The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (best ereader for pc TXT) 📗

had been scraped off. Again, it had been carelessly done, almost tearing holes in the vellum in places. The lack of care meant the missing words had not been removed without trace. There was a chance he would be able to read them.He reached for his own copy of the chronicle.

In the year of Our Lord 789 Offa gave his daughter Eadburh to Beorhtric of Wessex, much against her wishes, to make certain that the kingdom of Wessex remained within his alliance, and in those days came for the first time three ships … these were the first ships of the Danes to come to England.

And in a footnote another scribe had added in a different hand that the ships landed at Portland, on the south coast. Poor old Eadburh. Wessex, her new kingdom, had been the first part of England to be hit by the Vikings. He enlarged the page until it was nothing but a moonscape of faded dots. Slowly and carefully he refocussed and as he did so one of the scrubbed-out sentences became clear: And King Beorhtric’s marriage was attended by lightning and fiery dragons were seen flying in the air and the people saw this as portents of evil attending the arrival of the Mercian lady.

Simon sat back. That comment was not in any of the other versions.

He leaned forward again eagerly. What else had the chronicler put into his record? The screen was blank. He screwed up his eyes in frustration. In his excitement he must have leaned on the keyboard.

He had been concentrating so hard he hadn’t noticed the sound of the wind in the trees outside. Rain was rattling against the window and in the distance he heard a low rumble of thunder. He looked back at the laptop and at that exact moment all the lights went out. Only the pale rectangle of the blank screen illuminated the room.

Standing up, he made his way to the door and dragged it open. It was eerily dark outside, the sky boiling with black cloud. As he stood on the doorstep he saw a zigzag of lightning slice over the hills of Wales. He gave a rueful smile. So, the King of Wessex’s marriage to Eadburh had been attended by lightning and fiery dragons, and here they were again to frustrate his attempts to read more.

Behind him, the lights in the house came on for a brief second, echoing the flash in the sky, then they went off again. He reached for the switch by the door. Nothing. Going back to the laptop, he powered it down to save the battery and then returned to the door. If the ancient gods of the Mercians were prepared to put on a show for him, it would be churlish not to watch.

‘Bea, are you up there?’ It seemed only minutes after she had retreated up to her attic room that Bea heard Mark’s voice from the bottom of the stairs. She frowned crossly, and levering herself up from her cushion on the floor she went to the door. ‘Yes, I’m here.’

She heard the thud of his footsteps, running two at a time up the steep narrow flight. She saw his eyes register the candle, the incense in its burner.

She thought he was going to be angry, but all he said was, ‘I’ve got a couple of hours before I take the service. I thought maybe we could do something together. Go out for a walk, perhaps.’

‘Mark, it’s pouring with rain.’ The storm had drifted in over the rooftops from the west and as she spoke a gentle rumble of thunder echoed round the room.

She saw his shoulders slump.

Eadburh’s grief at the news of Elisedd’s death had been overwhelming. Momentarily as she turned away from her parents, Bea had seen the look on her face, the fact that she was to marry a king, completely overtaken by her shock and devastation. She never knew, as Bea knew, that before he rode to his death Elisedd had returned to their trysting place. Though he realised their marriage was never going to happen, never had been going to happen, that she had always been and always would be out of his reach, he had ridden up there to say goodbye. Had he had any presentiment that he was going to die? Bea would never know that. She realised suddenly that she was almost in tears.

‘Bea?’ Mark was staring at her strangely. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘Sorry,’ she reached for a tissue and surreptitiously dabbed her eyes. ‘It’s the storm. You know they always give me a headache.’

‘I said, let’s go for a walk in the rain. Defy the elements.’

Another rumble in the distance reminded Bea of a dog growling threateningly in its throat. ‘Are you serious?’ She laughed in spite of herself.

‘Yes, I’m serious. I love being out in storms. You know I do.’

‘But we might get struck by lightning.’

‘Not here. Not in town.’

She gave in. They headed for Castle Green and then under the lime trees down towards the river. Standing on the footbridge with its iron lacework they paused, staring down at the mud-coloured water of the Wye as it flowed beneath their feet.

The rain was pattering down on Mark’s umbrella. ‘What did you get up to this morning after I left?’ he said at last. ‘Anything exciting?’ It was a casual question.

‘Chris picked me up and we went up to the cottage to leave some spare sheets and cleaning stuff for Simon. I gather his family are coming to stay with him for a few days over Easter.’

‘No sign of the ghost?’ Again the enquiry was casual.

She tensed and too late realised he must have felt her reaction as she held his arm beneath the umbrella.

‘No. I did wonder if there was still something in the garden, an echo, but there was nothing there.’ Elise had ridden into the sunset like a lovelorn hero in some romantic movie. Riding, did he but know it, to