Arthur Archer and the Warrior Queen

Hidden well out of sight, the battle-hardened soldiers waited, fear freezing them tightly to where they stood. A dozen druids stood in a circle around the magnificent tree raising their hands to the full moon.

Arthur had thought the seventeenth century uncivilised, but this was something else! The year AD 41 was barbaric beyond belief, the people raw, survival difficult and emotions fierce and free. And yet, there was something about the people, their passions, their wild sense of life…

Once again, Arthur stumbles out of the time portal into an unknown era – this time into the midst of a violent fight where he almost loses his life. Rescued by the druid Omrad, separated from his sister, Emily, who is enslaved by Romans, he becomes deeply and irrevocably involved in the historic events of he day. From the moment he meets the beautiful young warrior princess, Boudicca, history is altered – only time will tell how much.

Can he find Emily and repair the damage he has done? And what does the wily Druid know that he’s not saying? He speaks of Arthur’s destiny, of helping him, but there is something hidden. What is it Omrad really sees in the stars?

Arthur Archer and the

Warrior Queen

Ben Molyneux

Oxfordshire Project Publishing

First published in Great Britain 2014

by Oxfordshire Project Publishing

Copyright © Ben Molyneux 2014

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available

from the British Library

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

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Cover design by Fiendish Ltd.

Cover illustration by James Dolan.

www.benmolyneux.com

www.oxfordshireproject.co.uk

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to my daughter, Helena; she showed so much enjoyment and excitement whilst I read her my first novel that I had to continue the adventure.

Thank you, also, to Bharesh Mandalia for the constant encouragement, to both Jennifer Manson and Jenny Haken for their work on producing and publishing this book and to James Dolan for his wonderful cover design.

Dedication

For my children, always a great source of inspiration and joy:

Helena, Jorge and Emily.

Prologue

41 AD Witney, England.

Hidden well out of sight, the battle-hardened soldiers waited, fear freezing them tightly to where they stood. A dozen druids stood in a circle around the magnificent tree raising their hands to the full moon. ‘The time has come, we are ready, send them forth,’ demanded their leader in a tough, guttural voice. He stood apart on one leg, the other bent up behind him in the stance of a stork or heron, one eye closed and one arm raised. He wore a long loose hooded white garment. The other druids, both men and women, looked up to the sky, waiting, searching between the clouds for a sign from their gods. It came.

Suddenly a large brown owl flew down silhouetted by the moonlight. Its huge wings were silent as it approached the sacred grove. On seeing the bird the druids began to chant. ‘They come,’ said Omrad, still standing awkwardly, his face betraying his nervousness. The lines on his forehead showing his years, his wisdom gained and every battle fought.

A second owl arrived and landed on a branch next to the first, soon followed by a rook, its menacing face and squawk adding to the fear of the Romans and druids alike. Soon the sky was full of birds, from every species imaginable. Something magical was happening, but to the hidden soldiers it looked as if the druids were summoning Orcus himself.

Romulus considered his options. His orders were to kill all of the druids, but he found himself mesmerised by their ritual. He needed to see for himself the powers these men and women possessed. He would wait a little longer. Seeing terror in his men’s eyes he ordered his legionaries to spread out around the grove, each one poised with gladius in hand, creeping silently into position. The druids were oblivious to the impending danger as they stared in awe at the majestic tree.

Chapter I

The wait seemed endless, but eventually George made his move. It was to be a fatal one. As soon as his hand returned to his glass of wine, he saw his mistake. He hoped it would go unnoticed but Charles was too good. Smiling to himself, he pushed his Queen forward to take George’s only remaining Bishop. ‘Checkmate!’ said Charles.

