She gazed around nervously. The trees crowded round her on every side. There was no track that she could see in the failing light, and the only sound came from the wind, whispering through the dried autumnal leaves. It was growing cold. Trying to contain her fear she pulled her cloak around her as tightly as possible, drew up her hood against the cold and sat down at the foot of the stone, leaning against it. Presumably this man would come at some point to collect his supplies. All she had to do was wait.
She hadn’t realised she had fallen asleep but suddenly her eyes were open and it was full dark. She was staring nervously round trying to make out what had wakened her. She listened intently. Was it a fox or a badger, wild boar? A wolf? She shivered. She pressed herself as closely as possible against the stone, feeling its chill striking through her cloak. Then she heard it again. The low hoot of an owl. She glanced up, straining to see the bird somewhere in the trees above her. It was watching her and it was passing on a message to someone. Slowly she pulled herself to her feet. Perhaps the someone was a Druid.
She never saw him come. At first the silence round her was empty, then she saw him standing quite close to her, leaning on his staff. The owl took off on soundless wings and disappeared into the night.
‘I’m sorry. Had I known I had a visitor I would have come sooner.’ He spoke softly in the local tongue but she found it was easy to understand. ‘My friends have only just told me you were here.’ He nodded up towards the branch where the owl had been sitting.
She found herself smiling. Her fear had disappeared. ‘I am sorry to arrive unannounced.’
‘Come.’ He stooped and picked up the bundles. ‘We will go back to my house and you can tell me the reason for your visit. You are welcome to my woods.’
She wasn’t sure how long they were walking through the trees. There was no track that she could discern, but the journey was easy and he was considerate, threading his way effortlessly through the darkness, pausing from time to time to wait for her if she fell back.
Then suddenly there they were, in a clearing and before her she saw a round house of the kind she remembered so clearly from her childhood. In front of it a fire had been banked up to stay in until he returned and near it there was an oven. Judging by the succulent smells emanating from the heaped up earth he had left something cooking to await his return. She smiled wearily as he turned to her and courteously gestured her towards the log which served as a seat near the fire. In seconds he had kicked away the earth and ashes banking it down and coaxed it into flame with some dry twigs.
He wouldn’t let her speak until she was rested and they had eaten. Only then did he allow her to tell him her story. He listened without comment, watching the sparks fly up into the night sky, every now and then climbing to his feet to throw on another log. When at last she fell silent it was a long time before he spoke. She glanced at him. He was a tall man, of considerable age, his face tattooed and scarred. He was, as she had suspected a Druid, and lived in secret in the woods. He shrugged when she asked if he wasn’t afraid. Druids had after all been proscribed in Gaul from the days of Julius Caesar and in Britannia since the invasion of Claudius.
‘The man at the mansio implied you looked kindly on Christians,’ Eigon said at last. She bit her lip. She had been hoping she had been directed to a Christian. That was obviously far from the case. ‘He recognised the sign of the fish on a message the others had left for me and he thought you might help me.’
Her new friend smiled thoughtfully. ‘He was right. I have helped people who follow every god, including the Christ. I have heard much about this Jesus. I see no conflict between what he preaches and my own beliefs. Perhaps while you are my guest you will tell me more about him.’ He threw another log on the fire.
Above them in the trees the owl hooted. Eigon smiled. ‘She has followed you home.’
He nodded. ‘She likes to keep watch over me.’
His name was Gort. When he saw that she could no longer keep her eyes open he showed her into the round house and gave her his own bed. He was, he said, going out for the rest of the night. In the morning they would talk again. For the first time in a long time she felt warm and safe and comfortable. She slept almost at once, lulled by the sound of the wind in the trees and the gentle comments of the owl outside, sounds which grew fainter and died away as the bird followed Gort away from his camp deep into the woods and out of earshot.
