‘Creoda did not need the men and he took only what gold he needed for his purpose. He went quite alone to his secret place and there he built a fire so hot that it turned solid metal into molten liquid. He put the king’s gold on to the fire and watched as slowly it melted. Then he used his magic arts and out of it he formed three crowns, putting into them the essence of his soul so that they turned into objects of power, each one bursting with strong enchantment. As he weakened — for he had used almost all of his strength and was now little more than a shadow — he spoke the words of the spell. Then, laying aside the crowns while they cooled, he wrapped his burned hands in clean cloth and lay down to sleep.
‘When he was partially recovered — and he never regained more than a small portion of his former vigour, having poured it into his creation — he rose up and returned to the king, seeking a private audience. “Behold what I have made for you,” he said, and as he unwrapped the crowns from their protective linen, for the first and only time their magical voices were heard in the king’s hall. The king covered his ears in abject fear and quickly Creoda replaced the linen wrappings.
‘Slowly the king recovered from his terror and asked, “What must I do with these dread objects?” “You must bury them on the shores of your land,” replied Creoda, “where their power will blend and combine to form a defensive shield that will repel those who would invade and rob you of what you have won.”
‘The king and his sorcerer talked long into the night as they pondered the best locations for the crowns, and at last the king made his decision. “One shall I bury here at Rendlesham,” he declared, “for here is my hall and my high seat, the heart and the centre of my realm. One you, Creoda, shall take with you to Drakelow, for your power is in these objects and it is fitting that one part of what you have freely given should remain close to you, hidden where its force shall guard my port of Dunwich. The third we will take north and bury at Bran’s Head, so that the northern shore of our realm shall also be defended from the men who come out of the east.”
‘It was done as the king decreed. Creoda and his king took a strong bodyguard and they went secretly and by night. Keeping to the ancient tracks along which run the lines of power, they went first to Bran’s Head, where with solemn ceremony and deep magic Creoda called upon the old gods and buried the first crown on the margins of the realm, where the land meets the sea and the forces are strong. Then they proceeded to Drakelow, and Creoda buried the second crown on his own land. Finally they returned to the king’s hall and on the long shore below Rendlesham, Creoda donned the horned headdress and, in the light of the crescent moon, buried the third crown. Then he took the fly-agaric potion and, with a winged horse and a goose to guard him, set out on his last and greatest spirit journey, using what was left of his magic power to spark the three crowns into everlasting life. Creoda, greatest of all sorcerers, had interred the crowns and it is not for any man to undo what he did.’
It was some time before I realized that Hrype had stopped talking. My eyes were closed and my mind was alive with images. I saw a magical flying horse with a woman on its back and she whispered her name to me: Andrasta. And there beside her was Epona riding her giant goose; my granny Cordeilla flashed across my inner eye and I recalled how she always called on Epona and her goose when she embarked on a tale, for Epona is the mother and patron of all storytellers. I saw the Goddess of the Sacred Grove, and she was holding out her sword arm straight and true as with the tip of her great weapon she blessed all those who accepted the challenge and fought, in whatever way was their particular talent, to protect the sacred homelands of the people.
Creoda had done that, and he was Hrype’s ancestor.
I opened my eyes and stared at him.
It was as if he had been waiting for me. Sibert sat immobile as stone and his eyes were still fast shut. Froya was hunched on her stool, her back bent as if under a heavy load.
I could have believed that Hrype and I were alone.
I felt his thought. It came at me like an arrow and as soon as I understood, it seemed to me that the awareness had been there all along.
‘The crown must go back,’ I whispered, my voice hardly more than a breath.
‘Yes.’
I hesitated, for I was tired and afraid. But he was relentless and I knew I must speak. ‘Must I take it?’
‘You must, and Sibert must go with you.’
‘Why?’ I asked. I sounded like a wheedling child.
‘Because it was you and Sibert who took it,’ he answered.
And all at once it made perfect sense.
TWENTY-ONE
Sibert and I set out while it was still dark and for the third time I embarked on a long journey far from the safety of my home.
Hrype promised to reassure my parents but I knew they would be so very worried about me. They must have hoped that I’d had enough of excitement for the time being, as indeed I had. Returning to Drakelow was the last thing I wanted to do and, glancing at Sibert as the dawn light steadily grew stronger, I thought he probably felt the same.
We were lucky this time in that we got a lift from a garrulous carter eager for somebody — anybody — to talk to, and he picked us up just south of St Edmundsbury and took us all the way to the place where our track branched off the road south-east to the coast at Dunwich. Despite the nervous tension and the underlying fear, both of us managed to sleep, although I don’t suppose even that stopped the carter’s chatter.
Rested and well-fed as we were — the carter had shared his food with us and, thanks to Hrype, who it became clear was much better at putting together travelling rations than Sibert, we were provided with a generous pack — we made good time on the last leg of our journey. We arrived at Drakelow in the late afternoon and stood side by side on the top of the low cliff staring out at the crumbling timbers of the sea sanctuary, just becoming visible above the outgoing tide.
‘I think,’ Sibert said thoughtfully, ‘it’s even more damaged than it was last time we were here.’
I agreed. ‘The sea is reclaiming it.’ I felt strange; sort of dreamy. ‘Soon it’ll all be gone and there will be nothing left to mark where it was.’
‘Then we’d better hurry up and put the crown back,’ Sibert replied. ‘It’ll be safe then.’
He was right. Although I’d have given anything not to have to do this task, I realized that we could only be free to go home once we’d steeled ourselves and completed it.
We decided to wait until twilight. It did not seem likely that there was anyone around to see us but you never knew. We settled in a hollow on the top of the cliff and ate quite a lot of Hrype’s supplies. Then Sibert had a doze and I sat watching the waves. The tide had turned and was coming in again but I reckoned we still had plenty of time to get out to the sea sanctuary and bury the crown.
When it was growing dark I packed up our belongings and roused Sibert. We clambered down the cliff and struck out across the pebbly sand.
There were puddles on the foreshore and as we splashed along they struck chilly on my skin. The air, too, felt colder than it ought to have done for a summer’s night. I looked up and saw a bank of cloud blowing up out of the dark eastern sky, slowly and inexorably blanking out the bright stars. A mist was rolling in on the silvery surface of the sea. I felt suddenly afraid and instinctively I moved closer to Sibert. He glanced at me and I saw my apprehension reflected in his face. He clutched at the crown in its bag at his waist and said gruffly, ‘Come on. The sooner we’ve done it, the sooner we can be safely back on dry land.’
Back on dry land. Yes, how much I wanted that. How alien, by comparison, was this mysteriously threatening watery world whose margins we trod.