The Warrior's Princess

by Barbara Erskine

  Drusilla smiled. ‘It’s not going to happen. Don’t worry. I shall stay with you. If you want me,’ she added.

  Eigon caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I want you. I am so afraid. I was ten years old when I left Britannia. I barely remember it. And the more I think about it the more frightened I get. There will be no one there who remembers me. I don ‘t even know where to go. My father moved so often. He was a general. A soldier. He came from one tribe and ruled another. Perhaps neither will welcome me.’

  ‘Where did your mother come from?’

  ‘She was a Silurian. Her father’s tribal lands were in the western mountains.’ She hesitated. ‘My father’s first wife came from the Trinovantes, the tribe he ruled with the Catuvellauni. She died in childbirth, so I was told. Then when he led his armies westward to consolidate the opposition to Rome he met and married my mother. I suppose it is her hills I remember as home; the places I see in my dreams. But mostly I remember travelling with my father endlessly across the length and breadth of the land as he fought the Roman invasion.’ She smiled. ‘Your people were our worst nightmare!’

  Drusilla nodded. ‘I can imagine that, my dear. It must have been terrible for you. We assume the world awaits our arrival with longing for our civilisation and our rule. The gods of Ancient Rome promised their followers the whole world.’ She waved at a small child who was paddling in the shallows at the edge of the river. He stared then made a rude gesture which made the women smile. ‘There’s another unsatisfied new Roman!’ Drusilla said quietly.

  Eigon laughed. ‘People value their freedom more than their lives.’

  ‘Yet your father never tried to return to Britannia?’ Drusilla asked. ‘I’m sorry. That is an insensitive question.’

  ‘He dreamed of it,’ Eigon said slowly. ‘He talked about it a great deal when we first arrived in Rome, but his health was so bad he knew he could do nothing to help his people until he recovered. We had messages from time to time, that they still looked to him as their redeemer, but they fought on without him and slowly the messages stopped coming. I suspect the people at home thought my father was dead.’ She bit her lip.

  ‘You think they no longer fight?’

  Eigon shrugged. ‘I hear most of Britannia is quiet under the yoke. There was a rebellion four years ago under the queen of the Iceni, but it was quashed in the end. There are still parts of the land where they will not accept defeat, but news has been hard to come by.’

  ‘You don’t think you will be hailed as queen as your father’s heir?’

  Eigon looked shocked. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘My dear, I think you must be wary. It is possible the governor might suspect your motives for return. We have assumed we can slip into the province and move around freely, and so take them Christ’s message as He commanded, but I was talking to Gaius before we left without giving him any clues of course about our real plans. He was less sanguine. We must assume that we know nothing of what to expect. The governor is a man called Marcus Trebellius Maximus. He is, I gather, managing to convince the provincials that life under the Roman Empire can be good. He may not welcome us.’ She smiled suddenly, her eyes shining. ‘We will have to wait and see. It’s very exciting! Commios likes excitement. We will have to remind him that this is an adventure! That will keep him with us.’

  Eigon glanced at her with a worried frown. It cleared and she found herself smiling back. ‘You are good for me, Drusilla. You are such a strong woman. And so optimistic. I feel myself wobbling. My fears, my doubts.’ She paused. ‘My loneliness sometimes overwhelms me in spite of my prayers.’ She looked down into the water. ‘I never had the chance to be with Julius, not properly.’ She bit back a sob. ‘Yet I miss him so much.’

  Drusilla put her arm round her shoulders. ‘I know.’

  ‘I thought I would sense him near me.’ Eigon shrugged. ‘Our people feel things, you know? We sometimes can see those who have died. But he’s not there.’

  ‘He is with Jesus, Eigon. He is safe and at peace now.’

  Eigon fought back her tears. ‘I sense no peace. If I sensed anything it was anger. But now with every mile we move further away from his shade.’

  Drusilla frowned. She wished Commios would join them. He would distract Eigon and cheer them both with his humour and strength but now he was engaged in an argument with one of the boat’s crew, waving his arms about, pointing out across the countryside as the boat slid ever northwards. She turned back to Eigon.