George took a large sip of his claret and then took a deep sigh. It wasn’t the first time he had lost to Charles; in fact, he hadn’t even got close to winning in all these months they had played together. They had become good friends. Charles hadn’t settled into life in the twenty-first century; like a fish out of water, he had struggled with everything. His health had deteriorated, he was constantly suffering from one virus after another. The modern world was so alien from his that he could hardly face it. He had no need for work since the treasures his wife, Queen Henrietta Maria, gave to Emily would keep him a wealthy man for the rest of his life. George had auctioned one of Charles’ rings – it fetched massive amounts of money and not just a little media attention. So for the time being there was no need to sell any more. Knowing what to do with Charles in the long-term was seemingly a little more difficult. His mood was constantly melancholy, he missed his wife and children and he missed being King of England, with all the privileges that came with noble lifestyle.

George could relate to Charles partly because he, too, had lost his wife. She had been tragically killed in a fire the previous year.

In fact, so much had happened to George’s life and that of his family, and all because of a time portal that took the form of an ancient oak tree in his garden. The tree, that could transport people through time, was protected by modern-day druids, but George still thought long and hard about having it chopped down, researched; he had even considered moving house. But for the time being he banned his children, Emily and Arthur, from going anywhere near it. For George, though, being in the garden seemed to have its own magical and therapeutic qualities. It felt like his very own sanctuary.

Arthur was an ordinary teenager. That was until his life changed the previous year when he and his sister Emily were led to the ancient oak – the time portal – in their back garden. Arthur had the misfortune of ending up in 1643, right in the middle of a terrible and bloody civil war.

Had it not been for the sure determination of his younger sister Emily, Arthur would never have found his way home. Emily had discovered the secrets of the tree and set off in search of her brother, only to find that they had already missed their chance of a quick return. They had to wait until the following year when the tree’s unique powers returned. But when she first arrived in 1643, she had no idea where her brother was. So Emily enlisted the help of Prince Rupert, King Charles and Queen Henrietta Maria. It took months of searching to find Arthur – he had been recruited as a soldier in The Parliamentarian Army before fleeing as a fugitive with a price on his head.

After a terrible struggle, Emily successfully found her brother and, between them, they hatched a plot to rescue their protector, King Charles, who was about to be executed. Against all odds and with the help of a few friends, the two siblings made it back to the present day with a reluctant King Charles for company!

Arthur sat at his computer looking away from the screen towards the window. Rain blew hard against the glass. He could see the trees fighting a losing battle against the gale. Glad of his comfort and warmth inside by the radiator, the final pieces of his plan were being formulated in his mind. Only a few days remained before he would return in time to his old house and save his mother from the inferno that claimed her life. He had never been so sure of what needed to be done, but the outcome was what he wrestled with. How would the present change?

Nelson was now a fully grown brown and white speckled Springer Spaniel, full of an enthusiasm for life that Emily loved in him. She picked up his stick, threw it as hard as she could and watched him bound through the mucky grass to retrieve it. Unable to find it, he looked at her for assistance. ‘You’re hopeless, it’s right under your nose!’ She caught him up and ruffled his wet curly hair before throwing the stick again. She, too, was counting down the days until the sacred tree’s unique powers returned. Keeping it a secret from her brother would be the hardest thing, but the ramifications could not be predicted, so she would take this trip alone. She carried on through the field until she reached the iron gates of the cemetery. It was quiet and peaceful; an elderly lady knelt on a gardening blanket whilst she scrubbed at her late husband’s gravestone. She noticed Emily and smiled; she had a granddaughter who resembled the teenage girl, with the same long brown hair that she often tied in a ponytail as Emily was wearing hers. The old lady returned her attention to her chore and thought how sad it was that her grandchildren never visited his grave.

Emily’s stomach turned as she approached her mother’s grave. Nelson scurried off to investigate the surroundings. ‘Hi Mum, I brought you these from our garden,’ she said as she carefully arranged the freshly picked daffodils. She considered whose body may lie in this spot instead. ‘I’m coming to save you. You’ll not be here much longer, I promise.’ The thought cheered her and she decided she wouldn’t allow the moment to consume her with grief; instead she would be positive. ‘Dad’s doing better, I think the money has helped, and Charles of course. You’d like him. He needs help though; we’re not sure what to do with him. He won’t leave the house. Arthur thinks we should see if Mr Blois might be able to help; maybe we should tell him.’ She looked around trying to see Nelson, who had mischievously disappeared out of sight. ‘I miss you, Mum. I can’t wait to see you again. I just know it’s all going to be okay. You can meet Charles at last!’ The thought made her chuckle. ‘I better go and find Nelson. I love you,’ she said as she stopped a small tear in the corner of her eye with her sleeve and set off in search for her dog.

