Daughters of Fire

by Barbara Erskine

  Pat put down her bag and, hand to chest, tried to regain her breath. ‘What do you mean, stolen?’

  ‘It has gone. Look!’ Viv gestured towards her desk. The drawer in which she had put the brooch was lying on the floor, the contents scattered on the rug. ‘After the TV programme I took it back to Hugh. He told me to keep it until it could be returned to the museum so I put it back in that drawer.’

  Pat sat down on the rocking chair. ‘Christ! Did someone break in? Have you called the police?’

  Viv shook her head. ‘It was Carta.’

  ‘What?’ Pat froze.

  ‘Carta was here again last night. Standing there -’ She pointed towards the desk.

  They both stared at the spot, then at each other. ‘Something happened to me last night, too,’ Pat said quietly. ‘When I got back. Medb was there.’ She shivered, eyeing Viv’s face ‘What’s happening to us?’

  Viv sat down on the sofa. ‘I don’t know what to do. I brought the brooch back because Hugh thinks he is being haunted as well - by Venutios.’

  ‘Have you told Hugh it’s gone?’ Pat’s eyes were fixed on the drawer still lying on the floor.

  Viv shook her head.

  ‘Do you think, if Carta took it, it will all stop?’

  Viv shrugged. ‘It’s worth a fortune. It can’t disappear. Who would believe us?’

  ‘Hugh would.’ Pat looked at her hopefully. ‘Wouldn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve tried ringing him. There’s no reply.’

  They sat for a moment in silence, then Viv stood up. Wearily she stooped and began to collect the bits and pieces lying on the floor around the drawer. Throwing them inside it she slotted it back into place.

  ‘What about fingerprints?’ Pat said suddenly. ‘Does it matter that you’ve touched it?’

  ‘Fingerprints!’ Viv retorted. ‘Do you think a ghost has fingerprints? No one else was here last night. The door was locked -’ She stopped abruptly. Once before the door had opened in the night when she had thought it closed. She shook her head. ‘Besides, I saw her standing there.’

  Pat stood up. ‘I can’t stand this any more. Let’s get out of here.’ She turned towards the door. ‘Are you coming? Let’s get some breakfast as Georgio’s, then go for a walk or something. Let’s just get out of this flat.’

  As they headed down the winding stone stairs towards the street neither woman heard the crash and splinter of breaking glass or sensed the wave of anguish and frustrated anger which exploded behind them.

  VI

  They went to Traprain.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Pat was bright red in the face. ‘Remind me to give up smoking, somebody. You mean these people lived on the top of this thing?’

  Viv laughed. Think of the view when you reach the top. It’ll be worth it, I promise. The Celts followed on in the tradition of making a point of living in high places where possible. Some people think that is what Brigantia means. People of the high places.’

  ‘Shit!’ Pat was not seeing the romance of the setting. She paused, catching her breath. ‘But hang on, this isn’t Brigantia, is it.’

  ‘This is the land of the Votadini. Their northern neighbours and at least in my book, allies.’

  ‘And your professor doesn’t agree with this, right?’

  ‘No, he thinks we should avoid all supposition.’

  ‘And from your point of view it’s not supposition.’

  ‘No way. I’m certain.’

  ‘Good enough for us.’ Pat laughed. ‘OK. Race you to the top!’

  The excursion cheered them both and windblown and tired, they returned just before four.

  ‘What next?’ Pat waited while Viv fumbled with her keys. ‘A trip to Brigantia proper?’

  ‘Why not.’ Viv pushed open the lower door and they stepped into the chilly vestibule at the foot of the stairs.

  Pat frowned. She could feel it already. The strange oppressiveness which had permeated the flat that morning. They climbed the stairs, then she waited as Viv slotted her key into the lock. As she pushed open the door Pat heard her give an exclamation of irritation. ‘It smells awfully odd in here -’ Her next words were cut off by a small cry of fear. ‘The mirror! Oh God, the mirror!’

  ‘Viv, what is it? What’s wrong?’ Pat moved forward but was brought up short as the door slammed in her face.

