Just past a tumbled-down old barn they found a leaning sign that declared the stony track they were following was Old Bedwas Road. It looked unpromising at first, but the path eventually became metaled and led the bedraggled troop to St Barrwg’s Church. Antony gave thanks for the welcoming sight of an ancient church with a sturdy, gray stone tower, roof peaks capped with Celtic crosses, set in a green churchyard filled with shapely tombstones overlooking the village of Bedwas.
At the St Thomas’s church and community centre everyone smiled when they were served the inevitable shepherd’s pie, but familiarity with the menu didn’t seem to have dulled anyone’s appetite. No one turned down the offer of seconds when their congenial hostesses in flowered aprons offered. Nor did anyone refuse the Spotted Dick for pudding. Father Peter, the rector of St Barrag’s, a wide smile on his round, pink face, joined in, urging everyone to eat and enjoy.
After dinner, Ryan and Jared folded the tables and stacked them against the wall to make room for the weary walkers to roll out their sleeping bags, and set battery-powered pumps to work blowing up air mattresses. Michael brought in the first aid kit and Lydia’s training was put to use again, placing sticking plasters on blisters. Antony gave thanks that his good boots and doubled walking socks, little used since his days as an undergraduate, were providing effective protection, and took a chair along the wall beside Nancy, who was sitting with her foot propped on another chair, balancing a bag of frozen peas on her ankle.
“How are you doing?”
She managed a smile. “Not too bad. Lydia gave me some paracetamol and my headache is almost gone.” She gingerly fingered a lump on her forehead that was starting to turn an angry purple.
“And your ankle? Not too painful?”
“Not unless I put any weight on it. Guess I’m really lucky.”
“That must have been awfully frightening. You still don’t have any idea what happened?”
Nancy was quiet for a long moment. “Nothing that makes any sense.”
“That’s all right. Let’s hear it.” The room was a hive of activity around them with air pumps humming and pilgrims chattering.
“Well, I have the impression of having been pushed.”
“You mean Evie bumped you when she jumped back?” Nancy would naturally be reluctant to accuse the girl even of an accident.
“No. I’ve thought about that, but she was in front of me. She would have knocked me backwards. It felt like a sharp shove from two hands on my shoulder blades.” Nancy shook her head, her normally tidy hair falling around her face. “But I must have imagined it, because no one else was anywhere near us.”
Antony slipped his hand into his pocket and clutched the crucifix there.
Felicity, assisting Lydia by cutting strips of adhesive as she was directed, noticed Antony talking with Nancy on the other side of the hall. How long had it been since she and Antony had managed a quiet moment for a real conversation? Antony, talk to me. She handed a strip of bandage to Lydia.
About us, not just about this blessed pilgrimage. She knew he had a huge responsibility here. And everyone was exhausted. And weird things were happening. But this was supposed to be a bit of an interlude for us, too. Peace and quiet, you said.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Antony got up and walked across the hall. “Felicity, we need to talk.”
“Yes!” She dropped the scissors back into the kit. Lydia could cut her own tape.
She followed him outside to the quiet churchyard across from the hall. Under an ancient tree at the edge of the yard they leaned against a stone wall. In the dimming evening light they looked across a green field to the mountains beyond. The inevitable sheep in the field were grazing a final bedtime snack or settling down. To their right, long evening shadows stretched down Church Street to the village below. Felicity smiled. How wonderful that he had read her thoughts. She should have known that her Antony wouldn’t have forgotten about her feelings. She turned to him with a soft smile on her lips, uncharacteristically letting him speak first.
“Felicity, I’m worried about Kaylyn and Evie.”
She put her hands over her face to hide her disappointment and took a deep breath. It was a moment before she could speak. “Yes, you’re absolutely right. That was very worrying earlier. Do you want me to talk to them?”
“Just stay close to them, I think. And pray.”
She nodded. She would do that. She would learn to put others’ needs before her own. “And how’s Nancy?”