She woke next morning to the cheerful crackling of the fire and the smell of new baked bread. As they sat opposite each other eating their breakfast he fixed her with a piercing gaze. ‘You didn’t tell me you were Caradoc’s daughter.’
She froze. ‘How did you know?’
‘I made enquiries.’ He frowned. ‘You intend to go back to the land of your father’s people or your mother’s?’
‘My mother’s. It is my home.’
‘Will they welcome you?’
She shrugged. ‘I do not go as a war leader.’
‘And they will not accept you as such. So, why are you going there?’
‘Jesus’s apostle Peter thought I should come home.’
‘To teach us about your god?’ His eyes sharpened.
‘That is always foremost in their minds. They also sent me away to keep me out of trouble.’
‘This man Titus?’
She nodded. She had told him everything the night before except that one piece of information about her parentage.
‘And you want to find out what happened to your brother and sister?’
She nodded again. ‘I can find no peace until I know.’
‘You say the Druid Melinus instructed you in Druidic healing.’
She nodded. ‘He too felt that serving Christ was a natural part of the Druid way.’ She smiled.
He nodded. He was studying her face. ‘I feel great power in you, Eigon. I think you underestimate your abilities. I sense that you can do everything you set out to achieve.’ He turned away and for a while looked silently into the fire then he glanced back at her. ‘If you would like a companion on your travels towards the west, I would be glad to accompany you.’
She stared at him, overwhelmed. ‘But you can’t just get up and go. You have a home here.’
He smiled. ‘My home is with me wherever I go. I bank up the fire; I tell my friends, the birds and animals, to keep an eye on my house for me.’ He gestured towards the surrounding trees. ‘They will be here when I return.’
‘And my friends?’ she asked wistfully. ‘Commios and Drusilla. What about them?’
‘If they are heading for Venta Silurum then you will see them again there.’
‘And Titus?’
He frowned. ‘I fear you will see him again too. He is very close.’ He sighed. ‘There will be a confrontation, Eigon, but with the help of your god and mine, we will win. He will be banished to outer darkness.’
36
Meryn shivered. Outer darkness. Someone was using powerful words against Titus, but not powerful enough. He leaned thoughtfully against one of the trees, and stood staring into the distance.
‘Is it Marcia?’ Rhodri whispered.
He shook his head. ‘I sense a new player in the game. Marcia has closed herself to me.’
‘And Jess?’ Rhodri’s voice broke as he said her name.
Meryn glanced at him. ‘Don’t lose hope. She is here somewhere. Not very far away.’ He pushed himself away from the tree trunk. Somewhere close by an owl had hooted. He frowned. ‘Rhodri, will you go back to the farmhouse now? Wait there for me. I need to be alone again for a while.’
Rhodri nodded. ‘If you find anything –’
‘You will be the first to hear.’
He waited until the sound of Rhodri’s footsteps had faded away then he turned to climb up towards the summit. The rocks there had a feeling of tremendous power about them. It was there that the bones of the little boy, Togo, lay, still undisturbed and un recognised by anyone but Jess. He walked across to the rocks and laid his hands upo
n them. The child would have his blessing at least, and his prayers for a safe journey into the underworld.
He felt the crackle of power under his fingertips. This was an ancient place of worship. The prayers of thousands of years were met here. He frowned. He had half-expected to feel that Eigon had come here, that she had blessed the place with her Christian prayers, but there was no Christian feel here. These gods were old gods; and these gods were gods more often invoked in anger. Eigon had not discovered this place; she had not found the remains of her little brother. That was one of the roots of her inability to rest in peace.
So, what about Gwladys? Had she found his body? Did the child have that trauma too to contend with? He waited patiently with eyes closed for the pictures to come. No, she had searched but then she had gone away. Why? Then he saw. Someone else had found her. They had taken her away from the last place she had seen her mother and her brother and sister. That someone had taken her deep into the mountains of the north, into the lands of the Ordovices and there they had held her, sensing the power within her, and they had used her, nurturing her anger and her bitterness to their own ends. He stood very still, his hands on the rocks. These rocks were rooted into the very heart of the land. They acted as a channel to all history, to all dreams, to the old gods and the new. He was feeling his way carefully. Was she the route into this mystery, this child who had been brought to the path of evil? Not Eigon at all, not even Titus, but Gwladys, the youngest daughter of Caradoc.