  ‘Viv, let me in!’ She banged on it with her fist. ‘What’s wrong? Oh God! Viv! Let me in!’ She knelt down and forced open the flap of the letter box, trying to see through it. There was a strong smell of damp and an icy coldness coming from the flat. And total silence. There was no sign or sound from Viv. Desperately Pat banged on the door with her fists, then at last with a sob of frustration she sat down on the top step of the stairs and dragging her bag off her shoulder began to rummage in it for her mobile.

  VII

  The ceremony began before dawn. Dressed in plain undyed linen, her feet bare, Cartimandua was led in a procession of her Druids, bards and seers to the place on the hillside ordained by the gods for her union to the goddess of the earth. In days gone by, as told by the bards, such ceremonies were prolonged and secret, but now in a celebration before the tribes she was elevated onto the place where her foot would fit the footprints of the goddess and onto the stone upon which she sat, and which held all the knowledge of the earth and the sun and moon and stars.

  Artgenos, Archdruid of the Brigantes, stood before her in his finest robes and turned to face the people. ‘Cartimandua has been brought here before you to take up the mantle of high kingship which was worn by her brother and before that by her father. She has been chosen by the Druids after consultation with our gods, and by the warriors who will follow her leadership. Before I place upon her head the diadem of the gods, is there any here who will challenge her right?’

  He paused. Silence fell over the hundreds of men and women who were crowded around the high rock. Every pair of eyes was focused on her. Cartimandua held her breath. No sound was heard. No voice. If anyone was going to contend for the title they could do so now. They could claim precedence. A man could claim he could better lead men into battle. Then from the distance a circling eagle let out a yelping cry. There was a sharp intake of breath from those around her. Was this a message from the gods? Did the eagle support their queen or was it crying out in its despair? Every eye switched to Artgenos who stared up, his hand shading his eyes to follow the great bird with its golden feathers catching the light of the hidden sun as the horizon in the east grew ever brighter.

  Carta swallowed. She could feel the chill of the dawn creeping over her. Her bare feet on the rock were like ice. It seemed an age before Artgenos turned back to the people. ‘The gods have spoken,’ he shouted. ‘They confirm their choice. Cartimandua is high queen of all Brigantia.’

  As the cheers rang out around them he reached for the golden diadem and as the sun broke the horizon in a blaze of glory he set it upon her brow, then as the sun rose clear of the hill he anointed her with blessed water and sacred oil. Into her hands he placed a wand of sacred wood, and an orb of rock crystal. Then he bade her stand and repeat the sacred words of the tribes after him.

  Her vows made, the tribe’s genealogy recited by the sennachie, her praises sung by three bards and three harpers, the people’s songs of praise and rejoicing sung, echoing across the fells, she led the procession back down to the forest where, beneath the great council oak she was placed on her high seat, and there safely within the circle of her tribe she ordered the first of the three days of feasting and celebrations to begin.

  Conaire, having sung her praises until he was hoarse, had disappeared into the crowds to replenish his cup of mead. When he returned he fought his way through the crowds to her side, his face white. ‘I have just seen an outrider from the fells. Brochan is approaching at the head of a huge army, great queen.’

  Carta met his gaze. ‘You think he comes to oppose my election?’ She glanced across at Artgenos who was seated some way from her.
The old man caught the look and wearily he rose to his feet and approached her. He frowned at the news. ‘He is too late to oppose your election in law, but that is not to say that he might oppose it by force.’ He shook his head. ‘I saw no signs of opposition in the stars. Nor in the auguries I performed last night.’

  ‘Then there are none.’ Carta rose to her feet. Stepping forward she lifted her arms for silence, feeling the weight of the great gold bracelets slide up her arm, and slowly the shouts and laughter and singing died away. ‘My people,’ she cried as she stood before them, an imposing figure in her white gown and tunic and her golden diadem and torcs. ‘It seems that our neighbours the king of the Parisii and the king of the Carvetii are on their way with the armies they led to fight against Rome. We must bid them welcome and have our feast prepared in readiness for their arrival.’

