Time's Legacy

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘You, a healer?’ Petra turned her attention to her brother with a crow of derision.

  ‘Why not?’ He blushed. ‘But they don’t only study healing. I could be one of the vates, like Cynan. I want to learn about everything.’

  Flavius looked up in mock despair. ‘What a nest of little rebels you nurture here, brother. Can he even read?’

  Gaius nodded. ‘They can both read.’

  ‘And what do they read? Your account books? Your druid friends write nothing down so I’ve heard, to keep their sinister doings secret.’

  ‘Petra can read and write in Greek and Latin; Romanus is learning,’ Lydia put in. ‘Leave the children alone, Flavius. We do very well here. We can do without your malice.’ She felt braver now her husband was there.

  Flavius shrugged. ‘I will stay as long as I need to. When my job is done, then I will decide what to do about my family.’ He smirked at his brother. ‘I seem to remember threatening to kill you last time we met.’

  Romanus and Petra gasped.

  ‘I think the threat was mutual,’ Gaius retorted. ‘Keep away from us.’

  Flavius shook his head. ‘Not a chance. This is where I am staying for now under the sacred law of hospitality. Romanus, my boy, show me this glorious guest house of yours. I will move my bags in there. I will bother you as little as possible, Lydia.’ He bowed graciously. ‘Just food and fire is all I need. For now.’

  Romanus looked from his mother to his father in confusion. ‘Shall I show him?’

  It was Lydia who nodded. ‘Help him with his bags, Romanus.’

  They waited in silence until Romanus and Flavius had left the house. Gaius went to the door and watched as they made their way through the heavy rain, across the yard and headed into one of the small buildings on the far side of the granary. It was well thatched and smart and the inside was well appointed. For all his cynical sneering his brother would be very comfortable there.

  When he turned back he saw Lydia shaking her head. ‘This can’t be happening. I was so sure he would never find us.’

  ‘Why do you hate each other so much?’ Petra said anxiously. ‘Mama? Papa? What is this about? Why is Mama so frightened?’ She pulled a rug around her shoulders with a groan, tucking her swollen hands under her armpits for warmth.

  Gaius took a deep breath. He sat down on the stool vacated by his brother and reached out to touch her shoulder. ‘We have quarrelled all our lives, Petra. Something I’m not proud of. For some reason Flavius has always resented me. I was born first and he saw me as an obstacle to the sole love of our parents. Then I met your mother and fell in love and he,’ he paused and took a deep breath, trying to keep his rising anger in check, ‘he decided to try and take her off me. He has tried to come between us ever since. We saw no reason to bother you and your brother with this history. We thought we would never see him again.’

  ‘And was he speaking the truth when he said you had sworn to kill each other?’ Petra’s voice was very faint.

  Lydia went over to her. ‘Angry words are often meaningless,’ she said firmly. ‘I am sure he just reminded us of that to make mischief.’

  ‘I think we should go,’ Gaius said after a moment. ‘We can be packed and gone in less time than it would take for him to go down to the lake village and come back. When he goes down there or over to Ynys yr Afalon and to the villagers on the Glast Mere to enquire after this man he is following I think we should disappear.’

  ‘No.’ Lydia shook her head. She straightened her shoulders. ‘I am not running any more. I love this place. We have friends here. Our children like it here. And where else is there to go, Gaius? This is where we make a stand. He is only one man, for goodness sake. And he is older now. For all we know he is married himself.’

  Gaius bit his lip. ‘You think me a coward, to have run away from him?’

  ‘No! Of course I don’t. You did what you thought was best. All we wanted was to be together. After all your parents tried to separate you. They understood the problem. They loved you both but they recognised you could not be in the same country. No more though, Gaius. I am not going to move. And he will go back to Caesarea. He is proud of his post there. You heard him. He cannot resist teasing us, but he will go.’

  Gazing into the flames she did not see that her husband was shaking his head in despair.

