Saxon Magic: A Story Through Time

By Pat Strickson

Time is no barrier to dreams.

Two Saxon boy soldiers become unlikely friends. One is fighting alongside his father protecting King Harold in 1066. The other is in a school re-enactment. Together at the horrific conclusion of the Battle of Hastings, 21st century technology saves them. The noblest Saxon rewards them. He has also escaped Duke William and his Norman knights.

A coin is dug up near the school. A gift is tested and reveals many secrets. These are only the beginning of the treasures uncovered and all the evidence needed that history has come alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brown Dog Books
• Release date: Feb 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781839526008

Book preview

1066

A Year of Change

Halley’s Comet appears 24th April

Three kings die

Edward the Confessor, King of England 5th January

Harald Hardrada, King of Norway 25th September

Harold Godwin, King of England 14th October?

Two kings are crowned

Harold Godwin, King Harold II 6th January

William, Duke of Normandy, King William I 25th December

Three battles fought

Fulford Gate 20th September

Saxons lose against the Vikings

Stamford Bridge 25th September

Saxons beat the Vikings

Duke William and his Norman army invade 28th September

Battle of Hastings 14th October

The Normans beat the Saxons

The Anglo Saxon era ends

A message from the author

‘History is all around us,’ I said to the headteacher.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my heart raced.

It was still magic. The Head left me to reminisce.

I looked around remembering the boy rushing past me dressed in his Saxon costume, cheeks red, imagination all fired up, waving his homemade foil dagger. His mother’s laugh echoed through my memories. She’d grinned at me,

‘Wouldn’t it be lovely if Mrs Strickson wrote a story for you all about 1066?’

We both laughed then. Her young son was dyslexic and I was the school SENCO who supported his learning. We could both see how the day’s activities re-enacting the Battle of Hastings had been a great success. The young soldier raced into the trees searching for Normans. It was the Friday before half term. I was weary and ready for my holiday but the idea was planted and left to germinate.

Years have passed. I’m standing in that same spot, in the school playground bordering the farmer’s field, freshly ploughed ready for the winter crop. I breathe in deeply, taking in the earthy smells, rich in history, returning me in seconds to where it all began. The air is heavy with expectation. I tilt my face upwards feeling the sun’s rays, closing my eyes seeing my story characters, old friends, waiting for the next chapter. I push aside a low branch scratching my skin, a droplet of blood drips slowly to the ground.

‘Mrs Strickson, are you alright?’ The headteacher stared at the cut. She’d come back to collect me, the retired teacher who’d phoned to ask if she could visit.

‘It’s fitting, the blood I mean.’ I explained about the story that I’d written.

She still looked concerned but smiled as I handed her a copy of my book.

‘Saxon Magic,’ I announced full of pride.

‘I’ve signed it. Good that it’s back where it all started,’ I added.

‘It’ll explain everything.’

So…

Aidan Fletcher was a Saxon warrior. He raced across the playground into the long grass at the edge of the school field. The Normans charged after him. The re-enactment had finished but, as their parents chatted, their Battle of Hastings continued.

‘You can’t catch me,’ he shouted, as he darted behind the trees and along by the fence into the Eco garden. He knew they weren’t allowed in there without a teacher, but the gate was open. He disappeared inside.

‘He’s trapped,’ Mihra shouted to Barnaby as they raced through the gate.

Aidan was nowhere to be seen.

‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ Mihra laughed.

‘You can’t escape,’ Barnaby called.

They split up to go round the mound searching behind the trees and the shed.

He was nowhere to be seen. He’d vanished.

‘Maybe he jumped over the fence.’ Barnaby ran out to check. Mihra went round again. Some pigeon feathers were on the ground and the log pile had been disturbed.

The oak trees creaked but the space was still and quiet. A rush of wind tugged at her clothes, ruffling her hair, sending dust swirling up into the air. She covered her eyes. Where was he?

‘Come out, you cowardly Saxon.’

She put her hand above her eyes to block out the low afternoon sun and see better into the long shadows. Twigs snapped as a branch was pushed aside and Aidan appeared rubbing his head.

‘What happened?’ Mihra could see he was hurt.

‘I hit my head on a log.’

In his other hand he held the dagger. As Barnaby reappeared he took it from its leather case for them to see.

‘Don’t come any closer, you nasty Normans.’

‘Woah! Where did you get that from?’ Barnaby stopped, flabbergasted.

‘Edric gave it to me.’

‘You saw him?’ Mihra asked, surprised.

Aidan nodded. ‘And the King.’

Barnaby‘s eyes widened and his mouth opened but no words came out.

