by Linda Davies
‘Ma!’ exclaimed James, glaring at his mother.
‘It’s all right,’ Merry said to him. She needed to fight this battle on her own. She turned to the countess, stood straight and tall. The countess wore high heels, but Merry could still look down on her. ‘Yes, actually, I am certain,’ she said, her voice level but vibrating with quiet fury inside. ‘My father and I checked and made sure that the land where we found it is on our side of the boundary.’
‘And is it?’ continued the countess. ‘I mean, you two would say that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Mother, you are just—’ started James.
‘And even if that were the case,’ the countess continued, voice rising high. ‘What if the book were placed there while we owned that land? Then it would be ours, wouldn’t it?’
‘Well, you cannot prove that! Can you?’ countered Merry. ‘And we can prove the land is on our side. Any independent surveyor would confirm that!’
‘Miss Owen is correct, I’m afraid, Lady de Courcy,’ said Professor Parks smoothly. ‘The date of the book need not by any means tally with the date it was buried. What you are suggesting is hypothesis. Not fact.’
Merry felt a surge of approval for Professor Parks, an unexpected ally.
‘Well, in that case,’ replied the countess archly, ‘perhaps the Black Castle can buy the book.’
Merry gazed at the countess in amazement. The woman was determined not to let this go. This had turned into a battle, and one she clearly intended to win.
‘Sorry,’ said Merry with as insincere a smile as she could muster. ‘It really does belong in a museum.’
The de Courcys’ buying the book was the last thing she wanted. First because she felt there was something about it; it wasn’t cursed exactly but freighted with bad luck. She’d felt that straight off, from the time she first unwrapped it as she sat on the chieftain’s grave. She didn’t want it anywhere near James. And second, her father would detest the idea of the de Courcys bailing them out. He would never allow it.
‘A museum really would be the most appropriate home for a treasure such as this,’ said Professor Parks.
‘Hmph!’ declared the countess, sending Merry a poisonous look before pretending to examine her red-painted nails.
‘Well, that seems to have settled that,’ Merry managed to say. She waited a few long, agonizing moments to see if there would be another challenge. But the countess, face tight with anger, said nothing, and the earl, the Stone Man, just stood there, unreadable but mercifully silent.
Merry turned back to Dr Philipps. ‘So how much do you have in the kitty?’
‘Well, I’d have to talk to the bursar, but from memory, we have only a matter of seven thousand pounds in our acquisitions budget. Like I said, we could raise more, but it would take time.’
‘I don’t have time,’ Merry said aloud, earning a quizzical look from James.
She needed the mortgage paid off, but even more importantly, she needed to get rid of this book and keep her family safe.
‘How about this?’ she said. ‘You’re leaving later today, aren’t you?’
‘I am.’
Merry picked up the book, thrust it at him. ‘Take it. Take it with you. Sign a piece of paper saying that I am selling it to the National Museum of Wales for a down payment of seven thousand pounds. As soon as you get into your office, your bursar can write out a cheque and then another payment of …’ Merry thought wildly, wondered what it would be worth, ‘… sixty thousand pounds.’ That would pay off their mortgage with a small margin to spare and she didn’t want to be greedy. ‘Which is to be paid over the next twelve months,’ she finished.
Dr Philipps spluttered, but held on to the book. ‘It’s a bit unorthodox.’
‘Bonkers!’ was the countess’s verdict. ‘What would your parents say? You can’t simply go and decide this for them. You’re just a schoolgirl!’
‘I can promise you,’ lied Merry, ‘that my parents will have no problem with this. In fact, they agree with me! We’ve discussed it.’
‘That is quite true,’ cut in Professor Parks. ‘We did have that exact discussion a few days ago. Caradoc Owen was quite clear. The family wants the book to go to a museum.’
The countess gave a huffy little shrug.
‘Sounds like a pretty good plan to me,’ said James. He leant over his father’s desk and picked up a fountain pen. ‘I can write out a contract now,’ he said, glancing between Dr Philipps and Merry. ‘You, Professor Parks, can witness it, and Dr Philipps and Merry can sign it.’
