‘Your dad were ill, she said. Couldn’t cope with them.’ Dave went on. ‘That didn’t sound right to me.’ The old man scanned their faces and they both saw the uncertainty and suspicion in his gaze.
‘No.’ Steve’s voice was bleak. ‘That doesn’t sound right at all.’
‘You’ll take ’em back now?’
Steve nodded. ‘We’ll take them back.’
The dogs streaked ahead of them up the track. Viv glanced at Steve. ‘They’re keen to get home.’
Steve nodded, frowning anxiously. ‘I don’t get it. If Ma took them over to Dave, why did she tell me it was my dad? Where is he, Viv?’
The farmhouse was deserted when they arrived home. There was no sign of Peggy or of Pat.
‘I suppose they followed your father everywhere?’ Viv said. She was thinking of Sun and Moon.
‘Everywhere.’ Steve was fondling the dogs’ heads as they sat at his feet looking up at him expectantly. ‘They’d never leave him.’
They exchanged glances. ‘You think something’s happened to him, don’t you,’ Viv said softly.
Steve nodded.
‘Your mother wouldn’t -’
‘No, of course she wouldn’t. She and my dad adore each other. The only thing they can’t agree on is the sacred well. Her beliefs. He’s not a churchgoing man, but he doesn’t hold with paganism.’
One of the dogs had wandered over to the back door. He barked to be let out. Steve opened it and both dogs ran outside and into the garden. With a glance at Viv, Steve followed.
She didn’t move. Carta was coming back. She clenched her fingers around the edge of the table. She didn’t want this. Not now.
It was no use. The shadow was there; the strange shimmer; the miasma which folded round her like a second skin.
V
Carta had brought two white bulls for sacrifice to Camulos, the god of war, and now she had brought doves. To send them to seek peace for Brigantia, the goddess of her peoples. The priests had slain the bulls. The doves she meant to kill with her own hands. She picked up the wicker basket and carried it into the centre of the grove.
‘Sweet Lady? Are you there?’
She stared round, hearing the silence of the great trees. There was no breath of wind and the leaves hung motionless. She felt terribly alone.
‘Vivienne?’ Her cry was loud and long. ‘Where are you? Why have you abandoned me?’
Unfastening the hasps which held the lid of the basket closed, she picked up her knife.
The two doves huddled side by side trembling, crouched in the bottom of the basket. She stared down at them for a moment, then with a sigh she shook her head. Dropping the knife, she tipped the basket on its side. The birds, after a moment’s hesitation, flew out, circled the grove once, then headed towards the setting sun.
‘Viv? Viv, can you hear me?’
She opened her eyes.
Steve was standing over her as she sat at the kitchen table, the two dogs panting at his side.
She lurched to her feet. ‘I’ve got to go to the sacred spring.’
‘Why?’
Viv wasn’t listening. She barely saw him. He watched as she walked away, heading towards the paddock and the lower fields, then cautiously he followed her with the dogs.
The spring was running high after all the rain. The small stone chamber echoed with the sound of the falls outside. It smelled of wet moss and stone. There was a slight taste of iron on her tongue. Or blood. She shivered. Someone had removed the old flowers which lay before the old stone head and replaced them with roses and honeysuckle and feathery cosmos.
She sat for a long time in silence, listening to the water. Praying was not something she did as a rule. Oh yes, the odd quick throw-away prayer, the kind which must make God smile cynically and turn away. ‘Please God, make it all right. If it’s all right this time I’ll go to church. I promise. Just this once, God …’
Vivienne
The voice echoed up out of the stone, filling the chamber with echoes.
Vivienne. Help me.
Viv clenched her fingers on the edge of the stone basin.
Vivienne. I need help. I have sent messengers. Send me the Roman!
Viv could feel the fine mist of spray from the water on her face. The dark corners of the chamber were very still. She could hardly breathe.
‘Carta? The Romans will come. They will save you.’
She was sure. She knew the future. She was the time traveller, speaking backwards into the past.
