Freya's Quest
Authors: Julian Lawrence Brooks
Note on the AuthorJulian Lawrence Brooks
was born in Bromley in 1967, the eldest of two sons of an architect and a psychotherapist, and grew up in the small Kentish village of Ulcombe. He was educated at Maidstone Grammar School, Liverpool and Greenwich Universities, and Caldecott and Mid-Kent Colleges. He has worked in various forms of therapeutic treatment for children, adults and families. Despite being registered severely visually impaired, he spends most of his free time gallivanting around the high mountains of the British Isles. He lives with his fiancée in Maidstone, and has two children.
For my family & friends
&
to the memory of all those
I have lost along the way
2 August, 1987
THE TWIN TOWERS of the Gothic gatehouse stood stark against the darkening sky, their battlements framed by beech trees. Ivy crept over the lower portions of the hewn stonework, invading the lower arrow slits. I shivered at its cold austerity and wondered what might lie beyond the archway, barred by its wrought-iron portcullis.
Heavy clouds rolled in, as I sat in my car and ate the last of my sandwiches. I gazed through the windscreen as forked lightning streaked across the sky between the towers, illuminating the gatehouse further and creating an even greater sense of eeriness. I was startled by the first clap of thunder and dropped my thermos flask, revealing my nervous state.
I knew it was time to go as the heavy downpour began. My Fiat started at the third attempt and it jolted over the ruts of the forestry lay-by as I drove towards the metalled road. The gatehouse was on the brow of the hill, surrounded by dense conifer plantations. I took one last look before driving away, keeping in low gear as the gradient steepened.
The thunderstorm intensified as I went down the hill. The rain came down in torrents. The windscreen wipers fought a losing battle to clear my vision. As I approached a bend in the road, the car’s engine began to stutter. Then it cut out completely and I cruised to a halt. I peered through the rain-splattered windscreen. I was still in the middle of the forest. In the loneliest spot imaginable.
I tried the ignition. The engine spluttered back into life. My hopes rose, only for them to fade away when the engine died once more. I crossed my fingers and tried again; then again. But the engine just turned over. And this became more laboured as the battery weakened. I slammed my fists against the steering wheel in frustration.
I sat there in silence, with the rain lashing down onto the car. The vinyl sunroof began to sag under the weight of water. Rivulets flowed across the tarmac in front of me. I was in a hollow in the road. I guessed it would probably flood before the night was out.
I lay my head in my hands and propped up my arms against the steering wheel, thinking about my next move. As the night descended, I decided to look at my map book under torchlight. I calculated I was ten miles from the nearest settlement and public telephone; and the building the gatehouse guarded was now two miles back up the road. I didn’t fancy a long walk in this rain, let alone in darkness. I’d left the hotel in such a hurry that I hadn’t even had time to bring a sturdy raincoat.
After further contemplation, I climbed out of the car, fighting the wind and the wet. I hugged my leather jacket against my body, knowing I would soon be drenched. I opened the rear engine compartment and shone the torch inside. I squinted at the mechanical components, knowing I’d have to find the distributor and its cables. As I turned to get a better view, I was dazzled by headlights. A vehicle was coming around the bend behind me. It was nearly upon me. And my Fiat was right in the middle of the road, almost blind to the oncoming traffic.
I thought it was about to ram into the back of my car. I would be crushed in between! I dived into the ditch.
The driver of the Land Rover must have seen me only at the last minute. When he finally reacted, he tried to swerve around the Fiat. He would have succeeded, but for a final aquaplaning that sent him crunching into the side of the car. The Land Rover came to rest amidst screeching brakes and exhaust fumes.
The man then reversed, so he could survey the car and its driver through the beam of his headlights. He climbed down from the cab, hunching his shoulders and putting up the hood of his cagoule. He examined the damage he’d caused. He gazed through the windows as if looking for occupants.
I shouted over to him, waving my hand. I had fallen heavily into the ditch, bruising my left side. The large volume of water had saved me from worse injury, but had saturated my clothing.
