Shadow of the Savernake: Book One of the Taxane Chronicles Read online

  SHADOW OF THE SAVERNAKE

  Book One of the Taxane Chronicles

  Jayne Hackett

  Copyright © 2017 by Jayne Hackett

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About Shadow of the Savernake

  Aborologist Florence Brock, steps into the hollow of an ancient tree, and awakes transported several hundred years into England’s past. Thrust into a land at war, where her skills count for nothing and her life even less, Florence has to forget everything she once knew and become something more.

  Her fate is entwined with Nat Haslet, a savvy and resourceful soldier marooned beyond his own time, desperate to get back home. Nat has learned what it is to survive in this broken land, doing what he must to stay alive.

  Their incursion in the time-line alerts both friend and foe. There are those who would help them - The Taxanes - a secretive order as ancient as the trees themselves, who protect the time-line from ripples that were never meant to be. And there are those who would seek to use Florence’s knowledge for a far darker purpose, twisting history to their own malevolent ends.

  Now, Florence and Nat must forge an understanding if they are to navigate the treachery of England’s lost and brutal past, before time itself runs out.

  Contents

  Hamlet Act 1, scene 5,

  Prologue

  1. Outlaws

  2. Village People

  3. The Cock Pen

  4. The Nosey Hog

  5. Pack Light

  6. Division of Time

  7. Highway To Hell

  8. A Stolen Life

  9. Alcuin And Hugh

  10. Fatal Encounter

  11. Revelations

  12. Down By The Riverside

  13. Last Gasp

  14. Montebray

  15. Picture Perfect

  16. First Light

  17. Little Lord Fauntleroy

  18. A Word in Your Ear

  19. Cider with Florence

  20. A Box of Delight

  21. Scabs

  22. So That’s How It Is

  23. First Contact

  24. A Restoration

  25. A Young Man’s Fancy

  26. Hot Water

  27. A Tangled Web

  28. The Final Straw

  29. Call of Duty

  30. The Ice Man Cometh

  31. Seven Days

  32. A Wedding Gift

  33. Exchanged Vows

  34. A Monster Calls

  35. A Book of Days

  36. Somebody’s Shilling

  37. Special Forces

  38. Banishing All Doubts

  39. No Knight

  40. Unacquainted With Mercy

  41. Dear Prudence

  42. A Pregnant Pause

  43. A Plan Comes Together

  44. Monster Under the Bed

  45. Oubliette

  46. Out of the Abyss

  47. Maggie May

  Epilogue

  Thanks

  About the Author

  Hamlet - Act 1, Scene 5

  Let us go in together,

  And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.

  The time is out of joint—O cursèd spite,

  That ever I was born to set it right!

  Nay, come, let’s go together.

  Prologue

  On this evening, in the autumn of 2020, Marissa Du Bois, god-daughter of King Edward, the third of that name, bridesmaid at his Majesty’s wedding to Phillipa de Hainault and then, witness to the still-birth of their son, Prince Henry, indulged herself by drawing her hand down a scroll that chartered those years. She allowed her fingertips to touch the hand-written script in gall ink, reassuring herself that all was well and that these precious if painful memories remained intact in that time before. Other, more recent memories were less easy to reconcile and she sighed heavily at her loss.

  Marissa listened to the comforting hum of the room and breathed in its fusty aroma, settling into her evening shift in the Futures Chapter. The night promised to be uneventful with nothing more than a couple of scrolls passing through the hatch to the Taxane Order, there to be reviewed before being committed to the archive.

  The vaulted cavern of the Futures Chapter was vast, resembling the old British Library Reading Room, circular and bounded with rings of reading tables — a metaphor for the great tree which stood at its core — except that the walls of this chamber were carved from rock and crystals which twinkled like stars in a velvet sky.

  She had entered the space through one of its many doors carved into the perimeter of the rotunda, from the large complex beyond, developed over the millennia to accommodate the Futures Chapter population. She tensed as the low vibrations began, urging her towards the great tree. The others had also sensed it and appeared gradually, gathering around the tree in anticipation. However, they deferred to Marissa; it was her shift and therefore her duty to receive whatever arrived.

  Such rarities were considered an honour. By the time the sensation had stopped, the whole order was gathered sociably around the tree, curious as to what it would present. Marissa stepped up to the trunk and reached into the hollow, pulling out the package. They remarked that the packages were nearly always wrapped in organic materials these days and theorised that their future colleagues felt that the less pollution to the timeline, the better. She stepped down and placed the parcel on a reading table. Residents nudged their way forward as she pulled back the grass-woven outer cover and read: FOR MARISSA DU BOIS. Already her hands were tingling with discomfort as she touched the materials and now there were audible gasps around her. No one could remember a named message arriving before and here, memories were long. Marissa read it in the full view of the others, consulted briefly with them and left the Futures Chamber forever, to find Samuel Richards.

