‘But I don’t want you to go!’ Viv cried. ‘Please. I need you here. I’m scared on my own.’ She paused, looking round the room at the three of them in real anguish. ‘I’m so scared.’
There was a long silence. No one moved. Viv was shredding a tissue between nervously twitching fingers.
Pete retreated to the sofa. ‘Would you like to come and stay with us, Viv?’ He said gently. ‘There’s plenty of room. You’re right, you shouldn’t be here on your own.’
Viv shook her head. She glanced up. ‘There is nothing wrong with this flat. Christ! There’s nothing wrong with me!’
‘No one said there was,’ Cathy put in. ‘You just need some sleep, love, that’s all.’
Viv shook her head. ‘I’ve slept. I’m not tired.’
‘I think Viv is right. It was Carta,’ Pat said at last. She sat down next to Pete. ‘There was half an hour at least while I was out on the stairs. She was here with you, wasn’t she. You were so engrossed you didn’t hear me knocking. I don’t think you locked me out. I think she did. And I think she opened the door only when you had stopped listening to her because you were too tired to listen any more. Are you sure you haven’t written something down?’
Viv shook her head. She glanced round helplessly. ‘I haven’t got a notebook here -’ They were all still neatly stacked on her desk next to the computer which was turned off.
‘But you want to write it down before you forget.’
‘I have forgotten.’ Viv looked down dully at her hands, folded between her knees. She was near tears.
‘So you are saying that Carta - whoever, whatever she is - is capable of locking and opening doors?’ Pete asked wryly.
All three women looked at him. Pat gave an involuntary shiver. ‘She is also capable of doing that.’ She pointed down at the broken glass. ‘Scary thought.’ She frowned and leaned forward suddenly. There, amongst the glass lay the brooch. She picked it up and held it out to Viv on the palm of her hand. ‘She brought it back. Why? What is she trying to tell us?’
Viv stared at it in silence. The atmosphere of the room had changed. It was tense, dark, as though a storm cloud had drifted between them as they sat looking at the jewel on Viv’s palm. For a moment the four of them were transfixed.
‘She’s getting more real and stronger every time,’ Viv said quietly. Her mouth had gone dry. ‘And the awful thing is, I don’t want it to stop. Whatever she’s doing, I don’t want the story to stop.’
‘It has to,’ Cathy put in sternly. ‘This has gone far enough.’
Viv shook her head wearily. ‘On the contrary. It hasn’t gone nearly far enough.’
‘Cathy’s right, Viv. This is getting dangerous,’ Pat put in. ‘You must see it is. Look what she can do!’
‘If it is her,’ Pete said quizzically. ‘We haven’t established that, have we? Not beyond all doubt.’
‘I don’t think we need to. We will just assume that whatever is happening it is not good for Viv’s wellbeing,’ Cathy said firmly. She paused abruptly. ‘You can’t stay here on your own. You must come back with us.’
Viv shook her head. ‘Hasn’t it dawned on you, Cathy? It doesn’t matter where I am. If I come to your flat she’ll come with me. Time and place mean nothing to her. She’s dead, for God’s sake!’
II
Medb had seen Venutios in the clouds and in the waters of the river and in the flight of the birds: a man who would be her ally. A man who hated Cartimandua as much as she did. It was easy finding him. She followed the direction of the wind and the stories of the foresters she met on her journey towards Brigantia. At first she thought they were directing her to Dun Righ where Cartimandua had been chosen as high queen, but the gods were more subtle than that. The hero of her dreams was wounded. He was weak and he travelled slowly. At first he had followed the tracks north-west, towards the crowning, then he had veered away from the direct route and followed the secret paths towards the home of the north wind. When he reached Dinas Dwr he had resumed his own identity at last and as king of the Carvetii he had been fêted and made welcome by those who remained in the township, and there he stayed for a few days while he regained his strength. Many of the warriors and their wives had gone to Dun Righ for the great celebrations. Those who remained were pleased to entertain him.