  Turning to face the north he imagined he could see the sea, a grey line on the horizon. He could see distant hills, far away, sense their height and their mystery. At their foot the tides roared up and down the estuary with terrifying speed. He pictured the muddy waters, restless, powerful, always watchful, one day gentle beneath a benevolent wind as the grey wavelets drove into the river mouths on the incoming tide to ride the mud flats with their thousands of birds and tease the salt-laden reeds, the next a furious rage of white-topped waves, tearing away greats lumps of mud. On those waves rode the small fishing vessels, the larger traders, the ferries always defying the elements, always brave. He turned away, his face to the wind and raised his hands in prayer for all those souls in peril on the sea.

  8

  Abi shook herself awake. She had been sitting in the rocking chair in the kitchen where she had gone after Justin left. Making herself a cup of coffee she had sat down for a few minutes, intending to go outside to make a plan of the most urgent gardening jobs which she felt she could put her hand to. His abrupt departure had annoyed her but whatever his problems were with his brother they were none of her business; his rudeness was not personal. She reached for her coffee. It was stone cold. She glanced at her watch. It had happened again. For over an hour she had been lost in dreams about Lydia and Gaius. Levering herself out of the chair she went and switched on the kettle. This was happening too often. And this time she wasn’t even holding the stone, if that was indeed the catalyst that was making all this happen. She shivered. These people from the past seemed to be taking her over. Was this some form of possession? Was Kier right? Had he seen something in her she hadn’t recognised herself? Some paranormal ability which taken to extremes could be dangerous. She ought to discuss it with Ben. But he would take steps to prevent it happening; insist that she reject whatever it was that was inside her which was allowing her to do this.

  Should she reject it? Did she have any choice? She hadn’t invited these characters into her head this time. She hadn’t gone outside, seeking a front row seat to watch their performance. She had sat down and closed her eyes and at once they had been there, elbowing their way into her brain, and the story had continued. Pouring scalding water into the top of her mug to warm the cold coffee she sipped it slowly. If only her mother had had the chance to tell her more about the crystal. How it worked. What significance it had in her life. Both their lives. She bit her lip sadly. ‘Mummy, you’ve really dropped me in it this time,’ she murmured.

  Five minutes later she had an idea. She would drive over to Glastonbury and find a crystal shop. Surely someone in that Mecca of New Age knowledge, or as someone she once knew had put it, the wackiest town in Britain, would be able to advise her what was happening to her or provide her with a book on the subject of crystals.

  She set off, heading towards the ever-visible Tor, down the road which must, she now realised, have once been a causeway. Perhaps it still was technically. In the past, the past she had been watching, it hadn’t been there at all. This was where Romanus had paddled his dugout canoe and cut across the shallow waters of the mere towards the Isle of Avalon. Of course, as Cal had pointed out, in reality Glastonbury had never been a complete island. A neck of land to the south-east had always connected it to the higher ground, but to all intents and purposes it was an island even now, the more so when the mist lay across the levels as a pool of white. A lovely mysterious island steeped in legend and lore.

  At first sight it appeared to be the same attractive busy small town she remembered, tucked between its famous landmark hills, the Tor, Wearyall and Chalice Hill. Ignoring the by-pass, she turned into the narrow steep
ly winding roads which led towards the town centre, making her way down the high street, decorated with its colourful hanging baskets and its intriguing range of shops, most of them glitteringly New Age, although there were, she was glad to see, still some food shops there as well. She drove past St John’s Church and the lovely old Tribunal building and the ancient George and Pilgrims pub, swinging round the market place into Magdalene Street where she turned into the car park behind the ruined abbey and pulled up.

  She walked slowly back up the noisy, crowded high street, listening with half an ear to a street musician installed outside St John’s. There were several crystal shops to choose from. She wandered past a couple and then at random selected a third. The fascia was painted a deep rich green and the sign writing in an ornate gold script announced that it was called Athena’s Attic. The opening door set off a rippling chime somewhere deep in the shop.

