Carta frowned.
It had been a long time before she had brought herself to speak to Mairghread again. She blamed her, in some secret inner part of herself, for the loss of her baby. She blamed her for allowing Medb near her. She blamed her for Venutios’s rage and now, she blamed her for supporting him.
She and Venutios had not spoken again since his return to Dinas Dwr with Brucetos from Caer Lugus. Although he was there, in the township, often near her, often at table with her, he somehow contrived to avoid her and the silence irked her. It challenged her authority as it was probably meant to do. She shivered. A gale howled down the dales outside and the fire smoked in a sullen refusal to burn clear. She sighed and pulled the heavy woollen folds around her against the cold, still not fully recovered from her miscarriage. That morning he had ridden down from the township into the forest. He had not returned.
‘Berthe has made honey cakes, and there is fresh buttermilk to drink. It will make you feel better,’ Mairghread coaxed, busying herself by tidying the room. ‘Perhaps you might go for a short ride later? You like to ride in the storm. Or Fergal could take you in your chariot?’
Carta shook her head. ‘I’ll stay here for a while, then I’ll come and join the others to listen to the music. Is Finley still here? I hear he has a fine repertoire of songs for all he is so young.’ Dafydd, the bard given by Venutios as a gift on her accession, had gone. He had stood, and before the entire township he had spun a song of anger and betrayal, a song which pointed the finger at her and the Roman. A song designed to cut and wound; a song designed to destroy her.
Before she had a chance to respond, a young bard from the Druid college had stood up, incensed, to out-sing him, to stand for her as her bardic champion, but the damage was done, the poisoned dart had lodged home. She did not have to dismiss the older man. By next morning he had gone, back to the mountains of Eryri where he had come from. She gave the young bard, Finley, his position, a place he would hold as he continued his studies at the college under Artgenos, a position which would be hard to maintain as whispers flew around the firesides and men and women began to look at her askance.
‘Go away, Mairghread. Leave me.’ She put her hand down on Moon’s head and fondled her ears. When the woman glanced in later, her queen was sitting by the fire, staring deep into the flames.
By noon, however, she had called for her pony and a warrior band to accompany her as she set off into the storm, Moon at her heels.
She caught up with Venutios in the end at a small fortress near Eburos. He was in bed with a pretty servant girl when Carta strode into the guest chamber soaked with rain, her hair matted, her colour high.
The girl tumbled from the bed with a squeak of fear and ran for the doorway. Carta ignored her. ‘I did not give you leave to come here. How dare you ride out of Dinas Dwr without seeking my permission.’
‘I need no permission to travel the kingdoms.’ He pulled on his tunic and breeks angrily. ‘What am I? Some kind of servant? I am a king, madam, in my own right and I go where I wish, and like you, I bed when and with whom I wish!’
‘And you foment rebellion where you wish too?’ Ignoring his jibe she stared at him for a long moment with narrowed eyes. ‘Do not push me too far, Venutios. You attacked me. You killed our child. I could have you executed for less.’
‘Our child!’ He retorted. ‘A foreign bastard!’ He spat on the floor.
‘Our child.’ She repeated coldly. ‘A child of double royal blood and a child of the goddess.’ She stared at him disdainfully. ‘Did you please that girl?’
‘I did. Greatly.’
She smiled. ‘How strange. She knew no better, I suppose.’
There was a moment of total silence. Venutios’s face suffused with scarlet. ‘You whore!’
‘I am a queen, Venutios, and a free woman. I take whomsoever I please to my bed, but I don’t need to take slaves.’
She turned and walked out of the house.
Vellocatus was waiting just outside the doorway. ‘Are you all right, lady?’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Venutios is not in the best of moods. His temper rules his head, and his sword arm.’ He grimaced. ‘He will calm soon.’
