“You don’t seem like a troublemaker to me, Jared.”
The youth shrugged. “Nah. Well, yeah. I don’t know really. Incorrigible was what they said. I don’t even know what it means.”
“You live with your gran?”
“Yeah.”
“Is that an all right arrangement?”
Another shrug, making the cross swing dangerously close to Antony’s head. “She’s a’right. Me mam’s…well—away a lot.”
Antony nodded. He had read the report. Single mother, on drugs, in and out of jail. Little wonder Jared lacked direction. Antony suspected wayward friends. Jared seemed like an accommodating personality who could easily be led astray—or led to the good. A challenging goal for the priest suddenly put in charge of him.
They walked on with strides lengthened by the invigorating morning air and cheering sunshine. At this pace they would easily cover the day’s miles. Antony would welcome a restful evening at St Mary’s in Risca. He was enjoying thoughts of the possibility of a quiet time with Felicity until he heard a whoop from Colin, walking at the front with Ryan. “Bronze Age burial cairns!”
Antony smiled. At least Colin was predictable. No problem with that one lacking direction for his energies.
“Where?” But there was a surprise. Antony could have sworn that excited query came from the hitherto nearly silent Kaylyn. He had heard her voice so little, though, it was hard to be certain.
“Colin, wait!” No mistaking that voice as Felicity strove to halt Colin’s downhill plunge toward the mounds of stone with Evie and Kaylyn right behind him.
Whether it was Felicity’s warning or the unevenness of the ground that made them decelerate, Colin and the girls slowed enough for the others to catch up with them.
“Don’t rush,” Antony cautioned Colin. “Those stones have been there for thousands of years. They aren’t going anywhere now.”
Colin grinned. “Actually, about four thousand years.”
“Oooh, older than the Volturi.” If Antony hadn’t been so near he wouldn’t have heard Evie’s whisper to Kaylyn; as it was, the reference was meaningless.
Michael, who had arrived at the farmhouse in the middle of the night blaming his late arrival on a flat tire, parked the minibus along the road and joined them. Lydia walked over to stand by him. “So what’s all this?” he asked.
“Burial cairns.” Colin indicated three piles of stones spread across the field with small yellow and white wildflowers growing in the long grass around them. A larger standing stone stood somewhat apart from the others with sheep grazing near it. Even to the untrained eye, the long mounds surrounding sunken hollows could indicate burial grounds.
Michael seemed instantly interested. “Any archeology done here?”
“Oh, yes. I read about the digs here when I knew we’d be coming this way. They recovered a bunch of prehistoric flint tools.”
Michael walked around the nearest cairn, examining it carefully. “I thought your interest was the Romans, Colin.”
“Yeah, they’re my favorite. But the Romans were the first to work a lot of these mines. No reason there couldn’t be Roman artifacts here, too.” He knelt down beside the largest of the cairns as if he would begin digging with his hands.
Nancy walked over to the standing stone and leaned against it, gazing out over the valley with Cwmbran spread out below them. Her long brown hair sparkled with red highlights in the midmorning sun. “Oh, don’t move!” Evie approached her with a camera. “That’s so cool, you look just like Bella.”
Nancy’s blank look showed her puzzlement at the reference, but she posed for several pictures. “This is so perfect! Can’t you just imagine Bella and Edward here?” Evie gushed.
Kaylyn, apparently the only one who knew what she was talking about, agreed and entered into directions for the photoshoot. “Get a picture of Adam by those stones—looking uphill with that big ridge in the background.”
“Oh, yes. If Renesmee had a brother, he would look just like Adam, wouldn’t he?” She clicked a photo. “Except Adam’s skin doesn’t glisten.” She giggled.
Antony was as puzzled by the two girls’ sudden animation as by their references. He was glad to see them taking an interest in something, but he was troubled by the brittle ebullience of their excitement, and their apparent sense of superiority in sharing esoteric knowledge. It was as if they felt a power in an awareness that they were the only ones in on a secret.
Felicity had also been observing the girls. Now she walked around the nearest trench and stood by him. “Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” he asked.
“I’m guessing vampires.”
Antony boggled. “What? Are you serious?”