  ‘Do you still sense this man Titus trying to find you?’ she asked quietly. Commios had felt it best that she know that this man might be following them and she had been impressed by the force with which Eigon had been able to convince them all that he was already on their heels. These Celts believed in a world of shadows and hints and echoes which were an enigma to those who were Roman born. But there was no doubt that they knew things beyond the normal range of people’s perceptions.

  Eigon gave a deep sigh. ‘I am afraid to open myself to the window in the darkness he has penetrated. It is a two-way road. If I can see him he can see me.’

  Drusilla shuddered. ‘Let us hope he is still in Rome and that he can get no leave, and no passport!’

  Eigon turned as Commios joined them at last. ‘So, did you win your argument?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘What argument? The man knew he was on a hiding to nothing, taking me on!’

  ‘Should we ask what you were discussing so animatedly?’ Drusilla queried.

  ‘Not a subject for a lady!’ Commios chuckled. He smiled at them both, Eigon noted, carefully even-handed. ‘Now you will be glad to hear, the boat is going to tie up at the next village where there is a mansio, and a taberna which will provide food and parts for some crucial bit of the rudder which they think has been damaged. We will get some time ashore to eat and maybe even to stretch our legs a bit.’

  And they would leave a lasting impression on one of the bar-men. Two Roman women with one man for escort were unusual travellers on the river. Especially when the two women were good-looking and trying so hard not to be noticed.

  Will threw open the double doors which led from the small sitting room of his ground floor flat and stepped out into his pocket-handkerchief garden with a feeling of enormous relief. He always loved coming home. This was his haven, his space; the place he had licked his wounds after he and Jess had split up. No, after he had split from Jess. She was right. That gentle remonstrance on the plane served him right. He thought what he had done for her in the last few days had changed things, made up for the misery he had caused her. It hadn’t. Of course it hadn’t. If anything her whole problem was his fault. If they had still been together he would have walked her home from the dance or they would have come back here. Dan would never have had the chance to stalk her and force his way into her flat and do what he did to her. He shivered with distaste. The bastard. The absolute fucking bastard!

  The policeman listened to his story with calm attention. He wrote down names and addresses then he sighed and shook his head. ‘Unless Miss Kendal chooses to pursue this I don’t think there is anything we can do. And if there is no proof, she is right, we can’t follow it up.’

  ‘But you can write down his name. You can keep an eye out for him. You can watch and wait and then if he does something –’ Will shook his head. ‘He’s dangerous. He tried to kill me in Rome. And he has threatened Jess’s life. The man is deranged. There must be something you can do!’

  There wasn’t. With advice to get in touch if he had any further reason to worry the policeman politely drew the interview to a close. Will walked out into the street and headed towards the school.

  Catherine Barker answered the door of the house which was directly opposite the school campus. She burst into smiles. The headmaster’s wife was a stunningly attractive woman with flaming red hair and eyes the colour of emeralds, ten years younger than her husband. She had the slightest lisp of Ireland in her voice. ‘Will! How lovely to see you. Come
in. Brian is upstairs. I’ll call him.’

  Brian, tall, thin and wiry with a shock of white hair and a ruddy, battered complexion led the way into his first floor study and closed the door leaving Catherine standing at the bottom of the stairs frowning up at them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Brian. I hope she doesn’t mind. I felt we should keep this private for now.’ As Brian didn’t invite him to sit down Will moved a pile of books off a chair himself before launching into the story.

  ‘Jess didn’t want anyone to know all this. She was adamant that no one was told. There is no evidence. No proof. Her word against Dan’s and Dan has spent the weeks since it happened trying to destroy her credibility and destroy her emotionally.’

  ‘And he followed her to Rome, you say,’ Brian said thoughtfully. ‘Does Nat know about any of this? I’ve been trying to contact him and she didn’t seem to know where he was.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ Will said caustically. ‘I can’t see him telling her anything, can you!’ He paused. ‘Why were you trying to contact him?’