There was a giggle behind him. He tensed, listening, but he did not turn.
Are you going to play with me?
‘What sort of game do you want to play, Gwladys?’ He held his hands firmly against the rock, keeping his mind carefully empty.
Glads. I’m called Glads. Eigon called me Glads!
‘Then I will call you Glads too. That’s much prettier.’ He kept his voice low. ‘Where is your sister, do you know?’
She went away. She didn’t want to play any more.
‘But she came back. As soon as she could she came back to look for you. She never forgot you, Glads. She always remembered you in her prayers.’ He paused. ‘Like the other lady, Jess. She has been trying so hard to help you, Glads. Do you know where she is?’
She wants to play with me!
‘And so do I, Glads. But we want to play together. Will you show me where she is?’
Are you going to play with me?
‘I am, but I want to find Jess first.’ He kept his voice even, resisting the urge to turn round. He sensed she was coming closer. ‘What shall we play, Glads?’
His sixth sense served him well. At the last moment he spun round. She was immediately behind him, a tall willowy woman, as transparent as water and in her hand there was a knife. She brought it down as he dodged sideways and it plunged harmlessly into the rock where he had been standing, both rock and knife seeming as soft as butter.
‘Enough!’ he bellowed at her. ‘In the name of whatever gods you hold sacred desist from this nonsense. Do you want to find your family or not?’ Somewhat to his surprise she was still standing there. ‘Do you know what you have done? You have desecrated the burial place of your little brother!’
There was a terrible silence. He saw a moment of surprise and grief register on her pale flawless face then she was fading. In seconds she had gone.
‘Damn!’ Now he had lost his chance of getting her to tell him where Jess was, because he was fairly sure she knew.
‘OK. Marcia!’ He turned back to the rock. ‘Let’s see if you are as good as you think you are. You have no personal involvement here, am I right?’ He was talking out loud, aware at once that somewhere she was listening. ‘And I’ll bet you would like to see Titus suffer. Did he short change you? Did he despise you even as he sought your advice?’ His anger, far from cutting off his clarity seemed to have accentuated it. He could see her now, this seer of Ancient Rome, her bright intelligent eyes alight with amusement. An older woman, secure in her accomplishments, her hair white beneath her veil but her skin as flawless as had been that of the child, Glads. She was watching everything from her eyrie, high in a turret in her townhouse behind the temple of Vesta in Rome. ‘Play with him all you like, lady,’ he said slowly. ‘There is a malignity in these hills which needs to be cleansed. It comes from the blood of battle, and the bloodlust which goes with it; it comes from Titus but it also comes from the emotions of that child, trained in the evil arts and returning to spread her poison and it comes from the man who has inadvertently taken it all in and who even now is wandering round the hills gorging on the energy of it all. Help me, Marcia!’ He was staring straight ahead but he wasn’t seeing the trees or the stars or the rock on which his palms rested, he was looking straight into the cool all-seeing eyes of this woman of Ancient Rome. He wished, he realised suddenly, that he could know her. He saw the eyes soften and he realised that she had unerringly read the thought.
‘Did Titus come here?’ He spoke the question in a whisper. ‘Did he follow Eigon back to this place? Did she come here to cleanse the evil memories? Did he stand in her way and feed on her sister’s hatred?’
‘Look!’ she whispered back. ‘Watch!’