Vivienne. Do you want more? More gifts? More sacrifices? Speak to me, goddess.
Viv licked her lips nervously. ‘Carta? Be patient. Be strong.’
She leaned forward, staring down into the water in the basin, almost expecting to see a face; to meet the eyes of the woman from the past who also stared down into this small pool. There was nothing. Just the clear depthless water that separated as well as joined them.
34
I
When he woke, Hugh was pouring with sweat. He could smell blood, terror, and in the background the sweet scent of the trampled grass and heather; he could hear shouts and groans and the screams of horses and above it all the fearful baying note of the carnyx. With a groan he staggered out of bed and went to stand in the shower under the cool clean water, trying to clear his head.
Towelling himself dry at last, he wiped the steam from the mirror and peered at himself, afraid of what he might see. His own face looked back at him, haggard, exhausted, but his own.
Silently he let himself out of the cottage into the dawn and climbed back into the car. He couldn’t feel Venutios any more. He couldn’t see him. As far as he could tell he was safe in the car. Somehow it protected him, but he couldn’t stay in there forever.
The hill was deserted as he climbed and for a while he was content and confident. It was exhilarating to be up so early. He could hear a skylark and in the distance the bubbling call of a curlew and for a few short minutes he allowed himself to feel happy. It didn’t last. Between one second and the next the terror returned as, in the distance, he heard it again, echoing across the hills, the deep war cry of the carnyx. He clenched his fists, sweat breaking out on his forehead. This could not happen again!
He turned back, running, frantically scanning the lane at the foot of the hill for the gateway where he had left his car. Slipping and sliding on the grass and stones he reached it at last, and throwing himself inside slammed down the locks, then he sat back, eyes closed, feeling his heart thudding in his chest. His first thought was for Viv. He groped in his pocket for his mobile. He had to warn her. The bastard had followed him. He was still trying to find the brooch. Venutios mustn’t get her; he mustn’t find her. Somehow he had to keep her safe.
The mobile was dead.
He glanced up at the great flank of hillside and with a curse chucked the phone into the footwell beside him. He had to get back to the cottage and ring her on a landline.
James was standing in the doorway, sipping from a mug of tea as he quietly watched the road for his guest. The honeysuckle near him was alive with bees.
He greeted him cheerfully as Hugh pushed open the gate. ‘I thought perhaps you’d gone for a walk. I hope you’re ready for breakfast. Margaret has decided to spend a few days in Lancaster, so you and I are on our own. I don’t suppose, as it’s Sunday, that you’d care to come to church later?’ He glanced at his guest and frowned. ‘Perhaps not. Something has happened, hasn’t it.’
‘Venutios was out there on the hill. I heard that damn trumpet again; his signature tune. What am I going to do?’
James paused as he led the way towards the kitchen and gave Hugh a long hard look, then he gave a sheepish grin. ‘I think I need to make a confession. When you rushed out last night I thought about what you told me and I consulted with the boss man.’ He pointed at the ceiling. When Hugh looked blank he explained. ‘I prayed for guidance. I thought in my unforgivably nosy way that you looked like a man who could do with some
help. The boss suggested I talk to your friend, Meryn Jones.’
‘What?’ Hugh stared at him.
‘I wasn’t sure how to get in touch with him, but I rang a colleague in Edinburgh who I thought might know about the research you said Meryn was doing. To cut a long story short, he gave me his number and we talked.’
There was a long silence. Hugh subsided onto a kitchen chair. ‘I suppose I should be grateful.’
James nodded. ‘Meryn was worried. Apparently he’s been looking for you.’
‘He didn’t know I had come here.’
‘At Venutios’s instigation?’ James picked up the teapot and poured Hugh a cup of thick black tea.
‘Probably.’ Hugh shivered. ‘I wanted to warn Viv. To make sure she was safe.’
‘You care very much about Viv, don’t you,’ James said quietly. He smiled. ‘Meryn is coming here today. We thought it best.’