Medb arrived on foot, late at night as the gates were about to close. A tall, beautiful woman, in the white robe and veil of a priestess of the woods, she was shown at her request into the guest house where Venutios was awaiting his supper. Looking up he took in the beautiful face, the fair silken hair, the clear eyes and he rose to his feet to greet her.
Within minutes he was ensnared. They ate together and later they lay together on the heaps of furs which had been lavished on the bed in the guest chamber. Her body was as beautiful as her face, this lithe, exquisite woman who had wandered in from the darkness of the forest. Venutios did not enquire where she came from. Enough that she was a priestess; a Druidess who served the goddess of the forest.
‘And why, great king, did you not challenge Cartimandua for the high kingship of Brigantia?’ she whispered as she lay in his arms. ‘Surely you are the one they would have chosen?’
He lay back, staring up at the ceiling. ‘So I thought. But the gods must have decided otherwise. Why else would they have waylaid me on my way to Dun Righ? Why else would they have scarred me?’ The wound the robbers had inflicted across his chest had still not knitted properly. That was the reason he had not gone straight to the crowning. No one would elect a wounded man who could barely sit in the saddle.
She smiled, running her fingers across the raw, jagged skin. ‘I think we can do something about that, my lord,’ she said softly. ‘Cartimandua will go nowhere for a while. She will wait for you.’ She bent and ran her tongue lightly across the wound, leaving him shuddering with desire. ‘Then you will go and challenge her.’ She looked up and narrowed her eyes. ‘I have seen the future, King Venutios. I have seen you as high king of all Brigantia. It will be you and no one else who brings Cartimandua to her knees.’
III
‘I convinced them to go on without me,’ Pat said, shutting the door. ‘I’ve been thinking about what’s happened. They don’t understand.’
Viv raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought Cathy of all people would believe me.’ The others had stayed to help clear up the glass and finally left about an hour before.
‘She’s a scientist, Viv. There’s no chance she’s going to admit any of this is real.’ Pat came over and stood staring down at the brooch which lay on the table by the window. ‘What are you going to do with this?’
‘I want to give it back to Hugh, but he’s not answering the phone.’
‘Don’t give it to Hugh!’
‘Why?’
‘You mustn’t.’ Pat frowned. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t realise the power of Venutios, Viv.’ She narrowed her eyes, studying the brooch. ‘You can feel it.’ She held her hand about six inches above the brooch, palm down, as though assessing its warmth.
Viv frowned, watching her. She swallowed nervously. ‘Don’t touch it, Pat.’
‘I’m not going to.’ Pat hadn’t shifted her gaze. ‘I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’ll take it back to Stanwick.’
‘What?’ Viv stared at her incredulously.
‘You heard. That’s where it came from, didn’t it? We’ll hide it there.’
‘That’s insane. It’s valuable -’
‘And it was perfectly safe for two thousand or so years, give or take. Wasn’t it?’ Pat faced her with determination. ‘It’s the perfect solution.’
‘What if someone else finds it?’
‘They won’t. We’ll put it somewhere no one will find it. Then Cartimandua will stop pestering you. And so will Hugh.’ She smiled.
Viv sat down abruptly. ‘It’s certainly an idea.’
‘It makes sense, doesn’t it.’ Pat was persuasive. ‘Then at the same time you can introduce me to the wonders of Briga
ntia. Let’s go for the weekend.’
19
I
‘It’s not a high place! I thought hill forts were all dramatic like Traprain.’ Feeling obscurely cheated, Pat stared round as Viv pulled the car into the side of the road. They were in a lush area of farmland on the edge of a small Yorkshire village. Nearby, half-obscured by the hedge was a gate and a bank, and above it the grass mound which was, according to the Heritage sign nearby, the way up to the Stanwick Fortifications.
They stood for a moment, staring at the sign, taking in the extent of the area. The walk around the walls it informed them would be about six miles; the original area was developed into a huge township covering some 650 acres.