Emily kicked off her wellies and then bashed them against the stone wall, releasing great clumps of muck from their soles. She rinsed the bottoms under the outside tap, trying her hardest not to get her stripy socks wet. Nelson had already disappeared into the house – his filthy paw prints were a common feature inside. She noticed Arthur slouched in front of the television in the lounge, eating from an endless supply of junk food that was piled up beside his chair. ‘I’m back,’ she called, but there was no response. She was met by Charles in the hall. He sneezed loudly into a pink silk handkerchief that she’d given him as a present. ‘Excuse m-me, I seem to be suffering especially today somewhat,’ he said.

‘Poor you, have you taken anything for it?’ she asked sympathetically. Charles shook his head. ‘I don’t trust these medicines of yours.’

‘I’ve been talking with Arthur and we’d like you to meet someone. He’s a teacher of ours, a history teacher, and a friend of Mum’s. I think you’d find him fascinating and you can…’

He stopped her in mid-sentence. ‘I’m n-not r-ready to meet with people. I’m sorry.’ He looked down ashamed, and she could feel his embarrassment. The once proudest man of England, a king and ruler of millions, brought to this point, too scared to meet with a kind old teacher. He walked past her and found his comfortable chair in the conservatory. Like an old dog whose best days were long behind him, he gazed out of the window before blowing his sore nose. Emily felt guilty, and for the first time believed perhaps she had made a mistake. She remembered the moment she had met him in Oxford. He was so proud, so enigmatic, so interested in life. Seeing him now, it was as if he was empty; as if a large part of him had remained behind.

They decided that the only way to tell Mr Blois about Charles was to tell him the truth. He probably wouldn’t believe them. If that was to happen they hadn’t lost anything by trying. They decided that school wasn’t the place to bring up the subject, so Mr Blois, being the type of man who cared passionately for his students, invited them around for a chat after school when they approached him.

‘So why don’t you start from the beginning?’ said Mr Blois, who gestured for them to sit next to each other on an old, worn out, homely sofa. His cottage was full of incredibly unusual artefacts. Arthur found his eyes flitting all over the room. A Native American Indian headdress hung next to an African war spear. In a dark wooden cabinet in the corner of the room lay a Japanese Samurai helmet and sword. ‘Where did you get all this stuff?’ Arthur asked.

‘Stuff my dear boy? These items are not stuff! My travels have taken me far and beyond most people’s,’ he said. His eyes drifted up as he recalled a fond memory.

Not knowing where to start, Emily looked at Arthur to begin. He promptly declined, leaving it to Emily to try to explain.

‘Rose Cottage has a time portal in its garden!’ she blurted out, and then waited for stunned, unbelieving silence. Instead she received a knowing smile.

‘So you found it then,’ Mr Blois replied. Both Arthur’s and Emily’s jaws almost dropped to the floor. ‘Please, tell me what happened to you. Tea?’ They both nodded and he poured them a cup from a lovely old-fashioned teapot. ‘I was given this by Florence Nightingale.’ He looked up, waiting to see if the name was recognised by the teenagers. ‘The Crimean War nurse,’ he added.

‘Oh, I didn’t realise you were that old!’ spluttered Arthur, surprised, and not meaning to cause offence.

‘I’m not!’ he chuckled and looked at them with a knowing smile.

The siblings recounted their adventure through the portal, how Emily met Dew the druidess, how she knew she had a year to find Arthur and bring him home. They talked about their experiences in the seventeenth century and the harshness of the English Civil War. Occasionally Mr Blois would stop them and ask questions about the smallest detail. He was fascinated in every word they spoke. ‘I have been to many centuries but never the seventeenth,’ he commented, as if he was talking about travelling around Europe. Eventually Emily told him about King Charles the First and how he was no longer an historical monarch beheaded by the Parliamentarians, but instead resided at Rose Cottage.