“I think they are. If you hadn’t spent most of this century in a monastery on a remote hillside you’d know that vampires are more popular than Harry Potter. Evie and Kaylyn are exactly the target market for those books.”
Antony grinned and shook his head. “You’re making that leafy hillside in Yorkshire sound better by the minute. Why did I ever leave it?”
Michael finished his examination of the cairns and approached them. “Want me to get out the tea while we’re stopped here, Father?”
“We’ll stop for drinks when we get back up to the road, but I want to say a Station here, first.” Antony couldn’t define his discomfort, but this was a place that needed prayer, not one where he wanted to picnic.
Back at the minibus, Antony gratefully accepted a mug of sweet, well-milked tea from Lydia. “Ah, thank you. Wouldn’t make it without tea.” She gave him a bright smile and moved on to serve others in her efficient way.
Ryan and Michael approached, already deep in comparing routes on their maps. “Medieval travelers would have followed this line around the shoulder of the mountain and along the forest road.” Ryan traced the line on the map that indicated going through the thick stand of conifers in the distance.
“I’m sure you’re right. It would have been easier walking in that day,” Michael responded. “Unfortunately, Father Stephen walked over this and found that although the Forestry Commission left the right of way unplanted, trees have fallen across it and seeded themselves into it. It’s almost impossible to follow these days. A simpler route goes this way.” He pointed to the dotted green line indicating a public footpath, then smiled at Ryan. “Besides, any geographer worth his salt will certainly want to go on up Twmbarlwm.” Now he didn’t point to the map, but to the long green ridge of the hill commanding the highest point in the area.
Colin turned with predictable excitement to endorse the idea. “The Romans had a signal station there, you know.” To him that obviously settled the matter.
But it was Jared who had the most surprising tale. “Yeah, the Tump, thas what my gran calls it. There’s a giant buried there with his treasure. Guarded by swarms of bees.” He grinned. “Well, thas what Gran says.”
“Legend I heard says the druids regarded it as a sacred site and a place of judgment,” Michael said. “Undoubtedly because there was a giant buried there,” he added in deference to Jared’s gran.
Normally Antony would be completely complacent about visiting sites of ancient pagan worship, but the recent disturbances gave him a bit of hesitation. Still, interest in climbing the Tump seemed to be unanimous. The decision settled, they emptied their teacups and set out.
A little over an hour’s walking brought them to the spot where the track left the narrow road and climbed the mountainside. Michael, and Lydia who had gone on ahead in the van with him, had emptied the coolers and bags and had the lunch-makings set out in readiness, including a new selection of flavored crisps, tasty humus spreads and a bag of satsumas. “This is amazing,” Felicity cried. “Where did all this come from?”
“Oh, Michael and I zipped into Risca and did a spot of shopping while you lot dawdled up the hillside.” Lydia took the lid off a carton of macaroni salad to place on the table.
Throughout lunch Antony kept one eye o
n the giant tumulus above them, almost as if he expected it to pounce on them, or the giant’s swarm of bees to show themselves. By the time they had eaten, however, he could think of no rational reason not to proceed. The sky had remained clear all morning. Only one tiny dark cloud showed itself in the horizon. “Anyone feeling tired? Blisters? This would be a good chance to catch your breath if anyone wants to wait in the minibus.” Michael had indicated he would lock it up securely and walk up with them. There were no takers.
“Right then, up we go.”
The smooth green ground rose steeply under their feet, causing the walkers to use muscles Antony suspected many of them were unaccustomed to exercising. A thick stand of conifers grew to their left, to the right the open landscape swept away toward the Severn Estuary.
Perhaps a thousand meters on, they crossed the deep ditch that could have been the first defensive structure when the Tump was an Iron Age hill fort—or perhaps late Bronze Age. Built by the Silures, if Ryan or Colin or whoever of his remarkably well-informed charges had it right—and it seemed they usually did. In spite of the effort of the climb, Antony smiled to himself. He had to admit this was something of a new experience for him. He had been roped into this exercise for his knowledge on church history, but he seldom found himself in circumstances so far outside his field of expertise. It was fortunate that his charges included such enthusiastic students.