  He always enjoyed his afternoon tea in the Great Library of the Taxane Enclave and what had begun as a small consolation to him years ago, was now a positive indulgence. The huge benefit of being this far underground was the silence, so that once the great doors were closed and the business of the Taxanes shut out, no intrusive sounds of traffic or crowds could penetrate here, where the rock was dense and protective and the oaken doors to the room, heavy and ancient. In the early days after she’d gone, it was his sanctuary — alone, nursing his memories of her.

  The hot English breakfast tea was accompanied by the remains of a generous slice of lemon drizzle cake and his only dilemma was whether or not to have the third slice. Most of the Taxanes knew that this was Samuel’s daily ritual and they respected his privacy. He tried to quash the irritation as he heard the sound of the heavy doors being pushed open. It was no doubt a new member unfamiliar with his routines. But a diminutive woman whom he’d thought never to see again, stood, framed in the blue-white artificial light of the corridor and she smiled at him with all of the warmth which he dreamed about.

  Her long blue gown perfectly flattered her deep auburn hair and milky complexion. She was a little breathless, as though she had been searching for him and had finally found him.

  ‘Samuel!’ she spoke with a French inflection.

  It took him a moment to respond, to comprehend that she was actually there and not an illusion. He stood, crumbs of cake spattering, ‘Marissa!’ And, after a moment frozen in delightful shock, he began to stumble towards her and she began to thread her way towa
rds him avoiding small tables loaded with heavy tomes and inconveniently placed chairs. They scrambled across the room and tumbled into an embrace which was long and profound. ‘My God! Marissa. I thought… You…’ he murmured into her neck, breathing in her perfume.

  ‘It was too cruel,’ and there were tears in her eyes as she stepped back and looked at him. ‘So many regrets. I had no choice. Oh, but now… Samuel, dearest. You’re…’

  ‘Much older! Bit of a tum,’ he patted himself and added apologetically, ‘It’s the lemon drizzle…’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ she saw his deflation and he wasn’t sure whether she was agreeing with his assessment of his age or the dangers of cake, ‘but Samuel Richards, you are a vision to me, one which my dreams have held these many years,’ she smiled. ‘To hold you again is beyond anything which I imagined for us.’ Even so, she carefully brushed away some transferred crumbs.

  ‘And you, Marissa. Well, you don’t look a day older than when you entered.’ It was true. There appeared to be decades between them, for while Samuel had aged quite naturally, time had acted differently on her; she was a time traveller. She shook herself free from his gaze and he seemed to shock himself into his question.

  ‘But how? How have you been allowed to leave? I thought that I had lost you forever, that when you entered, there would be no return. You chose that path and I …’ the bitterness of her choice was still raw to him.

  ‘You know my choice, Samuel. You know why. It cannot help us to open old wounds. I lived with my regret. Please,’ she interrupted him, ‘I must tell you, what has passed. This return is a great exception Samuel – most rare. We have not taken this decision lightly for we have been exposed to a very dangerous incursion which none of us have ever seen before.’

  The gravity of her words made him focus beyond his feelings for her and the shock of her warmth. He nodded and allowed her to continue.

  ‘The Timeline is being very specifically manipulated and the gall ink records burn us with the wrongness of it.’

  He turned her hand in his and saw the lesions on her palms and fingers.

  ‘Dear Samuel, you must depart now to the St Edwin’s yew and there you must intercept them when they return because they are at the epicentre of all that is broken. Without a healing, there will be chaos. This pollution, this contamination of Time must be halted. It is an abomination!’

  She told him the details of where he needed to be and when. There was no time to waste. He would have to leave immediately if he was going to arrive when he needed to — but he couldn’t think of losing her again, of walking away from her now.

  ‘And you? You will return.’ He feared that she would confirm it and that the grieving would begin again. He didn’t know if he could bear it.

  ‘No,’ she smiled, ‘too many secrets now, dearest. I can never return to the Chapter. My time is now your time Samuel. I shall be here when you return. I promise. They cannot readmit me and I am glad of it.’ She inhaled deeply, as though a burden had been lifted.

  His heart was quaking but he had no time to hold her again. It seemed that there would be time enough for that later, so he kissed her joyfully and as he dashed out of the Library called, ‘Wait for me! Finish the lemon drizzle!’ And he left to make sure that he was at the St Edwin’s yew on time.

  1

  Outlaws

  ‘Shuddup! If you want to stay alive, stay absolutely silent!” he rasped as loud as he dared into her ear. He couldn’t believe his gamble here. Thought himself a fool for even considering it. It was a dangerous decision he’d made and he shook his head in stunned disbelief at the risk he was taking. He hoped she was bloody worth it.