He came over and hauled me out of the water. ‘Are you OK?’ he shouted, pushing back my hair and looking into my face.
I nodded feebly.
He guided me over to the back of the Land Rover, lifting me through the rear door and sitting me down on the floor. There were blankets inside. He placed them around me in an attempt to warm me up.
‘I broke down….Been here some time,’ I mumbled. I was shivering.
He turned on the interior light to assess my condition more closely. Now I could view my rescuer. He was a handsome, clean-shaven man, with a mop of black hair pushed back over his forehead. He looked to be around my age – early to mid-thirties.
‘Will you be all right for a moment?’
I nodded.
He left me alone. He went to the front, brought out a torch and proceeded to inspect my car. He returned a few minutes later. ‘You won’t get that going in a hurry.’
‘The electrics’ve failed, I know.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. And the accident damage hasn’t helped, either. Hope you didn’t have far to go?’
I looked at him, speechless, feeling defeated.
‘Where’re you headed?’
I didn’t answer.
‘Where’ve you come from?’ he persisted.
‘Oh, London. But I’ve spent a few weeks on the coast of Wales. Now I’m heading north.’
‘I see. Long way to be travelling on your own, isn’t it? And on such a back route. ’Specially this time of night.’
‘Maybe – but I can look after myself.’
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. ‘Doesn’t look like it!’
I shrugged, too tired and cold to argue with him. ‘What can I do now?’
‘There’s only one thing for it. I’ll try to tow your car up to my house. It’s only a couple of miles away. You can phone for assistance from there.’
I thanked him for his generosity.
He drove back in front of the Fiat, stopped, brought out a towrope and rigged it up between the two vehicles. He had to do all this in the face of the storm that raged on relentlessly. I felt guilty about causing this stranger so much hassle.
He returned. ‘You’ll have to steer the car. The wipers won’t work, so it’ll be difficult. Think you’re up to it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. I’ll take it slow. Sooner we get there the better, you’re looking cold.’
I nodded, thanked him again, then returned to the Fiat. I was appalled by the damage to the nearside. The passenger door and the quarter panel had caved in badly.
We set off at a cautious pace. I had to wind down the window and manually wipe the windscreen as I was travelling along, not an easy task in view of the pounding rain. In the end, I gave up altogether and leant out of the window instead, which numbed my head and sent shivers through the rest of my body.
The road meandered through the forestry plantation. Every now and then, the tops of the swaying conifers were lit up by the lightning and their shadows danced across the glistening tarmac.
The journey seemed endless. Eventually, through the gloom, the twin towers of the fortified gatehouse reappeared. I was astonished when the towing vehicle turned into the driveway. The portcullis began to rise, apparently by remote control. As I passed beneath the archway, I glimpsed a security camera surveying me. I must admit it made me feel uneasy.
He towed me up the driveway, lined on either side with mature beech trees.
Suddenly, a screeching and tearing sound filled the air. Then a great thud. Then silence. Then a light crunch as my car hit the back of the Land Rover.
Within seconds, he was tugging open my door, pulling me roughly from the car.
‘What the hell….!’
I choked on my words as he thrust us down the embankment. A large rhododendron bush cushioned our fall.
Then another fearful tearing. Far greater than the first. An awesome shadow flickered past me as I rose to my feet once more. There was a crunching of metal and a shattering of glass.
More lightning filled the sky.
The Fiat lay crushed under the fallen tree.
Not only did I owe this man a tow in foul weather. Now I owed him my very life! A second or more and I’d have been under that uprooted tree myself.
He gripped my shoulders, pulling me away from the wreckage. We hurried up the driveway, through an inner gatehouse and into a courtyard. We rushed over to the entrance, huddling together from the elements whilst he fumbled for the key. Finally he opened the door and we burst across the threshold, dripping wet and shivering. He strained to close the door behind him against the force of the storm.
More thunder boomed around the castle as he guided me through a hallway and into a lounge. The room was dimly lit by candlelight. The furniture was of heavy oak; the walls of bare masonry were lined with paintings and hunting trophies.