  Sitting down again as a great cheer rang out around them she grinned at Artgenos. ‘At least they are prepared for visitors,’ she said. ‘I would not believe that Brochan would oppose me. Never in a dozen lifetimes would he put himself forward as high king.’

  Artgenos shrugged. The decision was made. Her fate was sealed. All he could do now was leave it in the hands of the gods.

  Her estimation of Brochan’s reaction proved right. When the vast army drew up to camp on the fells outside the walls he came at once and knelt before her, offering his homage and support. He brought news of her missing brother. Fintan was still sick from his wounds and being cared for in a healing temple far to the south but sent her his blessing; Bran was far more sorely wounded. He had not yet awoken though he still breathed.

  ‘And Venutios?’ Carta had scanned the crowds around Brochan and seen no sign of him. ‘Is he not with you?’

  Brochan frowned. ‘I had thought Venutios would be here already, my queen. He left a fortnight before we turned back north, anxious to be at your side.’ He looked away suddenly and she read his embarrassment correctly.

  ‘He set off to stand in opposition to my claim?’

  Brochan shrugged. ‘Who knows what he decided. Perhaps he changed his mind. Perhaps he rode back to Caer Lugus.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘I have many of his men in my army, lady. He left them under my command.’

  Carta smiled at him. ‘Then let it be your command that all your men, and his, join our celebrations.’

  That night she lay awake for a long time in her lonely bed going over the events of the day in her mind. Amongst all the glory and excitement and beauty of the ceremonies and celebrations, one thing stood out as a dark shadow cast over the sun. The absence of Venutios. His presence there would have conveyed his approbation; his approval; his blessing. The fact that he was not there denied her all three. She thought back over the ceremony and again heard the cry of the eagle above her as the sun rose. Was Artgenos wrong? Had Venutios returned home to the centre of the land of the Carvetii to invoke the great god, Lugh, the protector of his tribe, the god of victory and light against her?

  Unable to sleep she rose and, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, walked out into the central chamber of the house. It was deserted. Her guards remained outside, her ladies were asleep at last in their own quarters. Walking over to the fire she stirred the peats, kindling a flame from the smoky embers and sat down in the flickering light, reaching into her bag for the bundle of yew slips she used for prophesy. Praying over them, she let them fall upon the floor and leant forward to read their message.

  There was a blackness which she could not read in the pattern of the staves though they showed clearly that Venutios was not at Caer Lugus. Puzzled, she shuffled them and tossed them down again. He had gone to Dinas Dwr. Why? And who was the woman there with him? A shiver of apprehension settled across her shoulders as a figure appeared from the shadows behind her. ‘My queen?’ It was Mairghread. ‘You need your sleep. There is so much to do tomorrow.’ The woman stood looking down at the pattern of the sticks on the floor at Carta’s feet. ‘Do you see blessings in the future?’

  Carta shuffled them together and put them back in their linen bag. ‘I see many things, Mairghread.’ She rose to her feet with a smile. ‘Will you bank the fire again, my dear, while I go back to my bed. I need to wake at dawn.’

  She was woken by the clear fluting of the blackbird and she lay still for a moment listening to its message. The gates to the other worlds were open. In the cold dawn light the township slept in silence as she made her way to the shrine among the rocks and knelt before the stone head of the goddess. She made her offerings, then she bent to look into the dark depths of the ice-cold water. There the picture was clear; Venutios lay on a bed of furs. In the crook of his arm she could see the woman’s blonde hair spread across the pillows. Even though those chilling eyes were closed she recognised the face. The woman in his arms was Medb of the White Hands.

  18

  I

  It was half an hour before Pete and Cathy arrived, one of the longest half-hours of Pat’s life. Every few minutes she stood up and called and rattled the door but there was no reply, no sign that Viv was in there at all. By the time they had joined her on the landing, Pat was trembling with shock and fear. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Perhaps I should have called the police.’

  ‘Have you any keys?’ Pete banged on the door.

  Pat shook her head. ‘It’s Cartimandua,’ she said softly.

  ‘Oh come on, Pat!’ Cathy eyed her sternly.

  Pete snorted. ‘Let’s get a grip on reality here.’