Aidan smiled, putting the dagger carefully back into its leather case.

‘It’s called a *seax. They are on their way home to Wessex. Audrey came looking for them on Bell with Ash the wolfhound. They took Ned from the farmer’s field. The King was riding him.’

Their parents were calling.

Looking down at the Saxon dagger, Barnaby finally found his voice.

‘What are you going to say?’

‘The truth!’ beamed Aidan, marching towards the gate.

Barnaby shrugged and Mihra gave a worried face. Their friend would be answering a whole lot of questions!

Seax

* name for a Saxon dagger pronounced ‘see ax’

Chapter 1

The Gift

Edric dressed quickly before allowing his father to blindfold him. He guided him out across the courtyard where he could sense people stepping aside. They greeted his father, their master and wished him a good day. It was Edric’s 9th birthday. His heart raced. His training would start in earnest. He was to be a soldier like his father. Theyn Edricson was a housecarl to King Harold.

Finally they stopped, his father told him to put out both hands, palms upwards. He felt the weight of the gift. The blindfold was removed and he blinked in the light.

‘Happy Birthday, my son.’

People crowded around him cheering. His mother was smiling, holding up Cerl their baby brother. His sister, Audrey, clapped; their little brother, Gildrec, copied her.

‘It’s a powerful blade,’ his father announced, ‘fit for a Saxon soldier. It’ll reward you with many years of service, if you treat it well,’ he added.

The dagger was encased in a patterned leather sheath. He carefully pulled it out. It was a proper Saxon seax. He held it high, turning it slowly from side to side, marvelling at the wavy lines made from hammering, layering and folding molten metal. Light reflected on the silvery edge leading to the sharp point. It lit up his face, which was already glowing.

It was nothing like the knife he used at the long family table where they sat to eat. It must have taken weeks to make. He looked up at the smith, who winked.

‘It’s made from the best iron ore from *Suthsaxe.’ His deep voice boomed.

He was a giant of a man, with red cheeks the colour of the burning embers in his furnace. His muscles bulged under his tunic. His huge belly shook as he laughed. His long plaited beard was tucked under his leather apron, protecting him from the fierce heat and stopping it from being singed.

The farm workers clustered around to get a closer look, in awe of the fine workmanship. Some patted Edric on the back whilst others praised the smith’s workmanship. None owned a dagger. It was only landowners who could afford the crafted knives.

The dark leather sheath was curved, fitting the blade perfectly. Metal studs were spaced down the straight back with leather straps to fix to his belt. As Edric gripped the smooth antler handle, the blade gleamed again. He could feel its power.

His initials were carved on the hilt with Saxon runes. He looked at it in wonder. It was beautiful. He knew it would be a good tool, as well as a weapon. His mind raced on, like any Saxon boy, to his first battle, where he imagined using it to fight the enemy, by his father’s side.

Edric finally found his voice, ‘Thank you, it’s the finest seax I’ve ever seen.’ He hugged his father, then the smith. They both laughed, relieved their secret was finally being shared. It had taken more than a few weeks to source the best ore, then a few more to make the blade and carve the handle.

From that first day, Edric practised. His mother worried about the amount of times she tended to his cuts and scratches. There were scars on his hands and arms, but nothing like the one his father had travelling the length of his left arm, that had been the work of a Viking sword.

As he prepared to become a soldier, Edric learnt to look after his weapon, keeping it sharpened and clean. He practised thrusting, cutting and slicing. He could run and stab a moving target, a straw-filled sack tied up in the courtyard for him. He’d yell and charge until his mother told him to be quiet as the baby was sleeping. He whittled away branches to make arrows that went straight to a bullseye on a giant target board set up for him in the meadow. All the time he dreamt of becoming a soldier like his father. He couldn’t wait. As his 10th year and Saxon adulthood approached, he knew his dreams would soon come true. He would soon prove himself.

Edric

Now as he stood beside his father he again saw the scar on his hand as he watched him trace the trail of the strange star* that had moved across the night sky over the last few nights. The raw line of the scar disappeared under the sleeve of his tunic. Edric knew it went right up to his shoulder. It had nearly ended his life.

His father was lord of the manor. The Earl of Wessex, now crowned King Harold, had rewarded him with land for being one of his most valued Saxon housecarl. Whenever he toured his lands, his housecarl were there, closest to him. His father had narrowly escaped the Viking blade. Aimed at his heart, it sliced his arm that he raised in defence. His family sword was notched by clashes with enemy weapons. Many had been slain at the mercy of the great sword. But that day it nearly failed him. Only the swift action of another housecarl saved him.

‘Lucky not to have lost your