‘That,’ declared Merry, beaming in approval at James, ‘is the most wonderful idea!’
James smiled back at her. His parents said nothing, but Merry could feel the annoyance radiating from them. They’d been outmanoeuvred, in public.
‘Well,’ declared Professor Parks, ‘it seems that this way we keep everyone happy.’
Merry nodded. Apart from James’s parents. And the thief, who would find it considerably more difficult breaking into the Museum of Wales than into Nanteos Farm.
‘One more condition,’ she said. Everyone looked at her expectantly. Merry the hard-driving businesswoman was not a side of her that anyone had ever seen. Least of all Merry herself.
‘And?’ queried Dr Philipps.
‘You put out a press announcement. Now. I don’t want to be named. It needs to say this: “The Lost Tale of the Mabinogion”,’ began Merry as Dr Philipps pulled out his phone and began to tap, ‘“has been sold today, to the National Museum of Wales with immediate effect. The museum is delighted to be in possession of this beautiful and historically important book. As from—”’
‘Hold on a minute would you please, Merry? I’m not a trained stenographer.’
‘“As from today’s date”,’ Merry continued after a suitable pause, ‘“the book shall reside safely at the Museum of Wales.”’
Merry waited for Dr Philipps to finish inputting her words.
‘Any more?’ he asked with a smile.
‘No, thank you. That covers it.’
‘Not very press-release-type language, if you’ll forgive me for observing,’ murmured the earl, exchanging a look with his wife, who clearly agreed.
‘Well, I’m terribly sorry,’ replied Merry, ‘but I’m just a farm girl, not a PR supremo.’
She caught James’s eye. He was struggling not to laugh. At least she had improved his mood.
‘That’s the way the language has to be,’ said Merry, serious now. ‘Word for word.’
Dr Philipps nodded. ‘Word for word,’ he agreed.
James wrote out the rest of the contract at his father’s desk, conferring with Merry as he did so. ‘That do?’ he asked at last.
She nodded. ‘Mhm. Very much so.’
Dr Philipps and Professor Parks read it and signed it, Parks as witness. James walked over to a large machine and made a photocopy of it.
‘Keep this safe,’ he said, handing it to Merry. She wanted to hug him, to thank him for so coolly and smoothly helping her plan along, but she felt his parents’ eyes boring into her the whole time. She’d only get him into trouble. All she could do was take the piece of paper and smile.
The deal was done. Dr Philipps got up to leave with the book in its chest, tucked under his arm.
‘Could you email me with the translation as you go through it, please?’ Merry asked. ‘I’m still interested in the book, in what it says.’
He beamed at Merry, clearly delighted to be in possession of the book.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Happy to.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘Oh, and one more thing,’ she added, putting her hand on his arm. He looked up at her in surprise. ‘Don’t, for any reason, be tempted to take it home. Go straight to the museum.’
The man looked at her for a while, deep brown eyes shifting as he seemed to be trying to figure her out.
‘That’s a little melodramatic, isn’t it?’ intoned Professor Parks.
‘A little rude,
I thought,’ murmured the countess just loud enough to be heard.
‘I am happy to oblige,’ replied Dr Philipps, eyes still locked on Merry. ‘It was I, after all, who warned you against keeping it at your home.’
Merry’s whole body flushed. Could it have been him? Had she entrusted the book to the one person who had tried to steal it? She felt a sense of horror, but then another thought hit her. If it had been, she’d now made it much harder for him to steal it.
‘You did,’ she replied. ‘So you’d better keep it safe,’ she added. ‘If anything happened to it, you’d be the number one suspect, wouldn’t you?’ she added with a smile, as if she were joking.
She filed out of the library with James. They said nothing as they walked down the hallway, waiting until they could be certain they would not be overheard. They paused at the sound of rapid footsteps coming up behind them. It was Professor Parks.
‘Dr Philipps wanted me to give you this,’ he said, eyes on Merry. He held out a sheet of paper. ‘He’s already made a start on some of the pages he photographed on his phone.’ He paused. ‘It’s all rather intriguing.’
