Raiders From the Sea
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About this ebook
Susan Skinner
Susan Skinner is a writer and calligrapher. She has published four collections of poetry. Her agent (not for poetry) is Lesley Pollinger who has enabled Susan to publish a number of children’s novels. Susan has had a wide career in education, ranging from art teacher in a hospital school to creative writing tutor and lecturer. She has three children, five great-grand-children and loves dogs!
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Raiders From the Sea - Susan Skinner
About the Author
Susan Skinner is a writer and calligrapher. She has published four collections of poetry. Her agent (not for poetry) is Lesley Pollinger who has enabled Susan to publish a number of children’s novels. Susan has had a wide career in education, ranging from art teacher in a hospital school to creative writing tutor and lecturer. She has three children, five great-grand-children and loves dogs!
Dedication
To my family with love.
Copyright Information ©
Susan Skinner 2024
The right of Susan Skinner to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781035845361 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781035845378 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.co.uk
First Published 2024
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®
1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Acknowledgement
I would like to acknowledge the help and encouragement of my writing friends and my agent Lesley Pollinger.
Prologue
There is no knowing how many birds shelter on Lindisfarne and on the small islands off the Inner Farne, where in the seventh century Saint Cuthbert built his cell. Eider ducks, puffins, black-legged kittiwakes, terns, common guillemots, shags, and common gulls. In summer, the screams of birds and the silent and unseen parade of seals that leave the sea to bask on the rocks make up the fascination of this tiny place. And yet there is no true peace. For still, as if caught in a time bubble, you can hear them coming – the slash of their oars, the tramping of their feet up from the shore, the blood-curdling cries as they approach the monastery and assault the peace of the people who had trusted the earth and all that was in it…
Part One
Durwyn’s Story
793 AD
Chapter One
Round the Fire
In 875 A.D., King Ethelwulf fought at Charmouth with thirty-five ships’ crews, and the Danes remained masters of the place. (Anglo-Saxon Chronicle)
‘Wilbur and Rinc,’ said our great-grandfather Durwyn in a voice that was more solemn than usual. ‘When I was a boy of your age, our island was invaded, and we were all in great danger.’
He was sitting in his special chair by the fire, where he spent many hours of his time. ‘My hermitage,’ he called his chair, ‘where I can think and pray and tell you stories.’ Usually, his tales were light-hearted, but tonight, he was different. He seemed to be looking at us with compassion. He paused before he said, ‘I foresee that sometime soon you too will be in great danger.’
Rinc and I looked at each other fearfully. We always believed what great-grandfather told us because he was the wisest and oldest person on this island. He once said to me, ‘Wilbur, you can defeat most things, but not time.’ And yet, at ninety-two, it seemed as if he had.
That evening, the earth was covered with frost, and the moon hung on the tree outside our house. Great-grandfather continued in his croaky voice, ‘I am going to tell you the tale of my faraway youth, when I was a boy like you. Maybe you will learn a little, and it will help you to be brave. By the way, do call me Durwyn and not great-grandfather.’ He smiled. ‘Durwyn reminds me of my youth.’
He shut his eyes as if he were imagining the time when he was a boy again. His lips moved, and he whispered as if to himself, ‘In those days, I looked a little like you, Wilbur.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Rinc. Then he whispered to me, ‘It’s hard to believe that Durwyn was once robust and wayward and had red hair and blue eyes like you. Now his hair is white, he’s quite thin, and there are lines all around his mouth.’
I shook my head, for I believed everything Durwyn said. We waited silently until he opened his eyes. When he was wide-awake, he spoke in a light and poetic way as he often did when he told us stories.
‘Of course, memory is a funny thing,’ he said, ‘and it was such a long time ago when I was a boy. Besides, I never know where my imagination will take me when the fire is merrily flaming and the stars are guarding the world. But within the bounds of a very old man’s memory, my story will be as true as I can make it. However’ – he looked at us with a twinkle in his eye – ‘I will talk about myself as if I were another person; it will give me a little more leeway, make it seem more like the sort of tale I usually tell you.’
Rinc fetched some more logs from the cellar below, where Faeder hoarded them for the winter and kept straw for the animals. He carefully put the driest logs on the dying fire, and we watched as the flames spurted up as if they were alive. A soft light danced on Durwyn’s pale, wrinkled face.
Despite the glow of the fire, he looked fragile as he repeated in a more sombre way, ‘Try to listen and learn from the story of my childhood, for we are in dangerous times and you never know what may happen or what you will be called to do.’
Chapter Two
Durwyn’s Story
793 A.D. This year came dreadful fore-warnings over the land of the Northumbrians…Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
‘It happened in 793,’ Durwyn began. ‘All that year there had been forewarnings that something terrible was about to happen. Very often and without warning, lightning cut through the sky, and Thunor – the great god of thunder – shouted as if he were very angry. Whirlwinds swept up everything in their path, wheat was damaged, and many islanders had to live on dried carrots, parsnips and onions.’
One evening, when he was a boy of ten, Durwyn was on the beach with his younger brother, Caelin, watching the sea storm along the shore like a hundred galloping horses. He felt impelled to turn his gaze upwards. ‘Look, look!’ he cried to his brother. ‘Can you see between those grey-black, winged clouds there’s a fiery dragon flying through the stars? It’s a frightening omen. One day, not too far off, wild men will come from the sea and destroy everything in their path.’
Caelin faced him. ‘How do you know? How do you really know?’
Durwyn punched his brother on the chest. ‘Because I do.’
Caelin laughed and called him a liar. ‘You don’t even have a beard, so how can you know such things?’
The question was unanswerable, so they sat back on the beach and watched the fishing boats rock to and fro. The howling wind rose up even higher, spraying their blue eyes with salt and seaweed.
At this point, great-grandfather Durwyn broke off and looked at us carefully. ‘Those brothers were not unlike you two,’ he said, smiling a little.
‘What is more, you