‘I see. The disappearance of the King has been a mystery for centuries; scholars have spent their whole careers coming up with different theories behind it. Oh dear children, and to think it was you all along!’ He laughed out loud. ‘People have even suggested it was an alien abduction! So, when do I get to meet him?’

Admiring his new suit in the mirror, Charles allowed himself a rare moment of joy. He had cropped his hair short and resembled a businessman rather than a king. He had chosen his clothes from a catalogue with the help of Emily and Arthur. The shoes were a good fit, too, and he spent time admiring the stitching and intricate details. He walked around his room practising some of the new vocabulary he had picked up, and the sayings he now understood. ‘Very p-pleased to m-make your acquaintance, Mr Blois,’ he said out loud whilst shaking an imaginary person’s hand. He was looking forward to meeting somebody new and, although first being reluctant, he was now excited.

Arthur knocked on his door, as he often did. The two had found each other’s company worthwhile. Charles was an excellent help with Arthur’s homework, although he did have a tendency to complain about how bad the modern day education was and how little Arthur knew. For Charles, through talking with Arthur he was able to live a little outside the walls of the cottage that had imprisoned him. ‘Young Arthur, welcome. T-tell me, how was your d-day?’ asked Charles as Arthur entered.

‘It was tough actually. They set us a mock exam; if it’s anything like the real one, then I’m in trouble,’ Arthur said as he walked over and sat on Charles’ bed.

‘It’s a shame your s-sister can’t s-sit them for you,’ said Charles mockingly. ‘Is there anything I c-can help you w-with?’

‘Some of us aren’t cut out to be academics. To be honest I don’t think I even care what grades I get. I’m going to run my own business, I just haven’t figured out what yet!’ he said with all the enthusiasm of youth. Arthur was now sixteen years old and felt school was holding him back. He had experienced a lot so far in his short life. His year in the seventeenth century had changed him; he felt and looked older than the rest of his class. Although he had returned the day he left, his body and his mind had aged a year. It was hard to explain to people his sudden change. He had experienced love and death, of life in the army; he had seen firsthand a battle won and lost; he had been outlawed and chased across the country; he had buried his best friend and won over the admiration of his foes.

‘As f-far as I know, you c-cannot leave s-school for another year or so. As you are there, you m-may as well m-make the most of it. And whilst you’re there you c-can play your b-business empire,’ said Charles.

‘Please, call me Henry,’ said Mr Blois shaking Charles’ hand with a firm, manly grip. ‘It is a great honour to meet you,’ said the kindly teacher.

‘For me, too. I am s-so looking f-forward to hearing about all of your t-time travels, and of course to hear how Arthur really is at s-school!’ replied Charles.

The mention of the time portal had immediately made George feel uneasy. ‘Maybe I should take Arthur and Emily out for the evening. I’m afraid I have forbidden them to use the portal again and I don’t want the whole thing glorified,’ said George awkwardly. He was a kind man in his late fifties. A little stubborn at times, an intellectual with an over-protective nature towards his children, brought about after the death of his wife, Elizabeth.

‘No, please don’t, Dad. You know we’re not going to use it again, we promised, didn’t we,’ pleaded Emily. Arthur and Emily both looked at their father trying to look sincere, but managing to look incredibly guilty instead.

‘Okay, I have to admit I am very curious as to how much Henry actually knows and who he has met,’ George said grudgingly.

‘Well, it all began for me when I was just fifteen. It was the sixties, and times were very different then. My Aunt Celia was a nanny for the children who lived here; we used to play together. As you know already, the whole family went missing one day – it became big national news. We had journalists knocking around the town for days. So after the police had finished their investigation, I snuck back into the garden. Nobody actually lived here then so it was quite easy really. I went as often as I could, and then one spring afternoon a large owl appeared. He was the most beautiful of birds and he actually led me to the old oak tree. I say he, because I imagined it was a he, but it could have just as easily been female. The tree had all sorts of things growing over it, but