Saxon's Bane Read Online Free PDF

woman of perhaps thirty directed operations from the tailgate of an old estate car, where she sat pulling off rubber boots. She watched Fergus’s laboured arrival with curiosity as the young men drove off in the van.
    “You look bushed!” The woman’s smile lit her face. After his sullen reception at the Green Man it was like a refreshing drink on a hot day. She held one bootless foot off the ground and rummaged behind her for footwear, trailing a garish sock from her toes.
    “It was more of a hill than I thought.” Fergus leaned into his crutches, breathing heavily. “I’m not very fit at the moment.
    “So what happened to you?” She’d found a trainer, and waved it at his props.
    “Car crash.” He hoped that the note of finality in his voice wouldn’t sound rude.
    “There’s a seat inside the gate if you want to sit down for a bit.”
    Fergus smiled his thanks and pushed through a gate with a newly carved ‘Mill House’ sign, and slumped onto a bench. His sigh of relief reminded him of his longdead grandfather, and he forced himself into a more upright, youthful position. In front of him an unkempt garden sloped down to a stream, with a broad marshy area beyond. Rectangular trenches had been dug in the marsh, exposing black, peaty soil. The nearest and largest trench was surrounded by an improvised fence of chicken netting.
    “You’re not local, are you?” She called her question from her car, and Fergus answered over his shoulder.
    “’Fraid not.”
    “I didn’t think so. I must have seen everyone in the village while we were digging last year. They all came to watch.” She appeared through the gate carrying a thermos flask. “So what brings you back?”
    Fergus felt his shoulders tense. This conversation still loitered too close to the crash. He hadn’t learned to talk about it yet, not in ways that didn’t embarrass people.
    “I’m looking for someone who helped me last year.” Fergus tried to relax.
    “Coffee?” She sat on the bench beside him, pouring. “I’m Clare, by the way.” She clamped the thermos between her knees, held out her right hand to be shaken and offered coffee with the left.
    “Fergus.” Clare had a way of delaying her smile until after the handshake, as if she had seen behind any façade and was pleased at what she had found. It made the smile considered and genuine. Fergus found himself still holding her hand and looking at her until she ducked her head to one side, as if looking at him around an obstacle, while she waved the coffee cup in reproof. He took it, embarrassed, wondering if he’d met this woman somewhere before.
    “What are you doing to your garden?” Fergus covered his confusion by nodding at the view.
    “I wish it was my garden.” Clare glanced at the house, which looked recently and expensively renovated. “This is out of my league. I’m just managing the dig. I’m afraid the owners are out, if you wanted to talk to them.”
    Fergus shook his head, not understanding. “Dig?”
    “Hey, it was in all the papers, last November. Didn’t you see the headlines about the Saxon warrior?”
    “I must have missed it, but do fill me in.” And it’s a good, safe topic . He smiled but Clare seemed to need little encouragement.
    “Imagine.” She stood to find a better view of the valley, and waved her coffee towards the village with an evangelical enthusiasm bubbling in her voice. “Back then, this valley might have been the frontier between the Saxon migration and the indigenous Celts, you see? That knoll where the church now stands would have given them a defensible place, with fresh water nearby from the stream.”
    Fergus looked down the valley to where the church tower pushed the banner of St. George through the trees. Clare’s eyes shone with excitement. “These woods would have been full of deer and boar to hunt, and they must have known that the land would be fertile. We even know the name of that first Saxon chieftain. Aegl. Allingley