Dieter who gave me a confident thumbs up.

  ‘Mr Clerk, Miss North, Mr Atherton and Mr Keller will be in Number Six…’

  Again, I looked at Dieter, whose thumb was slightly less confident this time.

  ‘Number Eight will be behind Harold’s lines. We’ll be a good way back with the Andredsweald Forest to protect our rear.

  ‘By the way, you will have noticed that Mrs Enderby is not present today. Hastings is a long and bloody struggle, people. The Saxon army will be almost obliterated. Even the Norman losses are not much less. This is a battle for a kingdom. To the death. Dr Bairstow has forbidden us to leave the pods, so no costumes will be required.’

  ‘Why do we need security then?’ enquired Atherton.

  ‘Insurance,’ said Evans with a grin, and whether they would be there to keep invaders out or us in was anybody’s guess, and Evans certainly wasn’t saying.

  I was pleased with the way this briefing was going. We’d all suffered a huge personal loss – our hangar was wrecked, our pods destroyed or damaged, but we were still functioning.

  ‘The other pod, Number Six, will be situated just north of the Hastings Road.’ I pointed to the map. ‘You’ll be to the east of William’s army, again on a slight rise. You should have an excellent view.

  ‘Inside your mission folders you will find details of the composition of both armies, and a map of the battlefield and the surrounding area. Each team will focus on their own particular protagonists, while Mr Atherton will give us an overview of the whole battle. It’s going to be a long day, people, so team leaders make sure both pods are well provisioned.