“That could be even more worrying.”
“I thought it was just a sprain.”
“I don’t mean the injury.” He told her of Nancy’s impression of being pushed.
Now all thoughts of personal desires drained from Felicity as she felt herself chill. “You mean like Hwyl?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. I wish to God I did.”
Chapter 13
Thursday
Bedwas to Eglwysilan
Felicity unzipped her sleeping bag to let in some cool air and rolled to her side, facing the wall in an attempt to blot out the dark, distorted images swirling in her mind. Like the apparitions that had confronted Evie and Kaylyn earlier, images of death contorted in her sleep-clogged brain. Half waking, half sleeping, her experiences of the past months intertwined. Hwyl’s figure plummeted over the tower and rolled to her feet. But when she looked down it was the battered, bloodied body of her beloved Father Dominic that lay there. The piercing scream that had wakened her was that of Sister Elspeth plunging over the cliff at Whitby, but the ghostly hand that reached out to grab her was that of her murdered classmate, Neville. And through it all, the double-headed snake on the Orbis Astri emblem writhed and slithered. Then Nancy plunged down the coal tip, her hair aflame like Sister Florence, and Felicity tried to scream but it came out as an anguished groan.
“Felicity.” Antony was at her side, holding her in his arms as she had longed for him to do earlier. She flung her arms around him, clasping with such force she thought she would never let him go.
At length, though, they drew apart. Antony held out a key. “Father Peter left this with me. I’m going over to the church to pray. Want to come along?”
Felicity nodded and reached for the trousers and sweatshirt lying beside her bag.
Outside, the air was fresh and cool. Felicity drew in long breaths to wash her mind of the lingering dark images. Then the old church closed around them with a warm hospitality, like a comforter. Antony turned on just one light over the altar. They knelt at the rail.
After a time of silence, Antony took a small prayer book from his pocket. “The response is ‘We beg you: Free us, O Lord.’” She nodded.
“From anxiety, sadness and obsessions,” he began.
“We beg you: Free us, O Lord.”
The list was long—hatred, envy, jealousy, rage, death, divisions…
“Free us, O Lord.”
“From every sort of spell, malefice, witchcraft and every form of the occult…”
“We beg you: Free us, O Lord.” They finished in unison.
Felicity turned and sat on the altar steps, facing Antony. “Witchcraft? Spells? You believe in those things?”
“Not in the way they’re popularly portrayed, but evil is real.”
“Our enemy the devil goes around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he will devour, you mean?” Felicity knew she didn’t have the words exact, but she knew it was from the Bible. “But I don’t understand. Kaylyn and Evie with their vampires might be open to the occult. But Nancy—she’s in discernment, might even become a priest or a nun.”
“Perhaps that’s why.”
“Her devotion put her in harm’s way? But that doesn’t make sense. It should protect her. And Sister Florence. And Hwyl.”
“It’s true enough that the devil flees when Christians pray and when the name of Christ is spoken. But it’s also true that the battle is not yet ended. Demons will continue to test the baptized.”
Felicity was
amazed to be able to return to peaceful sleep and to waken refreshed the next morning. And ravenous. Father Peter had come back, bringing with him a tall, slim, brown-haired woman who set about frying bacon and eggs while he made tea and toast, and the pilgrims rolled their beds up and unfolded the tables.
Nancy hobbled across the room with the aid of two walking sticks. “How are you? How did you sleep?” Felicity asked.
“I slept fine. I’m better already.”
Lydia took charge of her patient, insisting that she continue to keep the foot elevated in spite of the fact that the swelling was much reduced.
Antony, however, conversing with Father Peter at the end of the table, had dark circles under his eyes that told Felicity he had not slept well. Even more worrying was the fact that he hardly touched his bacon and eggs.