‘But I suspect at the time we’re dealing with, the start of Carta’s reign, this was a relatively small place,’ Viv said thoughtfully. ‘She developed it later. Or someone did. But even so we shouldn’t underestimate the size of the population in her time. We’re not talking just a few souls hiding in the woods.’
‘Yet the Romans defeated them.’ Pat frowned. ‘Why? How?’
They opened the gate and climbed the steps to the top of the earth rampart.
‘That is what our play is about,’ Viv replied. ‘Why the Romans won when they were far outnumbered.’
The banks of the rampart were wooded and thick with brambles and nettle. Viv shivered. She could feel Carta here. Almost see the shadows of those long ago Brigantians flitting through the trees. After a night of silence, Carta was back.
‘Are you OK?’ Pat had noticed her hesitation.
Viv nodded. The brooch was in her pocket, wrapped in several layers of protective foam and polythene inside a small airtight plastic box. ‘I’m still not sure this is the right thing to do.’
‘It is.’ Pat was very positive. She smiled. ‘Come on. Let’s decide where to put it. Stooping beneath the tree branches they pushed their way along the top of the dyke until they came to an area which had been cleared below it. ‘Wow.’ Pat lowered herself down the bank, sliding through nettles and dock until she reached the bottom. ‘Look at this. Is this original?’ The ditch had been carefully excavated at some time; there were signs of building and a stretch of the ancient wall stood out clearly above them on the top of the rampart.
Viv followed her down. ‘I think Wheeler rebuilt this bit,’ she said, staring round. ‘But there are places here we could hide it.’
‘Under rocks. Or in the wall itself. I wonder if any of the stones are loose?’ Pat tried to climb the rampart to the base of the wall, slipped and fell forward on her hands and knees. ‘Here! Look, Viv. These stones seem to be unsteady.’ She pulled at one or two and they fell around her feet.
‘I don’t know. Isn’t this a bit obvious? Supposing someone came here and found it? Supposing people came with metal detectors?’
‘They’re not going to detect a wall,’ Pat said, scanning the area in front of her. ‘Especially if they knew it’s already been excavated. There would be nothing to find.’ She was feeling her way along the stones. ‘Do you know where they found it in the first place?’
Viv shook her head. She was walking along the flat bottom of the excavated ditch. Carta was there, at her side. She could feel her. She could feel anxiety. Anger.
‘I don’t think she wants me to leave it here,’ she called. ‘I can feel her.’
Pat paused. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Medb wanted it. Medb wanted the brooch to be put exactly where it had been found. Medb had brought them here because …
‘I have a present for my king.’ Medb was in his arms as they stood on the ramparts, looking north towards the forest. All around them the wall had crumbled. They could see where Bellacos’s workmen had made a start on the new defences, but they had stopped, leaving steps cut into the rampart and the stone wall no more than a few courses high.
Venutios smiled down at her. ‘Indeed?’ He dropped a kiss on her head. ‘It seems to me you have already given me enough presents, little Medb. My health and strength and by your magic arts a vanishing scar. What more could I want?’
‘This.’ She reached into the pocket of her robe and produced a small package. It was something she had brought from the goldsmith who lived near the western wall of the township. A man of unparalleled skill, he had settled in Dinas Dwr only the year before and had been reluctant to part with one of his most beautiful pieces. He was still uncertain how she had persuaded him.
Unwrapping it, he raised an eyebrow as the beautiful jewelled bird flashed in the sunlight. ‘This is indeed lovely.’
‘Wear it on your tunic.’ She reached for it and pinned it onto his cloak. ‘It is a magic pin. It will bring you luck and health and strength whenever you need them.’ The enchantments she had performed herself this time. She no longer had need of anyone else to install blessings or curses on her behalf.
He laughed. ‘I am truly blessed. Thank you.’
‘And you will keep it forever.’
‘I will keep it forever.’ Taking her into his arms he drew her close and kissed her again. Unknown to her, he had already despatched a coronation gift to Cartimandua. It was only polite, and it would keep the lady guessing.
‘Pat? Are you all right?’