‘Thanks,’ said Merry, holding out her hand. She took the paper from the professor. With a nod, Parks strode back to the muniments room, leaving Merry and James alone in the hallway.
They read the words together, so that they sounded like some kind of invocation:
This is the tale of a warrior bold, who comes from far away, from vale of green through deadly cold, seen by bird and watcher fey. Though spoken of in stories hidden, the warrior comes when time is right, by whispered words are they now bidden, through darkness deeper than the night. The warrior saves both man and king, fighting through the deathly knell, uniting foes with golden ring, this is their story read it well …
‘There’s a lot about death, isn’t there,’ observed James. ‘I seem to remember the first bit he translated said something about many have tried, many have died …’ He gave Merry a meaningful look.
‘Yes,’ she replied vaguely. ‘Something like that.’
‘And now all this deadly cold and deathly knell.’
‘Mm. Let’s read the next bit,’ said Merry quickly, hiding behind her curiosity, and they read on:
The warrior seeks the ancient path where emperor walked with queen, far away from home and hearth into realms unseen. Where legions marched with armour bright and old stones marked the way, where watchers saw who have the sight but nothing did they say. And grievers waited in their home for the warrior brave, to come into their land alone from far beyond the grave.
Merry stared at the words, heart pounding. The ancient path … where emperor walked with queen … Where legions marched. Roman legions … The Roman road, Sarn Helen! It had to be! She struggled to tamp down her excitement, to keep her face bland. She felt bad, especially after James had so cleverly helped her outmanoeuvre his parents, but the instinct that made her think the book was dangerous made her want to keep James well away from its enchantments and riddles. She had no choice. She’d found it, and her family needed whatever treasures it promised. James had his own issues to deal with.
‘More intrigue,’ she mused. ‘Right then, I’d better get back. And you need a chance to think. Decision time tonight.’
James nodded. They walked in silence to the huge oak door, each preoccupied. James opened it for her.
‘Ring me! As soon as you’ve made up your mind,’ said Merry.
‘I will. So keep your phone on!’
She laughed. ‘I never break a promise. ’Specially not to you!’
‘Be careful,’ he said, eyes grave. ‘Whatever it is you’re up to.’
It was the first time he’d cautioned her, slowed her down. Normally they egged each other on to greater risks. Maybe he had the same instincts about the book as she did.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ she answered, trying to sound light. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Merry got home five minutes before her parents.
‘Those roads,’ exclaimed Elinor, hefting Gawain on her hip as she got him out of the car. ‘Still banks of snow on either side where the snowploughs’ve been. Like the Cresta Run!’
Merry laughed. ‘Welcome home!’ She paused. ‘I’ve got some news.’
Sitting at the kitchen table ten minutes later, she told them about selling the book, showed them the contract James had written out.
Caradoc Owen opened his eyes wide. ‘You moved fast, didn’t you?’
‘Might have consulted us, darling,’ said her mother.
‘There wasn’t time,’ said Merry. ‘Dr Philipps was leaving. I wanted to get this sorted. Sixty-seven thousand pounds, Mam!
It’ll pay off the mortgage!’
‘Brilliant, cariad!’ exclaimed her father, coming around and dragging Merry to her feet, crushing her in a bear hug.
‘It is brilliant,’ said Elinor carefully, ‘but we haven’t got it yet. If I understand you right,’ she said to Merry, ‘we can hope to get it within twelve months, if the museum raises enough money.’
Merry nodded. She felt a flicker of irritation. Her mother was right, but this was a dampener they didn’t need. To see her father joyous again had been wonderful, but short-lived. His smile had already faded.
‘Seven thousand pounds will buy us time, but your mother’s right. We’re not out of trouble yet.’
‘Maybe we could have got more selling it to someone else, another museum, just waiting a while to drum up interest,’ said Elinor. ‘It seems to me that you’ve been a bit hasty.’
