Catching a movement from some bushes further along, he peered more closely, wondering what animal could live or hunt on such vertical terrain. For a moment he stared astonished. Every bush and outcrop on the cliff face, above and on either side of them, seemed crowded with little brown creatures with spindly legs and arms, bulbous bellies and bulbous eyes. He had never before seen anything like them. Their faces were strangely human, yet he knew that they could not be. They sat on twigs and plants that surely could not bear an ounce of weight, swinging their legs, chattering, eagerly watching, as though the two men in their adversity were some kind of freak show put on specially for their entertainment. Then Gerin blinked, and when he looked again they were gone – or rather he had the feeling that they were still there but he could no longer see them. He blinked again, several times, staring and peering but there was now no sight or sound of them. Deciding he must have imagined them he tried to concentrate on the problem of getting off the cliff face safely. If they had got down, there must surely be a way up. But they had slithered down without thinking, carried by the powerful instinct of survival. Now with his conscious mind he could see no way for them to go. Beside him Rheged was trembling with the effort of keeping his position, so he must think of something soon. If they could not go up again, was it possible to go down? He turned his attention in that direction. It was a long way to the valley floor and seemed just as difficult as the way up. But then he spotted something that might be of help. A long slanting fault traversed the rock face from left to right about ten foot below them. If they could only reach that crack they would be able to work their way along it until the cliff crumbled into a scree of boulders to the west. From there it would be relatively easy to clamber down. Gerin searched until he found the foothold he needed. Carefully, painfully, inch-by-inch, they eased themselves down the rock face until their feet at last slid into the cliff’s long scar. From there it was a matter of patience and persistence, until finally they were slipping and slithering down the scree to the valley floor.
They were safe, but on foot – and a long way from where they wanted to be.
* * * *
Olwen’s father was a younger son of a minor nobleman at the court of Garwys, the High King, and although she had no riches she had possessed a certain status at court which made her a suitable choice for companion to the princess in her new married life. Olwen was well used to making decisions and giving orders among the other women who attended Viviane, and she could see that she would have to make decisions and give orders now. Cai, though much improved, was still in no fit state to think and act coherently, and nor was Elined. So Olwen resolved, Caradawc being in the dangerous mood he was, that they should follow the king’s other friends and make good their escape.
* * * *
For a long while Viviane lay in the little bare room at the monastery, listening to the songbirds and the honk of wild duck as they passed overhead. Occasionally she heard a voice calling or the clank of cooking pots and at regular intervals the faint sweet sound of singing. She tried to forget all the dreadful beings she had seen and remember that there was always that ladder-like beam of mysterious light for any who sought it. Finally, too tired to worry any more about her problems, she fell asleep.
Caradawc and she were walking together in an apple orchard. It was spring and clouds of blossom surrounded them. They were intensely aware of each other and of every detail of the scene around them: the waxy-white petals with the dark pink underflush; the small birds hopping about on the mossy bark, prising out minute insects with their sharp little beaks; the sky extra-deep blue between the clusters of blossom: sunlight on grass, sunlight on Caradawc’s hair, sunlight on the hand that rested on her waist. She was completely happy. They were not talking, yet communicating perfectly. Both knew when the moment was right, and they turned simultaneously to touch lips. They lay in the grass and explored each other tenderly and carefully as though making sure that everything about each other was known and loved; every hair, every nail, every cleft . . . it was not so much passion as contentment . . .
In a way she knew while it was happening that it was a dream. Yet she knew also that it would happen, detail by detail . . . exactly and precisely . . .
* * * *
It was this idyllic scene that Idoc witnessed in his shattered fragment of scrying mirror; and it was this scene that finally made him put his head in his hands and despair. Did Caradawc mean so much to her then, that she would dare even those dark regions to rescue him? He, Idoc, had Caradawc’s physical form but it seemed that it was not enough. Had he, Idoc, ever had her love? Even in those ancient days? She had desired him, yes, but had she ever loved him as she now loved Caradawc?
* * * *
As Olwen rode out with Cai and Elined, her thoughts were mostly with the handsome Gerin, for, since her first arrival at Castle Goreu, she had nursed a hopeless passion for him. She had no illusions that he shared her feelings, for she had seen the way he looked at Viviane. Indeed, apart from Viviane, Olwen was probably the only one at court who suspected Gerin of his attachment for Caradawc’s princess.
Were he and Rheged now safe from pursuit? Where would they hide? In all this land, where would they be safe from the king’s wrath?
She looked at Cai and Elined, and sighed. They seemed so unaware of the danger they were in – riding close together, taking every opportunity to linger . . . to touch hands and to gaze into each other’s eyes. She could see they were weaving a golden cocoon of dreams around themselves no less inimical to them than Elined’s lie.
It was clear to Olwen that it was she who must be strong and sensible. It was not the time to be dreaming about Gerin.