  Letting the door close behind her she looked round. The whole place was full of crystals. It seemed to sing with their energy. She made her way in, taking in the cases of exquisite jewellery, the shelves, the tables loaded with dishes of coloured stones, heading towards the counter where a young woman was sitting, reading a novel. She glanced up at Abi then went back to her story. Abi smiled. She obviously didn’t look like your average shoplifter or indeed, perhaps, the average customer either. She walked across and cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’

  The girl set down the book. ‘That’s OK. Most people just want to look.’ She was wearing long amber earrings which matched her eyes and a green blouse embroidered with sequins. It made her look somehow ethereal, like a dryad from some magical woodland.

  ‘I want some advice,’ Abi said cautiously. ‘About a crystal I have at home.’

  The girl shrugged. ‘I’m not an expert. We’ve got books at the back there. What do you want to know about it?’

  Abi was floored. She couldn’t bring herself to say, well, it seems to be projecting memories and I want to learn how to switch it on and off and change channel. ‘I suppose I want to know how you – er, use them,’ she said cautiously. ‘I’ve been left this thing. And it seems very powerful.’ It seemed all right to say that in a shop like this. ‘And I’m not sure what one does…’ Her voice faded away.

  ‘Have a look at the books.’ The girl waved a hand which Abi saw was laden with amber and silver rings. ‘If they’re no good you could talk to Athena who owns the shop. She will be back later. She knows everything there is to know about crystals.’ She smiled amiably. ‘Go and have a root about. You’ll probably find something to help you.’ She had already picked up her book. Abi glanced at the cover wondering what the title was. It was obviously hard to put down. Following the direction of the wafting hand she made her way down some steps and into a second show room at the back of the shop. There were fewer crystals here –they probably didn’t like it away from the sunshine, she thought with a wry smile but there were all sorts of other interesting artefacts. Abi found herself staring in fascination at the statues, the wands, the rows of little bottles of sacred oils and jars of incense. There were shops like this at home of course – in fact in every town in the country, but this one was somehow special. Was that because this was Glastonbury? She wasn’t sure. She wove her way between the tables towards a wall of books, the shelves neatly labelled and began to search amongst the volumes dedicated to crystals.

  The voice behind her some time later made her jump. ‘Excuse me? Bella thought you might need some advice about crystals?’

  Abi turned and found herself looking at a tall well-built woman with clouds of silver hair. Dressed in a floor-length embroidered skirt and a black sweater Athena, like her assistant, was wearing copious amounts of jewellery, but instead of looking over the top and stereotyped it just seemed glorious. Abi smiled. It was as though the woman’s deep grey eyes could look straight into her soul.

  ‘Athena?’ she said. ‘So, one of your parents was a classicist. Homer, am I right?’

  Athena raised her eyebrows. ‘Impressive. Not many people recognise the allusion. The grey-eyed goddess, that’s me!’ She grinned. ‘Not my parents, actually. They christened me Elizabeth. No, the name came later.’ They smiled at each other. Abi nodded. She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I gather you might be able to help me.’ This was no time for embarrassment or prevarication. ‘I seem to have been left the most amazing crystal by my mother.’

  Before she had got very far with the story Athena had held up her hand. The silver bangles on her wrist jangled. ‘I think we need to go somewhere we can sit down,’ she said firmly. ‘Follow me.’ Five minutes later they were settled in the coffee shop next door, Abi in front of a frothy cappuccino, Athena with a cup of green tea. The shop was crowded and warm and cheerful. Strangely enough, even though there was noise all around them they seemed to be sitting in their own oasis of quiet as Abi poured out her tale. When she had finished she sat back, sipping her coffee. The only fact that she had left out was her own calling. She had a feeling that declaring oneself a priest, even a lapsed priest, of the Church of England, might not go down too well in this environment.