“Vallum, the Romans would have called it,” he heard Colin explaining to Nancy, “although it’s unlikely the Romans would have bothered to fortify a signal station. Of course, the Normans would certainly have made the most of it. The motte may be no older than thirteenth century.”
The trail dipped deeply down into the dry ditch and then sharply up the side of the motte. It would undoubtedly have been deeper in its day and have offered a formidable defense. Four hundred meters on across the rounded hillside, at the far end, they came to the mound that was probably the hill fort itself, or the bailey in a later age. Whatever it might have been, it was clear why the locals called the earthwork crowning the Tump—“the Pimple.”
A grassy stairway cut into the side led to the summit, offering a blessedly easy ascent. Antony stood on the top, for a moment fancy overtaking him as he imagined a Silurian warrior, a Roman soldier or a Norman noble standing on that spot, glimpsing the sun shining on the Bristol Channel in the distance, just as he was. Until a sudden stiff wind made him shiver. Looking behind him, Antony realized he had been too sanguine about the weather. The tiny black cloud he had dismissed earlier had grown to alarming proportions, threatening to descend as a mist. “All right, everyone,” Antony had to project his voice against the rising wind to get the attention of all his group, spread like wandering sheep over the summit of the Tump. “Let’s go down now. I don’t want to get caught up here in a mist.”
Predictably, Colin, who seemed to be intent on circling Twmbarlwm walking in the vallum, and Evie and Kaylyn who had wandered the furthest away, were slowest to respond, but Antony greatly appreciated Felicity’s efficiency in gathering Ryan with his map, and Jared, still carrying the cross and heading them down the path. The others straggled behind.
The cloud bank rolled toward them and the first fingers of mist touched Antony’s cheek before he had crossed the motte. By the time they had descended the Tump and were on the path back to the minibus, the fog was so thick he could barely glimpse the cross at the head of the line of march. Fortunately, Felicity had pulled on her red sweater against the sudden chill. The vibrant color offered a beacon.
The mist thinned at the lower elevation and the silver van shone through. Antony gave thanks. The afternoon walk into Risca was all downhill. They should be all right if the mist stayed thinner at lower elevations.
His hopeful thought lasted about thirty seconds. “Oh, this is so typical!” Lydia’s voice held more than a tinge of asperity. She raised her volume to a clear shout: “Squib! Get over here now. Don’t you dare go off into that mist. If you get lost, it’ll be your own fault. Serve you right if we left you.” She paused. “I will. I mean it, so help me.” She upped the threat.
“What is it?” Antony strode to her side. “Has Adam wandered off? He isn’t lost, is he?”
Lydia’s disgust was clear. “Oh, he’s always doing something like this. He does it to attract attention, you know. Always has, since Ma died and Da took that job in Dubai.”
“When did you last see him?”
She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I don’t remember exactly. He was on that Pimple thing, I think.” She turned away and started back up the path. “Squib! Come here now. I mean it.”
Antony held his breath, hoping to see a small, blue-clad figure materialize from the mist.
None did. “Lydia, come back. Gather round, everybody. We need to get organized.” Wisps of mist floated before his eyes, momentarily blurring his sight of the faces before him, then clearing. “Was anyone walking with Adam?”
“He was beside me most of the way up the Tump,” Nancy said. “Then he went on up the Pimple. I don’t remember after that.”
No one could recall anything more concrete. Evie thought maybe she had seen him on the back side of the Tump, “Sort of running. Well, almost dancing. But I didn’t really pay much attention.”
That seemed to be a unanimous problem. Antony wondered if that was the story of Adam’s life: No one paid attention.
“Trust me, he either followed a bird over a hill or he’s sitting on a rock somewhere making up a story in his head. Probably about that sleeping giant. Dozy. He’s just so dozy. Drives me spare.”
Lydia was undoubtedly correct in her assessment of her brother’s personality, but more sisterly concern would have seemed appropriate at that moment. Antony was getting seriously worried. The wandering off might have been innocent enough, but what hazard might the child have run afoul of after that? Antony realized he must be a more careful shepherd in future.