  ‘One of his pupils. Ash. He’s in trouble with the police. Such a stupid thing. A misunderstanding as far as I can see, but the boy is black and –’ he shrugged – ‘you know how it is. It could ruin his prospects and he has so much promise.’

  ‘He was Jess’s protégée. You should have called her.’

  ‘I didn’t know where she was. I rang her flat and the woman I spoke to told me she was the tenant and that Jess had gone away for six months. Don’t forget, she has left the school.’

  Will grimaced. ‘She went to her sister in Wales. Dan followed her.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps I can do something for Ash. I taught him too.’

  Brian nodded. ‘I’ll give you the number to ring.’ He wandered over to the window and looked down into the street, his hands rammed down into his pockets. ‘What a mess. What a goddam mess! I had recommended Dan for promotion to headship of his own school, you know. He has – had – a lot of potential.’ He paused. ‘The police aren’t interested, you say?’

  Will shook his head.

  ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. They’ll follow up on someone like poor Ash instantly, or someone who might be a kiddy fiddler, but a man who might be a potential murderer – no chance.’ He turned round, leaning on the windowsill and sighed. ‘Can we tell Catherine? She’ll keep it under her hat and she’s pretty shrewd. She might think of something we can do.’

  Will nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Are you still in love with Jess, Will?’

  Will laughed wryly. ‘If I am, it’s too late. I’ve lost her.’

  Dan stood for a while on the pavement looking thoughtfully at Will’s front door. He gave a malicious grin. It was serendipity that he had hung on to the spare key Will had given him two years before when they had been working together on a school project. Not deliberately. Will had forgotten to ask for it back and Dan thought he may as well keep it. It had lain all that time in the glove pocket of his car and when he had rummaged around for it amongst all the children’s sweets and rubbish and old pens and parking tickets after he returned to the house this afternoon, it emerged sticky but, it appeared, still functional. He inserted it into the lock and pushed open the door. ‘Will? You there?’

  The flat was empty, Will’s bag lying just inside the door. He hadn’t even unpacked before rushing off somewhere. Dan looked down at it thoughtfully. Now where would Will have gone in such a hurry? He walked over to the phone and pushed redial.

  The police station.

  Swearing viciously he threw himself down on a chair and sat, his head in his hands, trying to think.

  The Elgar discs were still in the car and Jess sat quietly by the side of the road, only a few hundred yards from her flat, listening to Caractacus. The music surged and flowed round her carrying her back and forth with it, depicting his beloved Malvern hills, the surge of battle, the anguish of defeat. Eigon sounded so wrong; they all sounded wrong. None of it was right, but the music was powerful. Nationalistic. Bracing. Lyrical. It finished at last and Jess closed her eyes. She was exhausted and she had nowhere to go. It was such an irony. She was only a few yards from her home; she had headed back here out of habit, too tired to face the long drive to Wales yet, forgetting all about her tenant. She should have accepted Will’s invitation to go and stay with him. She picked up her phone and dialled Steph again. There was still no answer and no answer machine.

  With a groan she sat back and closed her eyes. At least she had a permit to park her car round here. She could leave it parked up and go and get herself some food. She bought a takeaway from her favourite Indian: rice, a chicken Madras and a poppadum to cheer herself up The boy behind the counter recognised her and greeted her as an old friend. That cheered her too. She bought a can of lager as well and returned to the car. It was growing dark when the light in her flat went on. Scrunching up the wrappers and foil containers she knotted them into the carrier bag, climbed out and went to stuff it into an overflowing bin on the corner of the street. Returning to the car she sat sipping her lager, staring up at the light in her sitting room window. After half an hour it went out and as the streetlights around her came on, the flat sank into darkness.

  Rummaging for another CD she found a Classic FM compilation of peaceful music that Will had given her years before after a particularly stressful Ofsted which had reduced them both to a quivering mass of nerves. She smiled sadly. Dear old Will. Why did her thoughts keep going back to him? Had she made a terrible mistake turning her back on him so abruptly? She couldn’t get the picture of the wistful look in his eyes as they said goodbye out of her head. Suddenly she made up her mind. She would drive over to his flat and throw herself on his mercy yet again. That would give her the chance to make sure she thanked him properly this time for all he had done, make sure he realised that she knew just how much he had risked for her. See to it that they parted as friends. Slotting the disc into place she started the car and pulled out into the traffic to the gentle sound of Debussy.