  ‘No, Pete. She’s angry. She wants the brooch. Viv thought she’d taken it, but -’ Pat shrugged.

  Cathy and Pete stared at her in silence for several seconds, then they glanced at each other.

  ‘Whatever is happening, we have to get in here,’ Cathy said at last.

  ‘Can’t you break the door down?’ Pat looked from one to the other desperately.

  Pete gave a wry grin. ‘That’s an old oak door. None of your modern plywood stuff.’ He ran his fingers down the wood. ‘Is there another way in? Windows, for instance. If there’s even a remote chance there are burglars in there, how would they get in?’

  Pat shook her head. ‘There are lots of little windows, facing in all directions, some onto the roofs, but they are all too high.’

  ‘Then it has to be the police.’ Pete looked from one to the other. I don’t see what else we can do.’ He turned one last time towards the door and putting his shoulder to it, threw his full weight against it. It flew open, precipitating him into the hall.

  ‘Viv!’ Cathy pushed past him as he tried to regain his balance. ‘Viv, are you all right?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘Wait! Let me go first.’ Pete caught her arm.

  Viv was sitting in the rocking chair, her eyes on the opposite wall, a half-smile on her lips. She was alone, but the mirror that had hung above her desk was lying on the floor, smashed into a thousand pieces.

  ‘Viv? Are you OK?’ Cathy went to her and crouched in front of her. ‘Didn’t you hear us knocking?’

  Viv did not react. She was rocking gently back and forth.

  ‘Viv, can you hear me?’ Cathy spoke a little more loudly. Behind her Pete had quickly looked round the flat. Satisfied there were no intruders, he was examining the door.

  ‘Viv!’ Cathy’s voice was louder now, more commanding. ‘Wake up! Do you hear me. Now!’ She snapped her fingers in front of Viv’s nose. For a moment nothing happened, then with a start Viv sat up, her eyes focussing with difficulty on Cathy’s face.

  ‘Cathy? What are you doing here?’ She looked confused.

  ‘Pat called us, when she couldn’t get in.’

  ‘What’s happened to the mirror?’ Viv cried out suddenly. ‘It’s broken!’ She was staring down at it in horror.

  Pete stooped over the broken glass. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll clear it up.’

  ‘It was Carta, wasn’t it.’ Viv clutched at the arms of the chair. ‘She was angry we went out.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s a
rational reason, Viv,’ Pete said calmly. ‘The wire must have broken.’

  ‘The mirror was bolted to the wall, Pete.’ Viv tried to smile. ‘No, It was Carta. I know it was.’

  ‘Come on, Viv.’ Cathy pulled the desk chair over towards her, hearing it crunch over the broken glass and sat down. ‘What really happened?’

  ‘Happened?’ Viv still appeared to be confused.

  ‘The door was locked. None of us could get in.’

  ‘Couldn’t you?’ Viv’s confusion was genuine. ‘Did I fall asleep?’

  ‘You were in some kind of trance state.’

  Viv shook her head. ‘No. I’d remember if I was. I always remember, so I can write everything down.’

  ‘And you don’t remember anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How you slammed the door in Pat’s face?’

  ‘I didn’t. I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Well, someone did.’

  ‘It was the draught.’

  ‘I doubt it. If it was the draught why didn’t you open it for her?’

  There was a moment’s silence. Viv shook her head slowly. ‘She was here, wasn’t she. Like before. Cartimandua.’

  ‘No, Viv. It was you.’ Cathy was looking very stern. ‘I think you resent Pat being here because she comes between you and this obsession of yours. I think you deliberately locked her out.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes. You may not realise it. You may genuinely not remember doing it, but I think that’s what happened. Then when you realised we were talking about calling the police you came and unlocked it.’

  ‘Cathy, that is insane. I did no such thing.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Cathy held her gaze.

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’ Viv looked down at her hands. ‘I’d remember if I’d done something like that.’

  ‘Would you?’ Cathy smiled reassuringly. ‘Not necessarily. And no, I’m not saying you’re insane. Far from it. You’re stressed and very tired. Perhaps we should leave you to rest.’