After breakfast, Felicity started to join the general bustle of clearing tables and loading the van, but Antony touched her arm and led her outside to the far corner of the churchyard. “I told Father Peter some of what’s been going on. He had heard of Hwyl’s death, but didn’t know the details. He didn’t seem overly surprised when I told him about some of the other happenings. Concerned, but not surprised. Apparently occult activities aren’t uncommon around here.” He pulled out his mobile. “He gave me Hwyl’s number. Well, the number of his widow, that is.”
“Do you know her?”
“No, he wasn’t married when he was at college. Dilys, Father Peter said her name is. Means ‘perfect’ and he thinks she rather lives up to it.”
“You’re going to ring her?”
“There’s too much going on that we need to get to the bottom of.” He clicked on the number he had entered earlier. “I’ll put it on speaker so you can hear.”
A soft female voice answered on the third ring. “Whitchurch Rectory, Dilys speaking.”
Antony explained as succinctly as he could who he was and why he was calling, and offered his condolences.
“You were there? The morning Hwyl—”
“I was there almost immediately afterwards. Again, I’m so sorry.”
“Yes. Yes, thank you. It’s a terrible thing. It’s so hard to understand.”
“Yes, that’s what I wanted to ask you about. If you feel like talking.”
“Thank you, Father Antony. Yes, I think it might help. I know it will, if it will shed any light—” Again her voice broke off.
“I wanted to know—was Hwyl worried? Was he sleeping all right? Acting strangely?”
“He had a worrying job. You know…”
“Yes. As I mentioned, he took my seminar, so I helped train him.”
“Yes.” The lilt was gone from her voice. “Well, I don’t know how much I can help you. You’ll understand he didn’t talk about his work much.”
“Yes. I do. But anything you could tell us might help.”
“Well, I did think he might be looking for something.”
“But you don’t have any idea what?”
“Not at all.”
“How had Hwyl been feeling? Physically?”
The phone was silent on the other end of the line. Finally Dilys said, “It’s strange that you should ask. He’d be absolutely fine.” She paused. “And then all of a sudden he’d vomit. All unexpected. His doctor couldn’t find anything wrong.”
Antony waited without replying.
Even over the phone they could hear Dilys take a deep breath. It seemed obvious she hadn’t told anyone else about this. “And he was having pains in his hands and feet. ‘As though a nail was being driven through them,’ he said.”
“Mrs Pendry, have you found any strange objects in your house?”
“Nooo.” She dragged it out as if she were thinking. Perhaps trying to make sense of the question.
“You might take a look. Especially around your bed.”
She didn’t reply.
“Just one more question, Mrs Pendry. I am sorry to bother you, but do you have any idea why Hwyl went to Kirkthorpe?”
“The police asked me that, too. But like I said, he didn’t talk about his work. It was—well, strange. And so much was confidential. He really couldn’t. And I think he didn’t want to worry me.”
“Yes, well—”
“He did say something, though, and I got the feeling… Well, I think maybe he wanted advice.” Before Antony could ask, she added hurriedly, “But I don’t know what about or from whom.”
Antony thanked her and rang off. He looked ashen. “What if he was coming to see me?”
Felicity put a hand on his arm. “You don’t know that, Antony. And if he was, it wasn’t your fault.”
Antony shook his head. “I know. Not really, and yet—it brings the responsibility closer. I was his deliverance lecturer. If I failed to teach him something…”
“Antony,” she repeated, “it’s not your fault. Besides, why wouldn’t he have gone to his bishop?”
Antony didn’t have any answers for her.
The group was ready to depart when they returned to the hall. After morning prayers in the church, for which Father Peter joined them, the pilgrims departed with a final thanks to their host.
In sharp contrast to the rural route they had traveled yesterday, today’s path skirted around the densely populated outskirts of Caerphilly, taking them through the housing and industrial estates that filled the valley bottom. Felicity found it depressing, and missed Nancy’s singing and gentle spirit which never failed to lift her own.
