In The Grip Of Old Winter (8 page)

Eorl Bosa, who wanted to
marry Leonor -
his
picture in
this
house? It made more sense to
have a picture of Oswald, or Leonor? They lived here once, not Eorl Bosa. He
wanted to see the picture.

Grandma brought a second
plate of sausage rolls to the table. “Another one, Peter?”

He mumbled, his mouth full.
“No thanks.”

Granddad pushed his chair
back and stood. “We need to get clearing that path.”

Almina pulled her coat around
her and stood. “Just five minutes. I’ve hardly had any time with Peter. You’re
hogging the boy all to yourselves and I do so want to get to know him.”

Boy! I’m eleven
. Peter glared at Almina, but she didn’t notice.

“Put your anorak on.” Grandma
handed it to him. “That landing will be freezing in this weather.” She wagged a
finger at Almina. “Don’t you go frightening him with your stories. I know you
and your melodramatics.”

Almina placed a hand on her
chest. “Really, sister. You shock me to the core. I’m never melodramatic.” She
winked at Peter. “I’m the sincerest actress of my generation.” She bent lower.
“Bernard Nightingale, The Times, June nineteen ninety-five.”

Grandma raised her eyes. “I’m
just saying, don’t believe everything she tells you, Peter.”

Almina turned her back on the
kitchen and swept out. “Come along, darling.”

Peter glanced at mum.

“You’d better hurry,” she
said. “Or we won’t hear the end of it.”

He followed Almina across the
hallway and through the door at the far end to the first flight of stairs.

She took a deep breath.
“Right, up we go. Good exercise for the legs and lungs. Breathe in, breathe
out.”

They passed the first landing,
where Peter had his bedroom, and half way up the second flight Almina stopped
to catch her breath. “Goodness! I wish they’d think about installing a lift.
How are you doing?”

Peter leaned against the
bannister. “I’m fine.”

“Quite right too, you’re
still a boy, won’t let a few stairs wear you down.”

He hunched into his anorak.

They reached the second
landing and Almina gestured with a wide sweep of her arms. “This is my floor.”
She grasped hold of the bannister to begin the next flight. “One more to go.
I’m surprised you haven’t explored up here. I love poking around in old houses.
I suppose I’m just nosey.”

This landing and his below
appeared identical. The stairs emerged in the middle, so that each landing
stretched away to the right and left. Wooden doors with square panelling shut
the rooms from sight. He guessed the room opposite the stairs must be Almina’s,
for a bunch of dried flowers tied with green ribbon circled the brass knob.
Perhaps she hung it there as a reminder of which room she occupied.

Almina noticed him staring,
for she said, “Granddad gave me those. A posy to soothe frayed nerves and to
ward off unwelcome thoughts.” Then she raised her arm. “Onwards and upwards.”

The temperature dropped as
they climbed the third flight. Peter’s breath steamed on each exhalation.

Almina gasped at every step
and her progress slowed. “Oh... my... goodness. I’m either... very unfit. Or...
the stairs have grown longer.”

When they reached the top,
Almina clung to the bannister to recover.

Grey light filtered through
two small windows at either end of this landing. Peter didn’t see any doors,
though down by the left-hand window a gap in the wall suggested that there
might be another staircase, or a passage. A staircase to the higher floors and
at last to the battlements and that strange little house, perhaps? The bare
boards creaked under his feet.

“What do you know about Eorl
Bosa?” asked Almina.

“Nothing.”

“Really?” Almina gulped air.
“He was a very important man in his time. He ruled all the lands from here to
the sea after William the Conqueror invaded Britain in ten sixty-six.”

Did he? What about Oswald?
He lived in this house, or at least, in a manor where
this house stood. The land around it belonged to him in that time.

Eorl Bosa might speak like a
King, he might think that Oswald supported William of Normandy to justify his
claim for acquiring more land when he married Leonor. Oswald’s secret plans and
the way Leonor loathed Bosa didn’t make it sound promising.