It was spring when Eigon and Gort at last reached Venta Silurum. They had wintered with forest peoples on the roads and trackways, moving on when the weather relented enough to make the ways passable. They lived as itinerant healers and teachers, earning their bread in each community as they passed, Eigon often singing at the fires of their hosts. They never wanted for food. Hospitality was a sacred duty to Celt and Christian alike. Eigon’s feet grew tough in the leather boots she wore. Her face weathered in the ice-cold winds. She was happy, though they heard nothing of Commios or Drusilla. There was no sign of Titus. They did find other Christians here and there, and heard stories that Jesus himself had visited the land of the Durotriges when he was a lad, and that a little church had been set up somewhere there in the vale of apples in the name of his mother, Mary.
The town of the Silures was a Roman outpost, a fort and a market on the far side of the great River Sabrina. It held no memories for Eigon; she sensed nothing from her childhood here and almost at once they set off again, up into the hills in search of Silurian communities who might remember the old king, whose daughter Cerys had married the hero Caradoc and who might know anything about his other daughter Gwladys and his son, Togodumnus.
Gort was watching her as they walked slowly up the trackways and he smiled. ‘I see the mountains are talking to you.’
She smiled. ‘I have dreamed of them for so long. The soft curves of the hills, the black peaks, the smell of the flowers, the song of the wind in the tall trees.’ She paused, leaning on her staff. ‘This is a land of poetry.’
He nodded.
‘Even the rivers sing.’
He nodded again. He glanced at her, sensing a new lightness about her and his heart sank. There was no escaping the dark days to come. He had prayed to his own gods and to her Lord, but they had answered with a frown. She faced a baptism of fire in this her native land and there was no avoiding it. Slowly he moved on again feeling a new weariness in his bones. Why did she not feel this overwhelming threat? How was it that she could sing?
She followed him, hurrying a little to catch up. ‘The end to my quest is coming, isn’t it?’ She looked across at him. ‘I can feel it on the wind and I can see it in your face.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I was wondering when you would sense it.’
‘I sensed it. I just didn’t want it to spoil this last bit of our journey. I thought we would be able to stay here in the south near my mother’s people, but they no longer remember her, or if they do, they remember only battles and fear and blood.’ The word brought a shiver on the wind. ‘I have to go back to the place this all started, don’t I. To the Valley of the Ravens.’
He nodded.
‘And it is there I will meet Titus again.’
This time he shrugged. ‘As to what the fates hav
e in store, I cannot tell you.’
They had stopped, facing each other, the wind tugging at their hair, swirling their cloaks around them as the clouds raced eastwards across the mountains throwing great swift moving shadows over the ground. She smiled.
‘This time I am a grown woman. I have the protection of my God. I will be expecting him.’
‘And you plan to kill him?’ Gort held her eyes steadily.
She shook her head. ‘The Lord says we should turn the other cheek.’
‘And how will that repay the hurt he has caused?’
‘I will leave that up to God. I have offered the situation to Him to sort out.’ She smiled again. She spent much of her time in meditation every night, surrounded by the warmth of love and comfort that the prayers gave her whether it was outside under the trees, in the sacred groves of her ancestors or in the dark in the houses and shelters where they had hidden from the weather. ‘He will tell me what to do when the time comes.’
The time came as the days lengthened and the spring sunshine grew stronger. They followed the river valleys, then they followed the trackways north, heading ever onward towards the place that her father had chosen for his fateful battle with the power of Rome.
The battlefield had long ago returned to grass and shrubs and trees. There was no sign of the burials or the funeral pyres that had marked the place. The palisades of the great hill fort had been torn down, the walls had disappeared and there were sheep grazing on the earth banks and the ramparts. Eigon walked alone out onto the plain and stood still. She could feel it now, the fear, the anguish, the anger, the rage of battle. Closing her eyes she whispered a prayer for the souls of all those who had fallen in this, the Valley of Ravens, then she turned towards the steep hillside which ran to the south and west, the hillside where she and her mother and her nurse and her brother and sister had fled through the darkness to find safety and shelter.
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