  Pressed on top of her, his heavy thighs splayed over her and with the large flat of his hand squashing her face into the damp leaves, she could barely breathe and lay rigid with absolute terror. A dream; a night terror? Did nightmares stink — because he did! She stiffened her muscles in repulsion and sensing it, he responded with a firm shove of her cheek further into the leaf mould and a dig of his knees into her thighs.

  He was very serious about his own life and at the moment it was dependent on her silence. ‘Still. I. Said,’ he hissed, ‘or they’ll gut us. I reckon that this lot were at Edgehill.’ He was as still as he could be whilst holding her down and trying to slow and calm his own breathing and silence the thumping in his ears so that he could hear where the men were. He was pressed close to her ear and saw the small acorn-shaped tattoo there.

  With no choice, she stopped struggling, saving her energy for when she did make her move. Her mind screamed with disbelief at this. She had never felt so physically helpless and weak. She, who had gone to self-defence classes; she who did regular park runs; she who knew that she was strong and fit. She had a passing annoyance remembering her self-defence instructor telling them that every hold had an escape. Bollocks! This one didn’t. Her mind took over as her body gave up. Before she passed out from lack of air, she had to calculate her options. If he could have seen her eyes, he would have seen the panic of scenarios and outcomes. She couldn’t fight him off. His pent-up strength was squashing her, with not a glimmer of a chance of landing a knee in his groin. Only her rapid eye movements betrayed the panic while she was as still as death, waiting for one single instant of opportunity — her only chance.

  Somewhere behind her, higher on a ridge, she detected voices and the jangle of bridle tack and snorting horses. The sound of men’s voices reached them in that moment when he stopped breathing too. She couldn’t hear what they said but there was an urgency. This could be her chance. Seconds passed and this man and she were so still that she became aware of the tiny shuffle of insects trying to burrow out from under her body, her face squashed into the springy floor. His whole weight and strength pinned her there and so moulded together were they that she was pretty sure that it wasn’t a sex attack — perhaps that was his problem. To her horror the voices faded into the distance together with the dull vibration of horses’ hooves and her attacker began to shiver, a drip of cold sweat falling onto her neck. She was now convinced that this was no nightmare.

  He released her, rolling away to her left and she felt her legs again as the blood rushed back and she sucked in air. She gasped, every muscle now tensed for flight. Whatever this was, she was free of him and it was now or never. But the autumn forest floor was dry, betraying her every movement. Scrabbling up, she crouched, ready, and, fully expecting a brawl, faced her attacker for the first time. He lay on his back, his greasy leather hat covering his face. All she could see was a chin bristling with copper black stubble and a deep dimple. He was shaking and suddenly, he sprang up and threw himself towards the bushes, making her jump. Coiled and set to flee, she heard him vomiting and, taking his distraction as her chance, hurled herself, half running and half scrabbling, towards the direction where the horses had been.

  If she’d hoped that her flight might be covered by the sound of his heaving, she was wrong. He was closing behind her and gaining. The treacherous forest floor hid its traps of branches and brambles. A fallen moss covered branch caught her foot and she fell heavily, knocking the air from her lungs. He bent forward again, still recovering from the vomiting and then he spoke loudly enough to stop her.

  ‘I KNOW. None of this makes sense,’ he spat onto the ground, ‘but you must believe me: you will die if you run now. They’re still out there and they’ll take you.’ His flat voice was resigned as he began to straighten up and turn, his face still shaded by the wide brimmed hat. He caught his breath, leaning on a sturdy sapling, his other hand pressing into his side, blanched from the sickness.

  Florence’s instincts were to run but she guessed that he would easily outpace her. She was a mouse to his cat and so she looked around for a heavy branch to use against him. She’d no intention of being that pathetic victim of a pervert out here in her forest. ‘What do you want?’ she asked with a voice far more tremulous than she intended.

  ‘Want? Yeah. Like that matters. Actual
ly, the question should have been ‘What the fuck is going on?’

  There was mania in his eyes. This crazy bastard was actually half smiling. He began to shudder and she thought that he was moving towards her but he surprised her by stepping towards a fallen log and sitting down heavily. Florence’s confusion was mounting and he was right. That was exactly what her internal voice was screaming. What is this! Nothing here made any sense at all. She stood, eyes wide with fear, and heart bursting with overload, watching him slowly overcome his nausea. It seemed to her that he was in a worse state than she was.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘some meat was a bit off. Knew it when I smelt it. Too hungry to be careful…’

  This was the strangest encounter. She was beginning to think that he was some escapee from an institution. He recovered and looked directly at her, revealing a much younger face than she’d expected.

  ‘OK. Let’s try again. Do you know where you are?’ he asked after a pause. The weary voice of an adult to a wilful child.