Picturing a lost lamb caught in a thick bramble or fallen into a crevice, he made his decision. “Michael, Ryan, you come with me. We’ll search the hill. The rest of you have a cup of tea in the minibus—out of this damp. And pray.”
“No, we’ll all come with you.” Felicity was the first to speak up, but the others agreed.
Antony appreciated their support, but he stood firm. “No, not in this mist. It’s too dangerous. The last thing we need is more of you lost in the fog.”
“I’m coming.” Antony was more surprised by Lydia’s contrite tone than by her words. “I was too harsh. Sorry. It’s just so irritating because he’s always doing this. But, but…”
Michael, standing closest to her, put an arm around her shoulders. “Of course you can come.” He looked at Antony for confirmation. Antony nodded. “We’ll find him. Don’t worry.”
Antony had barely put a foot on the path when he heard Felicity behind him urging the remaining pilgrims into the van. “Kaylyn, can you reach the mugs from that box in the back? Nancy, this would be a good time for a song, I think.”
The mist thickened as they traced their way back up the incline. Antony, fighting a rising sense of claustrophobia, kept to the path by feeling for the rocky surface rather than the surrounding grass with every step. Every few feet they stopped and shouted. “Adam!” “Adam, can you hear us?” “Adam!”
The cotton wool silence that met each repeated plea stifled Antony’s spirits even more than the shrouding mist muffled all sounds.
A few more feet fumbling upward, then they repeated the process. “Adam!” Still the enveloping silence.
It seemed impossible that the mist could keep getting thicker. Antony felt it like a weight pressing on him. He wanted to lash out and push it away with his hands. He had to fight an urge to bite and spit to clear a channel to breathe. His cough was a mere reflex. Still, he fought for breath. “Adam!” His voice sounded weak to his own ears. Michael and Lydia, walking so close he could touch them, sounded distant. Ryan at the back was a mere echo.
T
hey could pass within a few feet of Adam and miss him. And yet the answering silence rang in his ears.
His mind knew that the mist was weightless, still it pressed on him, an oppressive burden. They hadn’t climbed enough for the height to make him dizzy, and yet he had to fight the impulse to sit down by the side of the path. He was so weary. His limbs so heavy. His head spun. His knees buckled.
Strong hands gripped him on either side. “Watch it. Ground’s rough here.” Michael pulled him upright, supported by Lydia.
“I judge we’re almost to the ditch.” Ryan offered encouragement.
Antony shook his head to clear his thoughts, even if he couldn’t clear the mist. “Good. Thanks. I think we should circle around to the right when we get there since there seemed to be an impression he went down the back of the Tump.” That was the thing—focus on a plan. And keep going. Keep calling. “Adam!”
Was that a reply? “Adam!” He tried again. Holding his breath, Antony willed the sound to come again. Then it did, and he wished it hadn’t. Thunder. This clap louder. Nearer over their head. A rumble followed like a roar from their sleeping giant.
“Probably get hail now,” Michael said. Antony was amazed how ordinary the local man made it sound. Perhaps it was.
Michael had no more than spoken than a third roar of thunder shook the ground under their feet and the hailstorm started. Marble-sized hailstones assailed the walkers from every side at once as the wind whirled the ice pellets around them. It was no use trying to go forward. By common consent they huddled together, pulling their jackets over their heads.
The assault probably didn’t last more than ten minutes, but as they stood there with hail peppering their anoraks like bullets, it seemed like hours. With a final clap and rumble the storm moved on, leaving the tumulus dotted with mounds of white pellets that must have been what manna looked like in the Sinai.
Then Antony realized he was actually seeing the piles of hailstones. The mist had lifted. “Adam!” He gave a push on his trekking pole and leapt forward with long strides that carried him to the back of the hill. Then he stopped. The lower slope was reforested with a dense, dark stand of conifers. If Adam was in there that would have provided useful cover from the hailstorm. But if he was injured and unable to answer their call, they would never find him. All along, Antony had assumed they would find the boy on the wide, open slope of Twmbarlwm, probably with a sprained ankle from tripping over a stone, or dazed from having fallen downhill and hit his head. Now any such easy sighting seemed unlikely.
An Unholy Communion Page 10