Carta paused. ‘No doubt so will I. Escort me to a guest house, Vellocatus, if there is such a place and send for the headman so that I can meet him and explain why his high queen has arrived unannounced, and then send for Artgenos. I will speak to him as soon as he can ride here.’ She hesitated. ‘It may take him a few days. I will wait here.’ She took a breath. ‘The Roman, Gaius Flavius Cerialis told me between our romps in the bedchamber, that Eburos and Isurion would make fine trading posts.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘He did not like the moors and mountains and forests of our kingdom, they made him nervous, but these rich eastern lands, where the forests have been cleared and we have good fields rich in wheat and barley are different. No doubt they remind him of the south.’
‘We encountered several traders when we arrived, lady.’ Vellocatus was profoundly embarrassed at her remark. He refused to meet her eye. ‘They brought fine wine and fabrics with them and they were interested in the horse harnesses made by Oengus and his family here.’
‘One of our best craftsmen.’ Carta raised an eyebrow. ‘Did they trade?’
Vellocatus sighed. ‘Venutios chased them away, lady, before they had a chance.’ He was hesitant, uncomfortable about telling her what had occurred. ‘He kept the wares they had brought north to trade with.’
‘Without payment?’
She scanned his face intently. The young man’s handsome demeanour was incapable of guile. Every emotion swept over it as he met her gaze with large blue eyes. Anger, embarrassment again, shame and then reluctant acquiescence: they were all there in their turn. ‘My king does not care for the Romans or those who trade on their behalf.’
‘He doesn’t, does he.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Come to my chamber as soon as I am settled and I will give you some coins. The Romans like to be paid in Celtic gold. See it is sent after the traders and see it is fair. I will not have them reporting to the governor, or to Gaius Flavius Cerialis, that they have been cheated by Cartimandua.’ She paused. ‘Or her husband.’
Vellocatus watched her walk away, his discomfort forgotten, and with something like hero worship in his eyes. She was strong and honest and let her head rule her heart. That gave her power. And she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He pulled himself together guiltily. Before all else he must see to the king, who was, after all, his master and his battle companion and his friend.
He turned back towards the house and was brought up short by the sight of Venutios standing in the entrance passage. ‘So, you crawl to my wife!’ he snarled.
Vellocatus blushed. ‘I must obey the queen’s orders, Venutios, as you do.’ He squared his shoulders.
‘Indeed? ‘‘Venutios chased them away, lady.’’’ Venutios quoted him with high-pitched sarcasm. ‘She did not command you to tell her what she did not know!’
‘She guessed,’ Vellocatus retorted hotly. ‘It would not have been hard to do! The Roman wagons are standing out there on the trackway! Yet, there is no one to guard them. Not a merchant in the place. She could hardly have missed them.’
Venutios took a step towards him. ‘Go, then. Run her errands. But be careful.’ He narrowed his eyes threateningly, his voice an angry growl. ‘Remember where your loyalty lies.’
Artgenos was not pleased to have been asked to ride the long miles to Eburos. His legs were aching and his back hurt. Wrapped in his woollen mantle, with a second one of furs over the top he laid his staff beside him on the ground with a sigh as he sat down and reached for the cup of spiced mead the servant passed him. Coel, the headman of the township, had joined Cartimandua and Venutios by the fire to greet him.
‘So, is the debt paid?’ Artgenos looked at Venutios with a raised eyebrow.
Venutios inclined his head. ‘I was not to know they were peaceful traders,’ he sna
rled. ‘To me, every Roman sympathiser is an enemy, as she was -’ he glanced at his wife, ‘to Caradoc.’
‘And rightly so, in present circumstances.’ Artgenos took another sip from his cup. The mead was particularly good, flavoured with borage and anise. ‘If we are to fight the Romans effectively and ensure our continuing independence we must use the cunning and diplomacy of the fox,’ he glanced at Venutios, ‘and the patience and discretion of the crane as she stands in the shallows of the pool, unmoving, waiting to strike at the unsuspecting fish.’ He looked straight at Carta. ‘My spies tell me we are right to be wary. Right to be cautious. ‘It is not yet time -’ he paused, once more looking at Venutios, ‘to act. All over the Empire, Druids are watching and waiting. Brothers have come from Gaul. They warn of conspiracies against us.’