Antony took out the iridescent green vests traffic-control officers might wear. He gave one to Ryan and donned one himself. At every street crossing throughout the built-up area, Ryan crossed first and Antony brought up the rear. Still, with their best efforts to keep the group together, there were always stragglers as someone stopped to look in a shop window or a traffic light changed before they could all cross the street.
Felicity was trying her best to keep a surreptitious eye on Adam. She knew he would be offended if she seemed to be minding him, but someone needed to. Lydia had chosen to go in the van “To watch over my patient” she had said, but Felicity suspected it was an excuse to spend time with Michael, who had shown no signs of rejecting Lydia’s attention.
“Have you been here before?” she asked, falling in step beside the lad who was lagging at the back of the group as they walked up Standard Street.
“I’ve always wanted to. They have a brilliant team.”
“Team?”
“Rugby football. Bedwas is the best.” His face fell. “Well, they were rather put to the sword last season. But they’ll come back. You’ll see.”
Felicity didn’t have much idea what he was talking about, but she admired his spunk. Then she was even more confused a bit further along when he burst out, “Peter’s Pies!”
“What?”
Adam pointed to a green and white sign in a shop window. “Their corned beef pasties are the best.”
Felicity laughed. “You can’t possibly be hungry. We just had an enormous breakfast.”
The road became a long, straight route with no cross streets, so Ryan and Antony were no longer required to herd them like sheepdogs. Which also meant that they became even further strung apart. Felicity realized that with Nancy in the van, Evie and Kaylyn had also lost their shepherd. When the girls stopped to look at designs displayed in the window of a tattoo shop, Felicity paused with them.
She listened with half an ear to their chatter, trying to fathom the appeal of having one of these patterns pricked into your skin with a sharp needle, until she caught her breath at a familiar pattern tucked in the far corner of the display. As in her dream last night, the double-headed snake writhed on its triangle. She could almost hear it hissing at her.
Felicity linked an arm through each girl’s elbow and commanded, “Come on. Now.” Her tug was so sharp she almost pulled Evie off-balance, but both girls obeyed.
They had caught up with the rest of the walkers when Felicity realized Adam was nowhere in sight. She lo
oked frantically up and down both sides of the street. “Where could he have gone? There aren’t any other streets.” If he had gone into a shop they would be ages finding him. He must have darted off for one of those pies.
“How about that side street back there?” Evie asked.
“Huh?”
“You marched us past it so fast you probably didn’t notice— like the devil was on your tail.”
Felicity didn’t reply, just turned back along the way they had come. Indeed, only a few shops back a small street ran uphill. No wonder Adam had been attracted. A miniature street fair was in progress. Several shops had set tables of their wares on the pavement, a fiddler played a lively tune, attracting several children and dogs, and Adam stood watching them, entranced, munching the final crumbs of a Welsh cake.
Felicity had to laugh. “Where did you get that?”
He shrugged and wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “She gave it to me.”
Felicity looked around expecting to see a street vendor, probably in historic Welsh costume. The street was busy, but there was no such vendor in sight—costumed or not. “Who?”
“She’s gone.”
“I can see that.” Felicity’s sympathy for Lydia was growing by the minute. “But who was she?”
“The lady from Twmbarlwm.”
Felicity chilled. The mysterious lady in the mist. “What does she look like?”
He smiled. “She’s pretty.”
Felicity sighed. “Yes, you said.” It seemed clear she wouldn’t get any more out of him.
“I wish I had another one. I’m still hungry.”
“Come on, we need to catch up.” Felicity struggled to keep the irritation out of her voice.
The way continued on through the busy streets of a built-up industrial area and housing estates. What St David and his monks, moving westward with the gospel, or the later medieval pilgrims following in their footsteps would think if they could see this was unimaginable. Even the more pleasant part when they crossed the bridge over Nant yr Aber and the footpath followed the bank of the stream before joining a cycle path bordered by trees was still accompanied by traffic on the busy road beside them, leading past a supermarket and around a wide car park.
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