Viv was looking up at her, as Pat stood, unmoving, balanced at the foot of the wall.
‘I’m OK. Fine.’ Pat turned round. Her face was white and she was sweating profusely. ‘Look. Here. There’s a rabbit hole or something at the foot of the wall. It goes in miles. We could shove it in there and then block it with smaller stones. What do you think?’
‘Perfect.’
It took them only a few minutes, then they scrambled back to the top of the rampart and stood looking down. There was no sign from any angle of where they had been.
‘We will be able to find it again?’ Pat laughed. She knew she would find it. Medb would see to that.
Viv nodded. ‘I have made a note. Don’t worry.’
‘Good. Then let’s go on a bit, shall we? How long is this path?’
‘Six miles. It said so on the notice.’
‘Oh.’ Pat deflated visibly. ‘OK. We can do this. Think of the weight falling off.’
She led the way for a few paces further. When she turned back to face Viv she was herself again. ‘OK. I give up. Do you know what I want to do? I’ve brought my digital voice recorder with me. I think we should try a bit of dialogue here. On site.’
Viv frowned. ‘Won’t it sound odd?’
‘No! That’s the whole point. It will sound outdoors. It will give atmosphere. And it is the real place. It may not work, but I think we should try it.’ She led the way to a fallen tree and sitting down on the trunk, rummaged in her bag for the recorder. Her hands were shaking. She could feel Medb there watching them. ‘It will give us an idea of how it would sound. The wind in the trees, the outdoor ambience. That sort of thing.’
‘Who’s going to speak?’ Viv sat down beside her.
‘Both of us.’
‘Did you bring the script?’
Pat nodded. ‘Here you are. You start. A bit of Cartimandua, or that lovely piece you wrote for the intro by the narrator, perhaps.’
They both had muddy hands after the burial of the brooch. Clicking the little machine on, Pat held it out.
II
For three days Artgenos did not mention the subject of husbands, but Carta knew he would not let the matter rest, so now, as she enjoyed her exalted position on the raised seat at the centre of her warriors she allowed herself to scrutinise the kings of the visiting tribes.
There were only two contenders when it came down to a serious choice. Brochan of the Parisii. His would be a useful and much-needed alliance, though he was older than she would have liked. He was a good-looking man, twice widowed, strong-willed, much respected by his warriors, a wise man who would rule at her side with strength and diplomacy. And there was Artios, of the Gabran-tovices, seated beside her now, attentive, handsome, adorned with the latest tattoos, be jew
elled. A man with a dozen trophy heads at his door. A tough extrovert with a wonderful singing voice and a string of concubines but as yet no senior wife.
There would have been one more: Venutios of the Carvetii, but even had he been there she would not have considered him; he would not be a man to lie quietly beside a wife who was a queen in her own right even had she been able to countenance the thought of him as husband. At first she had wondered if he would appear at the crowning after all. Amongst the hundreds of onlookers it was easy to miss a face, but he, as a king in his own right and an ally should have been there, with his hand beneath her elbow as Brochan’s and Artios’s hands had been as she was raised towards the sun. He had not appeared. It was a studied insult.
At the great feast it was Artios, beside her, who had taken the warrior’s portion of the meat. A horrified silence spread from guest to guest. Surely this should be the queen’s.
Artios stood up, the succulent joint in his hands. He raised it as though offering it to the gods of the fire, then turning he presented it to her. His jewelled dagger in his hand, he cut off a tender portion and held it out. ‘Queen of sunlight and of the moon. Daughter of fire, Lady of the stars, your portion by right and by inheritance.’
She took it, smiling, and found to her delight, skewered to the meat, by a small silver pin, a beautifully worked golden ring, the interlaced design depicting a horse’s head, the flowing mane drawn round to form the circle for her finger. For a moment she hesitated, thinking of another jewelled horse, another man, but she put the thought resolutely behind her. Riach and her little son inhabited another world.
‘A sleek pony, for a sleeker, golden queen.’ He bowed and she laughed and the men nearest to them roared their approval.
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