‘From Gaul?’ Carta frowned. ‘I spoke to no Druids from Gaul.’
He took another sip of the mead and gave a small groan of pleasure as it began to reach his aching joints. ‘They came to see me, lady. Silently, through the oak forest, wrapped in the cloak of invisibility.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘They did not expect to be intercepted by anyone who was not expecting them.’
Carta remained silent, stung by the rebuke.
‘You see, Carta, they no longer trust you!’ Venutios had no such qualms. ‘You must take care or you will find yourself pushed aside and indeed, one of the enemy!’
Artgenos raised his hand before she could retort. ‘Enough! Carta is not our enemy. She is one of us. A Druidess, dedicated to the service of her goddess,’ he reprimanded sternly. ‘But she is not an Archdruid, nor was she at the gathering at Ynys Môn where these matters were discussed.’
‘Nor were you!’ she retorted. She knew she sounded childish as soon as she said the words.
Artgenos stood up painfully. He put his cup on the table. It teetered for a moment on the edge and then fell to the floor. He ignored it. ‘At your command, if you remember,’ he said reproachfully. ‘Are you questioning my integrity?’ He looked from one to the other of the three people seated at the fire. It was Coel, who had not yet spoken, who replied. ‘No one would dare question you, Artgenos,’ he growled.
As if echoing his words a low rumble of thunder resounded around the stone walls of the round house. Carta shivered. ‘The gods are displeased.’
‘As well they might be!’ Artgenos agreed.
A flicker of lightning had found its way through the screened entrance. Moments later it was followed by a second, louder crash of thunder.
‘Dear God, where did that come from!’ Viv ducked as the lightning lanced across the hillside. A sheet of rain was heading towards them like a curtain.
Pat sat without moving. ‘It’s the voice of the gods,’ she said slowly. ‘They are angry.’ She shook her head. Her mind was still in the round house by the fire with the three men and one woman as the rolling goblet came to rest against the stones of the hearth. There were no servants in the room to retrieve it. That meeting was private. Secret. Important.
Medb had been outside, listening from the shadowy doorway.
‘This storm is going to get worse.’ Viv glanced round apprehensively. The moon had gone and the hillside had been completely blotted out. They could see nothing in the dark as the slanting rain hid the distant lights in the valley.
‘Perhaps it would be better not to move until the storm has passed over,’ Pat said doubtfully. ‘That lightning was very close!’ As though in answer to her words another flash zigzagged almost at their feet. Both women ducked down behind the wall. Pat reached over and snatched the small mike away from Viv, stowing it in her bag out of the rain, aware that ice-cold fingers of damp were finding their way down inside her collar. ‘It looks as though we’re stuck here! We can’t risk losing our way in the dark.’ She sounded almost triumphant. ‘So, maybe you should go on. The sound effects are fantastic!’
‘What about the recorder? Surely it mustn’t get wet?’
‘No.’ Pat shrugged. ‘So, we’ll do without.’
Medb was there, waiting, and Medb did not care about the storm.
II
Medb turned and made her way back into the shadows. She knew enough. She had seen Venutios dragged from a whore’s bed by his wife. Seen him wriggle like a fish on a hook. Seen Cartimandua lash him with her scorn, and then quail in her turn before the Druid. To push a wedge between the king and queen would be so easy. To boost Venutios in his arrogance to stand up against his wife would take no skill at all.
As he stormed out of the meeting she slid out of the shadows and caught his arm, drawing him silently back with her towards the guest house where she was lodged and behind the curtain which hid her bed. There she pulled off his tunic and his mantle and his breeches and ran her hands over his body, teasing him to eagerness. ‘Your wife does not respect you, great king,’ she whispered. She leaned closer, pressing her lips to his chest. ‘Why do you let her walk all over you like that?’
He gasped as she knelt and her lips moved lower. ‘How do you know what we were talking about?’
‘I know everything, my lord.’ She drew him down towards her. ‘And I know how to help you.’
It was a long time before he could speak again.
Lying sweating, staring up at her as she knelt astride him he grinned, breathless with triumph. ‘You know how to please a man, Medb, I’ll grant you that.’ He was exhausted.