“His portrait’s along here.”
Almina strode down the right-hand landing and Peter followed. Half way down,
above a huge wooden chest, hung a painting, dark and grimy with age and with
large cracks in the painted panel.

Almina flapped her hands,
like a flustered bird beats its wings. “Oh, it’s so dark. Why have they never
wired in the electricity up here? It’s so annoying. Typical tight-fisted penny
pinching ...”

Peter walked past the
painting and, with the light behind him, turned back.

A stern face, framed by black
hair, stared straight ahead. A dark red robe decorated with silver threads hung
from broad shoulders. The hands, with the fingers interlocked, clasped a sword
hilt and across his brow a band of plain silver circled the head. Eorl Bosa,
not an exact likeness, but close. Peter stared, aware that Almina watched.

He said, “Is that him?”

“Yes.” She stepped closer.
“Painted a year after he died, so it is said. The few written fragments about
him that have survived suggest that the resemblance is striking. Its age makes
it very desirable. I mean to get it valued.”

Peter tensed. Almina expected
some reaction, recognition, or a nod that he agreed, but he didn’t move. He
didn’t give anything away.

Almina stepped up beside him
and faced the painting. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she stood on tiptoes
and squinted. “I must buy some glasses.” Then her fingers tightened and gripped
like a claw. “You found the seal-amulet, didn’t you?”

***

Peter squirmed and escaped
from her grasp. “No.”

She blocked the way back to
the stairs. “Liar. I saw you in the garden with it.” She held out her hand.
“Show me.”

Peter backed away. “No.”

Almina’s eyebrows rose. “Do
you mean, ‘no, you won’t show me’ or ‘no, you haven’t found it?’”

He dodged right, but Almina
stepped in his way.

“Let me go.”

She beamed a wide sweet
smile. “You showed granddad and he should have taken it and brought it to me,
because... well, I want to see. That’s all, just a quick peek.” Her voice softened
to a gentle tone, as if she meant to be kind. “The seal-amulet is a strange
talisman, full of magic. Did you know? I understand a little bit about it.” Her
voice deepened. “It could make you very rich. Like this painting.”

Peter judged the gap between
the wall and his aunt, but guessed the distance to be too narrow and an easy
opportunity for her to grab him as he ran past.

She folded her arms and her
smile hardened. “I could just take it, you know, but I want us to be friends. I
tell you what, supposing we keep it a secret, just the two of us? We needn’t
tell the others.” Her voice hushed, as if the secret might already be theirs to
keep. “A special secret that will give us time to find out all about it. Think
of the fun we’ll have?”

Peter darted left, but Almina
side-stepped just as fast. Peter’s breath came in quick gasps. Might somebody
hear if he shouted? The thought died. ‘Keep it safe,’ granddad said and that
meant not telling. The fight with Almina must be between them, nobody else.

Almina’s eyes narrowed.
“Think about this carefully, Peter. I believe the seal-amulet to be very
dangerous. You don’t know how to use it - you don’t even know for what purpose
it was made. Granddad should have taken it when you showed it to him. Typical
of him not to recognise treasure when he sees it. Or to remember when... well,
never mind.” She cocked her head to one side. “What do you think, is the
seal-amulet made for good or for evil?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Let
me look at it, just once. Just to be sure that it is the same.”

Peter tensed and feinted
right. Almina, caught off guard, stumbled and Peter fled past and ducked as she
swiped at his head. He reached the stairs and leapt down them two at a time.

Almina called. “Come back. We
have to talk. Please ...”

Peter didn’t stop running
until he reached the kitchen, where granddad sat alone with a mug of steaming
coffee cupped in his hands. “Almina?” he asked and Peter nodded.

He gulped down a mouthful and
stood. “Quick now, we have snow to clear.” Peter snatched up his woollen hat
and his gloves from a stool beside the AGA, pulled them on and followed
granddad outside.