There was a long silence. Hugh took a gulp of tea and winced at the tannin on his tongue. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’d better ring her and warn her that Venutios is on the rampage again,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve seen inside his head. I know he will stop at nothing to get his revenge on Cartimandua; and he wants that brooch back so badly.’ He paused and gave a quick harsh laugh as he headed for the phone in the hall. ‘Listen to me! You’d think I believed all this stuff, wouldn’t you!’
A couple of minutes later he was back in the kitchen. ‘I spoke to Mrs Steadman. She was less than helpful.’ He shrugged. ‘She said Viv was out with Steve and wouldn’t be back all day.’
James rubbed his nose thoughtfully. ‘That would appear to remove her from any danger in the short-term.’
‘I suppose so.’ Hugh did not sound convinced.
‘Don’t you trust this young man?’
‘I don’t trust myself!’ Hugh stood up. ‘I’m going to go over there.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ James shook his head.
Hugh stared down at him. ‘Can you see him?’ He meant Venutios.
James looked up through half-closed eyes. ‘Not at the moment, no. But I wouldn’t take my word for it.’
Hugh shuddered. ‘It’s like having some foul disease lurking inside me. I can’t stand this! It’s insane. It’s not real. It can’t be.’ It was a desperate appeal.
James grimaced. ‘I do sincerely believe such things can happen, my friend. The survival of the soul is, of course, a given of my belief, and what most Christians believe, or want to believe, is that the departed trots happily off to a place called, for want of a better term, ‘‘heaven’’, where it is engaged in happy hobbies for all eternity. We tend to skip over the concept of hell these days, preferring to believe that is a self-inflicted punishment in this life. What I think actually happens is that the soul is remarkably like the living person. It carries on with its obsessions and its loves and hates as long as these are unresolved. And being a sociable sort of a thing it is happy from time to time to hitch a lift with someone who is still here with mortal coil intact.’
Hugh sat down again. ‘Scary.’ He gave a heartfelt shudder. ‘And our Celtic friends believed quite passionately in the continuation of the soul’s journey, of course.’
‘Of course.’ James was thoughtful. ‘Whether what happens is dependent on one’s beliefs - in other words one gets what one is expecting - or whether it is an objective end game for all, I don’t know. My bishop would have great difficulty with what I am saying, I suspect. But one can’t live up here and not get feelings about immortality which sink deep into the psyche.’ He smiled. ‘Your friend Mrs Steadman is one such. She believes passionately in the old gods, so I’ve heard.’
Hugh frowned. ‘Would Viv have told her what is happening?’
‘I’ve no idea. She is a moody lady.’ James chuckled. ‘I know those who are terrified of her; others who swear she is Florence Nightingale in person.’
II
At first Steve did not recognise the car bumping up the lane towards him. Only when it stopped did he realise it was Hugh. He walked towards the gate.
‘Viv is not here, if you are looking for her.’
Hugh, in shirtsleeves, was alone. He paused, looking suspiciously at Steve over the stone wall. ‘Your mother told me you were out together.’
‘We were earlier.’
‘When will Viv be back?’
Steve shrugged. ‘To be honest, I don’t think she wants to see you at the moment.’
‘Well, I need to see her.’ Hugh could feel Venutios’s unrest, sense his jealousy. There was a resonance here between the young, good-looking charioteer who had subverted the king’s affections and was trusted and loved by Cartimandua, and this handsome young man with his suntanned, freckled skin and untidy hair, standing so blatantly before him talking about Viv with such confidence. Hugh clenched his fists and glanced over his shoulder, looking up at the hill above them, listening intently. The heat haze had returned, shrouding its flat top, lapping down the soft mountain grasses, licking at the great limestone crags on the northern escarpment as the sun moved round the horizon and was lost at last in the banks of haze. This was Steve, not Vellocatus, he reminded himself firmly.
‘I need to see Viv urgently,’ he repeated, turning back. He caught his breath abruptly. ‘There it is again. Did you hear it?’
‘What?’ Steve eyed him uncomfortably.
‘Venutios. He’s out there. He’s looking for her.’ Hugh couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.