‘And how to instruct him in the ways of women.’ She leaned forward a little, allowing her hair to fall like heavy silk across his chest. ‘How to manage your wife so she obeys you.’
He gave a snort. ‘Not even you could do that, Medb.’
‘Oh but I can.’ Her eyes grew hard. ‘Listen.’
Viv was staring at Pat as the storm rumbled away towards the east. ‘Pat?’ She whispered. ‘Go on!’
Pat had fallen silent.
‘What happened next?’ Viv moved towards her, rummaged in the bag and gently put the mike between Pat’s hands. This was incredible. Somehow they had changed roles. In the drumming rain and storm, Pat had started to speak, her voice filled with venom as she drew Venutios to her and poured out her plan.
Suddenly Pat laughed. ‘Venutios will kill his wife. I won’t have to do it. But I will make sure she knows who set the sword in his hand.’
Viv shuddered. She could barely see her face in the dark.
Medb had risen to her feet. She stood for a moment ethereal in her nakedness, her white skin and pale hair glowing in the darkness. As Venutios stood up beside her she reached for his mantle and pulled it round his shoulders, fastening the brooch and touching the bird’s head with gentle fingers. Viv could see them clearly. Then Medb turned away and drifted into the darkness.
Shocked, Viv stared after her, then down at Pat who was smiling.
‘You can’t fight her,’ Pat said quietly.
‘You saw her?’ Viv was paralysed with fear.
‘I saw her.’ Pat climbed stiffly to her feet.
Viv stepped back. The recorder fell to the ground between them.
‘Venutios didn’t kill Cartimandua,’ Viv said after a minute. Her teeth were chattering.
‘No?’ Pat smiled. ‘Can you be sure of that?’
Viv bent slowly to pick up the recorder. It was wet and she rubbed it against the sleeve of her jacket. ‘I suppose not.’
‘We’ll see, won’t we.’ Pat put out her hand for it and tucked it into her bag. Her fingers were ice cold.
Viv nodded numbly. She glanced round. The hillside was empty. The moon reappeared through a gap in the clouds and for an instant the fells were illuminated with silvery light.
III
‘Where have you been?’ Peggy was waiting at the door, her hair untidy, her eyes wild. She dragged them inside and slammed it behind them.
Pat led the way down the hall, shivering. ‘We wanted to record the storm. We’re fine. We’ll tell you about it later, Peggy. I don’t know about you, Viv, but I want a soak in a hot bath for half an hour
before I die of hypothermia.’ And that was it. She had gone.
Viv stared after her. Peggy too watched her head off up the passage, her socks leaving wet footmarks on the flagstones, then she turned to Viv. ‘What happened out there?’ she snapped.
‘Medb was there. She took her over.’ Viv shook her head. ‘I was so scared, Peggy.’ Kicking off her own shoes she followed Peggy into the kitchen. She was shivering violently, her hair dripping down her neck as she went to stand near the comforting warmth of the Aga. ‘It was just dreadful. Pat was -’ She couldn’t think of a word that would describe it. ‘She was evil.’
Peggy handed her a towel, then automatically she slid the kettle onto the hob. ‘I warned you.’
‘This was different. It was threatening.’ Viv could hardly speak. ‘Pat was frightening.’ She rubbed at her hair. ‘She’s changed. Medb seems to have made her stronger.’ She shook her head. ‘Why did you show her the well?’ she asked suddenly.
Peggy went over to the fridge and brought out a jug of milk. ‘She asked.’
‘And you told her about the goddess?’
‘I had to.’ Pursing her lips, Peggy took three mugs down from the dresser.
‘When I went to the well yesterday there was an ancient head there,’ Viv went on.
‘So.’
‘It wasn’t there when you took me there before.’
Peggy shrugged. ‘It comes and goes,’ she said evasively.
‘By itself ?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You hide it sometimes?’ Peggy didn’t answer. ‘It felt very -’ Viv hesitated. She had been going to say evil. ‘It felt very powerful.’
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