From a grey sky fell thick
flakes that covered the path again. New-made footprints, that came from the
back of the barn, crossed the path and continued towards the front of the
house, showed crisp and clear in the fresh snow. Mum or grandma, Peter thought,
as they hunted for firewood for the bedrooms. Granddad strode ahead and Peter
ran to catch up. “Almina... she knows. She knows what I found. She called it a
seal-amulet.”

Granddad’s shoulders hunched
as he walked. “Ay. I guess she saw us earlier.”

“She said,” and the chain ran
through his fingers as he clutched the seal-amulet in his pocket. “She said it
was magical. She said you should have taken it.”

Granddad slowed and Peter
caught up and walked beside him. He brushed off the flakes that stuck to his
cheeks.  “I don’t know what to do. The carrier - he said to give it to the one
who is waiting. If it’s not you, is it... is it, Almina?”

Granddad stopped and faced
him. “She’s an actress, full of wild thoughts. Half-remembered events that once
made sense, she thinks all sorts that take you by surprise, but don’t worry
about what she says... because it’s all, well because... it’s just that she’s an
actress.” He frowned at the footprints as they curved past, now headed, it
appeared, for the distant trees. Then he set off again.

Peter didn’t understand,
though perhaps granddad just talked his thoughts out loud. Adults did that
sometimes in a weird sort of way.

They reached their shovels.
Granddad’s, stuck in the drift, sported a wedge of snow on the handle.

Peter asked, “But why does
Almina want the seal-amulet?”

Granddad ran his finger along
the handle and the snow slid off in one big lump. “Who understands why the warm
Earth spins in a universe of cold? Like I said earlier, time mixes up here and
there’s no knowing what might happen when people start shifting from the past
to the present and back again. And old things start appearing that haven’t been
seen for centuries. Old loves, old habits, they all start to thrive again. The
cold is like that.” He drove the blade into the drift and hurled the snow to
one side. “There are reasons for all of it, I guess.” He bent closer. “You know
a lot already, though I’m guessing it doesn’t make much sense.”

“Peter.” The call came from
the house.

Granddad threw the snow onto
the pile at the side of the path. “That’s her. Get yourself into the wood.”

Peter picked up his shovel
and dragged it behind him as he hurried towards the trees. Granddad might hold
her off for a while, but if
he
stayed to clear the snow, then who knew
what tricks she might play to come after him.

He left the path and hurried
towards the old tree. Better to return to the past, perhaps there the riddle
with the seal-amulet might be easier to solve and if he stayed there long
enough, time here might move far enough forward for Almina to give up the
chase.

The charred branch stood
before him and he dropped his shovel and gripped the branch tight.

Dark and light flashed in
quick succession. This time it stopped in the dark. He didn’t expect that and
his chest tightened. He thought to go back and wait for daylight, but how to
avoid Almina? He might hide, but that gave her the chance to find him.

His eyes ached as he peered
around. Above, hundreds of stars glittered, though the moon, if it shone,
didn’t penetrate through the thick tangle of branches. He faced in what he
guessed must be the general direction of the manor. Not a single light shone to
guide him and even the manor’s outline failed to stand out from the surrounding
trees.

Not a sound, except his
breathing. If he walked in a straight line, he’d reach the manor, though he had
no idea what to do when he arrived there. Did Tobias patrol on the tower at
night? That risk needed to be taken if he wasn’t going to stand here in the
cold until dawn.

His eyes adjusted to the
gloom and the tree trunks emerged as darker shadows against the undergrowth.
Did the wood seem denser than he remembered, or was that just imagination?

He turned his back on the
charred branch, he must try hard not to veer off to the left or right, and with
an outstretched arm, he took one step and then another.

To keep in a straight line
proved impossible. He lost all sense of direction and stopped as panic tingled
in his stomach. A glance back didn’t help, for the charred branch might be
anywhere.