‘Maybe I have; maybe we could have waited and got more money. But I saw a chance and I took it!’ she cried. Upset by her mother’s criticism, worried she would say too much, Merry strode across the kitchen and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
She headed past the barn and the stables to the bench in the top field. She sat down heavily and gazed across the valley. She thought about the intruder, about him hitting her, leaving her lying in the snow just a hundred yards away. She could easily have died of hypothermia and the attacker must have known that, but he’d just left her there. That’s how ruthless and psychopathic he was. All he cared about was the book, not a living, breathing person. If she told her parents about him then they’d understand her urgency … but that would shatter her mother’s peace of mind, send her father into a kind of dangerous vigilance and curb her own freedoms. All for nothing. She’d got rid of the book. She felt sure he wouldn’t come back again.
Her mother wanted more money and faster. The book spoke of treasures. Now Merry knew where to go to look for them. For some reason, it had fallen to her to protect her family, and more than that, to save their heritage, so she’d stay silent, take the flak.
She looked up to see her father walking towards her. He sat down beside her. He said nothing for a while, then he put his hand on her shoulder, turned her to face him.
‘You did well, cariad,’ he said.
Merry nodded.
‘Why don’t you clear off for a bit, go for a ride?’
Merry smiled. ‘Yeah, Da. Think I just might.’
Under-exercised over the past few days, Jacintha was fresh and keen.
Merry rode across her family’s fields on to the common lands, on to a short stretch of tarmacked road that took her higher up the hillside, then on to the high plain and the rough track of the old Roman road, Sarn Helen … Where emperor walked with queen.
Merry loved the story of the road, built by the Roman emperor and governor of Britain, Magnus Maximus, at the request of his wife, Helen, nearly seventeen hundred years ago. The story of Maximus’s love for Helen, and how they met, was one of the stories of the Mabinogion.
On stormy nights, as a young girl, Merry had sat in her father’s arms in the rocking chair in her bedroom, the wind whistling through the oak tree as he told her the tales. He told them so well and they felt so real that when she woke in the morning she felt as though she’d been there.
‘The Dream of Macsen Wledig
,’ Maximus’s name in Welsh, was Merry’s favourite tale. Macsen Wledig, emperor of Rome, dreamt one night of a lovely maiden in a far-off land. When he woke, he sent his men all over the earth to search for her. After many trials, they found her in a rich castle in Wales, daughter of a chieftain. They led the emperor to her. Everything Macsen Wledig found was exactly as in his dream. The maiden, whose name was Helen, fell in love with and married him. And he built her this road so she could travel faster and more easily to visit her family.
Feeling a pulse of excitement, Merry rode the ancient path. She couldn’t quite get over it, the thought that back in the year AD 383, Helen and Macsen walked this road, shared this same view. It was as if the road were a thread of time connecting her with Helen, with Macsen, with a thousand other forgotten travellers who never made the history books.
Here be dragons, thought Merry, the line popping into her head, making her laugh. Welsh dragons, maybe … Riding deeper into this wilderness, it did feel as if she had crossed a border.
Dense forests flanked the lower hills, giving way to the sparse moorland grass on the bleak plain where the snow still lay unthawed. It was a remote, inaccessible path, a byway through the savage hills, connecting the lush valleys on either side of the pass.
After a few minutes she came up to the standing stone, Maen Llia, placed there by Neolithic people nearly five thousand years ago. It was a huge, hexagonal sliver of rock, about eleven feet tall, nearly as wide, but less than two feet thick. Her mother liked to paint pictures of the stone and they’d picnicked here a few times. Elinor had told Merry that the rock was believed to have some strange inner warmth. Merry reined in Jacintha and reached out to touch the stone. Despite being aligned north–south, despite the cold, the side of the rock was warm to her touch. Like it was alive.
This part of the Beacons had always felt mysterious to her. She was aware that there was much she didn’t know about her homeland, secrets, mysteries … things that went beyond science and logic.
Merry urged Jacintha on further along Sarn Helen; then she headed off the road approaching the cleft in the valley where a shallow stream ran. She looked up, shielding her eyes against the lowering sun. It was only a small stream, not promising. She couldn’t imagine it pooling into anything deep enough to swim in. But as she looked something about it caught her eye. It glistened silver against the emerald grass. She felt her blood quicken.