Dying Fall, A by Elly Griffiths Read Free Book Online Page A

the culture of the Pacific Tlingit people, there is a Creator Raven, known as the Owner of Daylight, but there is also a childish Raven, forever performing nasty tricks such as stealing the sun.
    According to Livy, the Roman general Marcus Valerius Corvus had a raven settle on his helmet during combat with a gigantic Gaul. The raven flew into his enemy’s face and allowed Marcus to win the fight. Henceforward, the general always had a raven on his flag. The Vikings too often went into battle under the device of the raven. Ragnar Lodbrok had a raven banner called
Reafan.
It was said that if the banner fluttered, Lodbrok would carry the day. King Harald Hardrada had a raven banner known as
Landeythan,
the land-waster.
    The Norse names are making Ruth’s eyelids droop. She scans the next few pages quickly—Tower of London, Edgar Allen Poe,
corvus corax
. . . Then her eyes light on two familiar words.
    ‘It is sometimes thought (she reads) that King Arthur’s spirit left his body in the form of a raven. For this reason, Arthur is sometimes known as the Raven King.’
    King Arthur.
    Could Dan possibly have found the body of King Arthur?
    Her phone bleeps, alerting her to a text message. She has a bad feeling about this, a premonition, you might say.
    Keep away from Pendle. You have been warned.
    Tramps like us, sings Bruce Springsteen, baby we were born to run.

6
    ‘A summer holiday in Lancashire,’ says Judy. ‘You must be mad.’
    ‘I haven’t definitely decided to go,’ says Ruth, rather defensively. ‘But I’ve been asked to look at some bones at Pendle University.’
    ‘Sounds wild,’ says Judy. ‘I went to Southport once. Never again.’
    Ruth sighs. She is finding Judy rather hard going. She has popped in on her way home from the dig to see mother and baby. Actually, it was rather a trek from Swaffham and Ruth is feeling that Judy ought to be, well, not grateful exactly, but at least pleased to see her. So far, Judy has not even offered her a cup of tea. It’s another lovely evening but they are sitting in a stuffy sitting room with the windows closed. The air smells of nappy bags. Judy, wearing stained jeans and a man’s shirt, is obviously conforming to the Ruth style of post-birth wardrobe rather than the Shona yummy-mummy look. Ruth doesn’t blame her for this in the least but she does feel that Judy could make some effort. She didn’t even laugh at the latest Clough story. (Last week Clough burst into an illegal gambling den with such force that he fell down two flights of stairs; the den turned out to be the local bridge club.)
    ‘Has he got a new girlfriend yet?’ asks Judy, with something like a sneer.
    ‘Nelson says he’s going out with a lap dancer.’
    Judy snorts. ‘Wishful thinking. Bet that’s just what Nelson would like to do himself.’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ says Ruth, appalled at the idea. ‘Nelson’s quite prudish really.’
    ‘If you say so.’
    There is a slight pause. Ruth looks down at the baby, asleep in his Moses basket. His hands are clasped on the crocheted blanket as if he’s praying.
    ‘Have you thought of a name yet?’ she asks.
    ‘Yes,’ says Judy.
    ‘Well, what is it?’ asks Ruth. ‘Are you going to make me play twenty questions?’
    Judy looks away. ‘Michael,’ she says, towards the window.
    Ruth wonders if she’s heard right. ‘Michael?’
    Judy looks back at her, chin raised. ‘Yes, Michael.’
    Ruth looks back at the sleeping baby, her mind racing. Why has Judy named her child after Cathbad? Does this mean that Cathbad is the father? Does Judy think that Ruth doesn’t know Cathbad’s real name? Does she suspect that Ruth suspects about Cathbad?
    ‘It’s a lovely name,’ she says at last. ‘Strong.’
    Judy shrugs. ‘He’s got strong lungs at any rate.’
    On cue, Michael wakes up and starts crying. Ruth takes the opportunity to escape.
    ‘I’d better be going,’ she says. ‘Max is coming down tonight.’
    ‘Romantic evening in,