Steve swallowed. ‘I’m not going to let you in. We don’t want you here, and we don’t want him here either.’
‘Don’t you?’ Hugh laughed bitterly. ‘And you’re going to stop him, are you?’ He stepped forward aggressively.
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘I’ll think of a way.’ Steve stood his ground, arms folded. ‘Please go away, Hugh.’
‘I need that brooch.’ Hugh took another step forward. ‘Can’t you understand? If I get the brooch I will go back to Edinburgh and he will follow me. Until I do that, Viv is in danger. Venutios will kill to get it.’ He paused and the two men looked at each other in silence. ‘He is a soldier, Steve. He is completely unsentimental. He knows its power. Women’s power. He will do anything to keep it out of a woman’s grasp. He will kill,’ he repeated softly. ‘Please God, not with my hands.’ For a moment he held Steve’s gaze, then at last he turned and he climbed back into the car.
Steve stared after him as he drove off, cold with horror. For a moment he had been truly scared.
Something touched his hand and he glanced down fondly. One of the dogs was nuzzling him. It whined.
‘This is all going crazy, boy.’ Steve grimaced. At the sound of his voice both dogs sat in front of him expectantly. He turned and looked back at the house. There was still no sign of his mother or Pat.
When Viv came back from the well, tired and walking slowly across the garden to his side, he smiled and reached out his hand to hers. ‘Hugh was here looking for you. He was ranting on about Venutios.’
She bit her lip. ‘Even more reason to leave, Steve. I can’t cope with all this any more. I’m sorry. If Pat wants to stay, that’s upto her.’ She glanced at him. ‘I don’t suppose you’d come too?’ She paused, as if waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t she turned sadly, more pale and strained than ever after his news about Hugh’s visit, to go back into the house.
He looked down at the dogs. ‘I can’t go, can I, boys. Not till we’ve found my dad.’ He glanced at the old quad bike parked near the wall of the yard. He could cover a lot of ground on that. Slowly he walked towards it. ‘Where’s Gordon, dogs?’ It was what his mother always said. It was the signal to run out into the yard, barking with excitement, tails wagging, to find him. Steve repeated the command and the dogs turned as one and headed round the side of the house towards the fields. Climbing onto the bike, Steve gunned the engine and set out to follow them.
III
Vellocatus had rai
sed himself on one elbow. He was staring down at the beautiful woman beside him, watching her as she slept.
Dawn light filtered through the doorway and the township was still silent. He could hear the breathing of the half-grown pup, Moon’s successor, lying near the foot of the bed. Head on paws, she was watching him. He could feel it. Just as every man, woman and child in the township was watching him.
To start with he had been popular. He had deserted his post and risked his honour by leaving Venutios, something no man would condone, but he had done it to serve his queen and to save her from a brutal husband and he had transferred his allegiance and his life to her service. That made him a hero with the women and more importantly with most of the bards who sang the story around the northern fires as the weather grew colder.
She had been without a man too long. Once he had come to her bed on that first long night, as cascades of shooting stars lit the skies, and she had made love to this strong, handsome, adoring man she could not stop. Once, twice, sometimes three times a day she would drag him away from the eyes of the men and women around them and pulling his tunic off his shoulders, and releasing his belt so his breeks fell about his ankles she would feast her eyes on his hard muscular body, groaning with ecstasy as he touched her, submitting with something like worship as he pushed her down and thrust again and again into her willing body.
Artgenos and Culann had tried to make her cool her ardour. ‘Beware. Your people are restless. You neglect your duties to them and to the gods. Not everyone is happy to see this man who was your husband’s servant, so high in your favour.’
Not since her bedding with Riach had she felt so completely overwhelmed by passion. Vellocatus had only to look at her for her breath to grow short. Her breasts would ache for his touch. She could feel herself dissolving with longing.
Then she had found she was pregnant. She had forgotten to count the phases of the moon. Forgotten everything in her need for this man. It did not matter. The goddess was giving her a son.
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