  Inserting his key into the lock, Will pushed his door open and walked into the flat. He had spent the evening with the Barkers, eating a pot luck supper with them in their attractive, chaotic kitchen with two of their teenage daughters ducking in and out around them, distracting them from the dark mood which hung over them. When at last the girls went out Catherine turned to Will as she waited for the coffee to perk.

  ‘You have to go and find her, Will. I bet she’s changed her mind by now. She’s probably already bitterly regretting sending you away.’

  Will grinned. ‘You think so?’

  ‘I would be, in her shoes.’ She smiled. He must know how attractive he was to women. ‘Ring her up and grovel, Will. Tell her you will be her slave, her escort, her armed guard, whatever. Just don’t leave her to face this alone.’

  ‘I wanted to take her to Cornwall. I thought she’d be safe there with my parents.’

  ‘Did you ask her or tell her?’

  Will stared at her. Then suddenly he laughed. ‘Oh God, you’re right. I probably didn’t ask her. It just seemed such a good idea.’

  ‘Ring her. Now.’ Catherine pointed at the door. ‘Go on. In there where we can’t hear you pleading.’

  Will was back after only a couple of minutes. ‘There’s no reply.’ He put his phone down on the table. Catherine glanced at her wristwatch. ‘She’s probably checked in somewhere for the night. Try again in the morning.’

  Will frowned. If she had turned the phone off it would have gone straight to the message service. If it wasn’t turned off, it would have been in her pocket or her bag and she would hear it. A worm of worry began to gnaw away inside him.

  He left only half an hour later.

  Pushing open his door he paused. Something felt different. The flat was in darkness. It was silent, but he could feel a presence there.

  ‘Jess? Are you here?’

  He couldn’t remember if she still had a key. At least he had another reason to talk to her now, to di
scuss work. ‘Jess, I’ve been talking to Brian about Ash.’ He reached for the lightswitch and flicked it. Nothing happened. He clicked it up and down a couple of times in irritation and stepped forward, groping for the table lamp just inside the sitting room door. ‘Jess? Is that you?’

  He never saw the figure behind him. There was a slight noise from the darkness. As he spun round a hand was raised, holding something hard and heavy. It came down on his head with a thud. Will fell without making a sound.

  30

  Catherine waited until Brian had disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the shower then she crept downstairs into the sitting room and closed the door quietly behind her. Turning on a single table lamp she picked up the phone. The room was shadowy, cosy, almost as cluttered as her husband’s study upstairs with books and newspapers everywhere, and piles of well-thumbed music stacked untidily on the ancient piano against the wall.

  ‘Nat, how are you?’ She had found the number in the overstuffed organiser in her shoulder bag. ‘How are the holidays going?’ They talked for a few minutes, then Catherine went on. ‘There is something I need to speak to you about, Nat. Is this a good moment? Are the kids in bed?’ She slid into the deep armchair, cradling the receiver under her chin, talking softly. ‘You remember you told me that you were frightened of Dan,’ she said a little awkwardly. ‘That he’d beaten you up a couple of times. Has that ever happened again?’

  The voice the other end was suspicious and angry. Catherine paused until Nat had finished her tirade of denial then she went on patiently. ‘No, listen, I haven’t told anyone. I promised, didn’t I? It’s just I heard something this evening which has terrified me. He has attacked someone else, Nat.’

  Nat was silent for several seconds. ‘Who?’ she whispered at last.

  ‘I can’t tell you. I’ve given my word. Just believe me, it was bad. Have you heard from him?’

  ‘Not today. He’s still at a conference in Italy.’

  ‘Well, he’s certainly been to Italy,’ Catherine said repressively. ‘I think you should be careful, love. He might be on his way back. And it sounds as if he’s acting very strangely. Stay there with your parents? Keep out of his way.’