At last she felt they were safe enough to take a rest. Immediately the two lovers locked themselves in each other’s arms, while Olwen took the horses down to the stream to drink. On the north side of the stream rose a precipitous cliff, its rock face cracked and scarred and veined. There were rust-red drip marks where the rains had leached out the irons, and huge areas of the surface were mapped out in orange and yellow lichen. On the south side, however, the landscape opened out and rolled away in gentle hills and wooded valleys.
Olwen sat on a boulder beside the stream while the horses drank. She was tired and discouraged. She was no longer sure what to do, and wondered if they’d been wrong to leave the castle. She had thought to take Elined back to her father, but she saw no prospect of reaching Huandaw before nightfall. She wondered if Caradawc was back at Castle Goreu yet, and what measures he would take to retrieve his bride and the other fugitives. She laid her head back against the trunk of a tree wearily, and began to drift off to sleep.
In her dreams the forces pursuing her were demon-faced. She saw black cloaks billowing out like wings behind them.
She woke with a shriek.
In front of her stood two men: Gerin and Rheged.
‘Whoa,’ said Gerin gently. ‘Steady. We’ll do you no harm.’
She stared at them in astonishment. ‘I . . . I thought . . .’ she stammered.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, obviously puzzled.
She wondered if he would notice how her pulse was racing and how flushed her cheeks were. He leant over, reaching out a steady hand to help her to her feet, his eyes deep blue in a tanned face, his hair as black as her own and curling against his neck. Her own hand was trembling as she took his.
‘I thought it best to leave the castle . . . The king is not himself . . .’
He smiled grimly. ‘I had noticed,’ he said. ‘But surely you would have been in no danger?’
‘Perhaps not – but I was afraid for Cai and Elined.’
‘Cai? Is Cai here?’ Gerin looked around eagerly, and she felt she had already lost his attention. He had held her hand no longer than he needed; he had not gazed into her eyes as she had gazed into his.
‘I left them in that grove of trees there,’ she pointed. ‘They . . . we were all very tired,’ she added, loath to let him go. But
without another word he turned and strode away towards the trees, leaving her alone with Rheged, who sank on to the grassy bank beside her with a groan. She noticed for the first time how pale he was, and how awkwardly he was sitting, hunched with pain. She had heard of the dreadful beating he had received, and could see now how his clothes were sticking to the dried blood on his back. He flexed his shoulders very gingerly as though trying to release them.
‘Wait,’ she cried. ‘You need water for that. Come.’ She drew him nearer the stream and carefully soaked the fabric until it loosened, then she took off his shirt and bathed his back.
‘These weals don’t look infected,’ she said. ‘I think you’ve been lucky.’
He laughed ruefully and, realizing what she’d said, she laughed too. ‘You know what I mean . . .’
He grinned at her gratefully. ‘It feels better already. Could you give me a drink?’
She stooped to the water and brought up her cupped hands. Gratefully he drank from them. She did not notice Gerin and the others close behind them until he put his hand on her shoulder, and her body seemed to melt with delight under it.
‘We’ve a lot to thank you for, Olwen,’ he said, and took his hand away, not noticing how it had left her trembling. ‘It’s a godsend to find you here. But we should move on while we can and try to reach the Community of the Fish before nightfall.’ He looked musingly at the sky. The long summer day was coming to an end and no amount of wishing would extend it.
Cai seemed well recovered now that he was with his friends. He and Elined took one of the horses, Rheged another – and Gerin and Olwen, the third. Above them the swallows darted and swooped . . . marking the air with their invisible calligraphy. When she was a child Olwen had pretended she could read what the swallows wrote in the air with their swift, sure movements; and made up songs for her little sister, claiming that they were the swallows’ songs. Sometimes she had even convinced herself. She smiled wryly. Those days seemed very far away and she could no longer read what the swallows wrote. Nor could she read what was in Gerin’s thoughts as he held her lightly against his chest, his chin against her temple, his eyes staring straight ahead.
Chapter 11
The destruction of the tower
When Viviane awoke she knew part of what she had to do to help Caradawc.
She could not remember dreaming it, nor being told; she just seemed to know. She must return to the dread tower, and somehow contrive that both Idoc and Caradawc were present at the same time. She did not have any idea how she was going to bring this about, nor what she had to do then, but she sensed it was crucial for Caradawc’s ‘return’ to the present world. Father Brendan had told her that she could hold Caradawc within her for a while by the power and sincerity of her love, but this hold was dangerous to both of them and must not be prolonged.
In the early afternoon she began to feel dizzy and nearly missed her footing on a step. She found she had to lie down for a while to recover, but as she lay her body began to feel as though it were dematerialising . . . as though she were drifting away from it. She was frightened, and struggled to regain control.
‘No,’ she prayed, ‘please . . . don’t . . .’
She was not sure what was happening, but it seemed that Caradawc’s thoughts and not her own were now occupying her mind. Like a drowning man who holds too tightly to his rescuer, Caradawc was clinging so desperately to her that she was beginning to lose her own identity to his.
A voice suddenly recalled her: the rich, commanding voice of Father Brendan. Speaking her name repeatedly, he seized her by the shoulders and shook her awake. She could feel the calloused strength of his hands.