  Athena seemed lost in thought. At last she raised her eyes to Abi’s and smiled. ‘When I was a student I trained at the Royal College of Art. Then I decided I wanted to become a jeweller. I designed stuff which went all round the world. Precious stones. Gold. But then I came down here on a visit back in the seventies and I found an alternative man – the one who named me Athena – and,’ she smiled, ‘I was drawn in to the whole Glastonbury thing. The man moved on, but I didn’t. I bought the shop and I began to work with lines of less expensive jewellery – semi-precious stones. Crystals. Working with them I began to open to them without even realising what was happening. Crystals are here to teach us; to heal; to enlighten. All natural stones are, of course. It is part of their nature, but rock crystals are special. Their purity combined with their earthiness makes them very powerful.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘There are people who have analysed them, categorised them. People who claim to have channelled information which has come from the ancient masters of Atlantis.’ She was staring down at the tablecloth, her voice matter of fact.

  Abi waited. The woman had an air of serene confidence which she envied deeply. She was, Abi guessed, nearer sixty than the forty she had originally guessed at – she must be if she had come here in the seventies. ‘Crystals come into my shop in all sorts of states of,’ Athena hesitated, ‘I was going to say mind.’ She looked up and smiled. Abi found herself smiling back. ‘But that is right. That is what it is. Some are traumatised by the way they have been blasted from their rock beds. Some are frightened. Some are angry. Some have been calmed and reassured by wherever it is they have been; most are wise. Wise with natural wisdom. Some contain memories which they have picked up on their travels and others have been programmed.’ She held Abi’s gaze. ‘My guess is that yours is one of those. From what you say yours is a natural crystal ball. Maybe it is a natural crystal from this country. It hasn’t come from far away. And it is not telling you its own story. It is telling you the story of this Roman family and that implies that someone in that family had the knowledge and the desire to implant those memories. And there must have been a reason for that. They were not just recording a daily diary. There must be some piece of information there which is important. So important that they wanted it remembered forever.

  Abi shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to say. It’s all too extraordinary.’

  Athena laughed. ‘Heavy, too, I dare say. Don’t try and rationalise it. Play with the ideas for a while. See if you think they fit. The thing to bear in mind is that it is you who is the catalyst here. You are making it work. Your mother obviously knew how as well. She seems to have tested you to see what would happen and, satisfied that you could do it, she left it to you to find out whatever it is you need to know.’ She paused. ‘I don’t think she was necessarily going to tell you anything else, Abi. I can see you feel that her death somehow
prevented her from letting you into the big secret. Maybe she wanted you to find it out for yourself.’ Another sip. ‘You are inhibited by your own fear and doubt and incredulity as we all are at first when we come across something like this. The intelligence of our programming; the science we have been taught; the whole atmosphere of disbelief in our culture. It all adds up to make it so hard for us to open ourselves to the unexplained. Let yourself get used to it.’

  ‘And you really think it could switch on my higher powers?’ Abi tried to keep the ironical inverted commas out of her voice. ‘Would it have told me the same story if I was still in Cambridge? Or would it have picked up something else over there?’ She was still trying to rationalise – she couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Ask it. But remember to listen for the answer with an open mind.’

  ‘Mummy did come from near here. She was born in Priddy.’ Abi was still trying to pursue the rational approach.

  ‘Remember there is no such thing as coincidence. Perhaps the crystal led you here.’

  No, it was the bishop. Abi bit the words back in time. But of course, Athena was right. Her mother’s mother had given Laura the crystal. And her mother’s mother before that, judging by the note. The bishop too had been born in the Mendips. She was here because he knew these people; because the Cavendishes too had lived here for generations. It was all wheels within wheels.

  Her coffee was finished. Suddenly she realised that they were going to have to leave and she didn’t want the conversation to be over. Athena was in some strange way a kindred spirit. She liked her.

  ‘Would it affect the crystal if someone else touched it?’

  Athena shrugged. ‘You said your father threw it out of the window.’

  Abi nodded sadly. ‘I was wondering whether I could show it to you.’

  ‘You are looking for someone to make sense of it for you, Abi,’ Athena said gently. ‘It is better if you do that yourself. You have to have the courage of your own convictions. There may be more to this quest than just looking at a story. You may be drawn in. There may be a job for you to do.’