Saxon's Bane Read Free Page A

Book but there’s no mention of a mill.” One of her researchers had fed her that information by mobile phone, and Clare enjoyed seeing ME blink as she went on the offensive. “So the top layer of silt is probably post-Conquest. He is lying well below that, in the peat layer, so I suspect his burial pre-dates the Conquest by several centuries. Carbon dating will give us a much better view, but I believe we’ll find this guy is Saxon.” Out of the corner of her eye Clare watched a pair of swans edge closer to the trench. Their necks were arched like cobras, threatening her as she stood with her head at the level of their feet. If they came any closer, she’d climb out.
    “My dear girl, don’t see what you want to see, just because you’re a Saxon specialist!” Eaton sounded jubilant at the thought that he might have caught her out. “So how did you come to that rapid conclusion?”
    “The peat has stained his hair orange. That could mean he was blond. If so, he’d be more likely to be a fair-haired Saxon than a darker Celt. But more importantly he’s a big guy, much bigger than most Celtic remains. And if he’s a Saxon I’d go further. Ritual killings would have finished with Christianisation, so I expect carbon dating to put him between the late fifth and mid seventh century. Do you agree?” Come on, you old goat, let me prove myself right. Treat me like a colleague, not a freshman. But the Professor ignored Clare’s challenge, becoming preoccupied with making shoo-ing motions at the swans with his stick. The birds only hissed back at him and held their ground.
    “So what next steps do you recommend, Doctor Harvey?” Eaton turned back to her with the air of someone who’d found such actions undignified.
    Clare paused, gathering her thoughts.
    “We should probably try and get the body out in one block, with its surrounding peat.”
    “Of course. Subject to the landowner’s agreement.” Eaton nodded towards the house, where the owner had given up his attempts to keep his men working, and was watching the dialogue from a gravel path. The man inclined his head.
    “Best practice then would be to freeze-dry the body to inhibit decomposition.”
    “Quite. And what about the site, the area around the body?”
    “We’ll need to go through that spoil pile, there’s probably all kinds of evidence in that. If we have the resources I’d like to dig some test trenches in this basin.” Clare waved her trowel around the bog that had been the mill pond. The swans rocked slightly backwards at the movement but then crept a little closer. “There may be other bodies. Some of the other bog body sites have yielded multiple corpses.”
    “I suggest you also run a metal detector over the whole area as quickly as you can.”
    Behind her back, Clare gripped her hand into a triumphant fist at this first confirmation of her leadership.
    “As soon as anyone hears the word ‘Saxon’ they will think of hoards of gold and this gentleman,” ME waved towards the owner again, “will find his garden full of treasure-hunters.”
    Behind Professor Eaton, one of the workmen shifted uncomfortably, and then squinted as a stab of sunlight broke through the clouds. It angled into the trench along the line of its wall, marking the scooping lines of the digger in wavelets of light and shadow. In front of Clare it exposed a fleck of something harder than the surrounding peat, a smooth line about the size of a nub of pencil. Clare crouched, probing at the soil with her fingers. Above the level of the bog man’s head was a thin layer of silt, as if the bog had at some time been briefly flooded before reverting to peat marsh. The object was embedded in the silt layer, just above and to one side of the preserved head, and Clare reached to pick it out of the soil with her fingers.
    “Tooth!” Clare shouted, polishing it in her hand. “Human tooth!” She stood up triumphantly with the tooth pinched between finger and thumb, but she