She opened her eyes in relief, and turned to thank him – but there was no one there.
She rose up at once and hurried outside.
Seeing Sister Bridget gardening, she asked her where Father Brendan was.
‘He’s in the hermit’s chapel,’ the nun replied, looking up, trowel in hand, surprised at the agitation in Viviane’s voice.
‘How long has he been in there?’
‘At least an hour.’
‘He did not come out a few moments ago?’
‘No. But if you want him urgently . . .’
Viviane did not wait for her to finish, but hurried away towards the stables. Bridget looked after her, alarmed. She put down the heavy iron tool and hurried towards the chapel, dusting her hands on her skirt as she went. At the doorway she looked back just in time to see Viviane leading her white mare out into the yard.
This decided Bridget. She tapped gently at the door and, without waiting for permission, eased it open. Father Brendan was on his knees, deep in prayer, before one of the wall carvings which was brilliantly illuminated by a sword of light . . . It was of the Christ as Jesus walking on the water . . . the faith that could move mountains.
Bridget stood awkwardly at the door, not knowing what to do. She knew that Viviane was quite at liberty to go off riding on her mare if she wanted to, or, indeed, to leave the community at any time. It was just that her expression had been so distraught . . .
Brendan rose and came to stand beside her, looking out into the yard in time to see Viviane and Hunydd leap the low wooden gate and go off through the trees and down the valley towards the outer world.
‘I’m sorry I disturbed you, Father,’ Bridget apologized, ‘but she looked so frantic.’
Brendan’s face was thoughtful. Bridget expected him to call out to someone to follow Viviane, but he did not.
‘Should not someone at least go with her?’ she asked anxiously.
‘No, not now,’ he said. ‘There’s something she has to do. We can only pray that she’ll be guided by our Lord – and that she’ll not forget what she has learned. It is essential that the choices she makes now are her own.’
Bridget and the rest of the community had not been told the full story of Viviane’s reason for being with them. For the most part they had respected her privacy and made no inquiries. But at this moment Bridget’s curiosity was too much for her.
‘How can I pray for her if I don’t know what I’m to pray for?’ she asked.
Brendan smiled. ‘You know all you need to know,’ he said firmly.
She bowed her head. He had chided her many times about underestimating the ‘unseen’ part of herself. She sighed – sometimes it all seemed too difficult. At this moment she would much rather leap on a horse and follow Viviane than stay behind and bring the different levels of her consciousness under enough control for prayer.
* * * *
Viviane had one thought in mind: to reach the dark tower and bring this whole nightmare to resolution. She dreaded the thought of returning to that place, but she knew she had been ‘told’ to go there, and go she must.
Caradawc was with her – within her. This time she was not alone.
As she rode she began to feel excited and confident, believing that now she understood the problem it would be easier to resolve. Her reluctance to return to the tower changed to eagerness, and she urged Hunydd to hurry.
She fancied at one time that she heard Caradawc’s voice warning her not to go further, but she took no notice.
* * * *
It had been Gerin’s intention to reach the Community of the Fish before nightfall, and he did everything in his power to do so, driven on by the thought of seeing Viviane again: but it was not to be. They took several wrong turns and found themselves with still a long way to go, and the afternoon closing in fast. Elined was very tired and pleaded for rest. Olwen could have gone on forever as long as Gerin was with her, but she agreed to the rest, thinking to prolong her time with Gerin and put off the moment when they rejoined the princess.
They had seen no sign of their pursuers, and hoped that they had given up the chase. An occasional peasant crossed their path, but none that they might fear. The only hostility they encountered was from a fisherman standing as still as a heron on the river bank, who scowled and looked at them as though
they were mad when they asked the way to the Community of the Fish. Afterwards they laughed about it, realizing how the question must have sounded to him; but now it was the end of the day and they were worried when they realized they had nowhere to spend the night. The sky looked as though it had been covered with a pink veil, now roughly torn aside. Filmy shreds were still drifting and floating. The birds were winging home . . . long whip-like strings of starlings high in the air – moving together as though they were one being, clouds of smaller birds – bobbing in unison – below them. The strange, intensified light of evening picked out trees individually and cast their shadows extraordinarily long against the vivid, almost luminous green of a grassy hill. They heard the high, ululating call of the herdboy, and watched him, first as a moving speck behind his cows, gradually taking shape as he approached the valley. They were now in shadow, while the peak of the opposite hill was still in a blaze of light.
Gerin and Olwen rode ahead of the others and came to a halt at the point where the boy would join the path.
The cows flowed around them on either side like water parting around a boulder in a stream. The herdboy stopped and stared at them. He was an ungainly lad, the kind that has grown too fast for his clothes. He slouched as though ashamed of his height, and the hand gripping the hazel cow-switch seemed too big and bony for the skinny wrist that protruded from his ragged sleeve. Without the openness usual in people who spend a great deal of time in the hills, his expression was sullen, suspicious and surly.
Gerin asked him the way to the nearest farmhouse, and whether the farmer would give them shelter for the night.
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