The Stone Historian

Chapter 13: The Stone Historian

Thanks to the Face Stone, the scene of the accident was easy to find. The land was rough for the carriage and not really the type of ground his horses were suited to. They were built for endurance and speed and might have struggled to make it up to Caroline’s house, unlike Francis’s draught horse. He left the carriage accompanied by the coachman, spade in hand.

Thomas wondered where his companion, that day, had been thrown to and killed. Of course , he did not remember but assumed that Hugh had suffered a similar trauma. So well hidden was the stone which injured Thomas’s back, it took a couple of hours for them to find it. Whether it was blood or some other form of marking there was a red stain. He reached down and felt a breast. This was no primitive work but almost alive, miraculously preserved, just like he felt about himself being the beneficiary of its magic.

Andrew Anson, not exactly pleased at undertaking this trip with his employer, who he assumed was mad to search for hours in heather, put a spanner in the works. “Sir Thomas, how do you expect the 2 of us to lift that up? It must weigh as much a man … a big man.”

“But the Goddess is beautiful and magical.”

“Stone is stone, sir.” explained the coachman ignoring any other properties it might have.

“So what do you suggest we do?”

Andrew pointed down the hill and told the would be archaeologist that he knew the place to get hold of some labour and a more suitable vehicle.

And so they came to John Baker’s Coffee House on the Stokesley to Helmsley road. Coffee houses tended to be where business, politics and philosophy were discussed without the encumbrance on the brain of ****. By the time they arrived hot food was being served and those that wanted to eat sat a large table. Naturally Thomas became the centre of attention due to the recent event in his life, even more so when he showed one of his floral arms. It did not take him long for one of his fellow diners to offer him the use of his workers and a cart for the next day.

“Why on earth would you want to move a stone?” asked a fat merchant.

“Ah but this is special.” interjected Andrew somewhat sarcastically. Thomas lifted and wagged his finger, a gesture not lost on a scholarly man who had been listening intently.

Samuel Atha had become interested in history at Leeds Grammar School, in particular prehistory. He often travelled up to the moors as his business took him from York to Stockton and on to Whitby, nearly always taking detours to examine the stones. The Face and Hand Stone were well known to him but never suspected anything else was nearby.

After a free space became available the historian moved next to the classicist.

“If you’re interested in stones, Thomas” Sam did not use his title as in the coffee house everyone was equal including servants, “There’s a stone circle just to the south of here and strange markings to the north.”

“Any faces, any elaborate drawings?”

“Come now, they’re all weathered, but the symbols are a mystery. Why are you taking this stone? Surely you should not disturb it. Just how special is it?”

“Oh nothing, my driver thinks it’s nothing.” dismissed Thomas.

“But you do, don’t you. You won’t mind if I accompany you tomorrow.”

“I have enough help.”

“You’re messing with magic, sir. I can tell.”

“How?” replied the increasingly uncomfortable baronet.

“I know about pagan worship. All those barrows were topped with crosses to keep the ancient magic at bay. I don’t believe those places are Christian. I see it in your eyes, you feel the mysticism.”

Thomas Squires made an important decision. He already had plans for the stone after immersing himself in books of lore over the past few weeks, not to mention his dreams. He would probably need help. Who better than someone who already seemed sympathetic?

“I did not catch your name?”

“Samuel Atha” and they shook hands, “But you may call me Sam.”

“Well Sam …”

The listener’s eyes widened as Thomas gave him the full tale. At the end the traveller’s heart was beating with excitement “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll meet you at Gillamoor on my way back from Whitby.”

Thomas was about to go to turn in for the night when his host gestured to him. “Some friends thought you might be interested in some stronger coffee.” suggested John Baker.