‘Even so, now she’s followed you here it might be useful to tell the local police,’ Bryn persisted. He rubbed his face with his hands, leaving a streak of earth across his cheek. ‘You’re not serious, I take it, about her wanting to kill you?’
Of course Rhona wanted to kill her. What was a dagger if not a warning? A warning her subconscious thought she would understand.
Andy sighed. She wasn’t about to tell Bryn that she had wrapped herself in the hide of a bull and slept in the sleeper’s cave and been rewarded by a dream of bloody daggers. She took a deep breath. ‘No. People scream threats like that at each other all the time and don’t mean it. It’s that I’m not sure why she’s gone to all the trouble of following me here. It makes no sense. She should be sitting back and enjoying her trophy house in Kew.’
She was being disingenuous, she knew.
‘Think about the police option. It might be a useful backup,’ Bryn persisted. He studied her face. ‘You really are scared.’
‘I’ll be better after a bit. It’s been a stressful few days. This was the last straw.’
‘Do you know where she’s staying?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll make tactful enquiries. She would be fairly noticeable, I’d have thought – she’s obviously not the retiring type. It would be useful to be able to keep tabs on her.’
Andy sighed. ‘Maybe. I’m probably making a great fuss about nothing. She’s a silly woman who is grieving in her own way. She’ll get over it. But thank you, Bryn. It might be reassuring to know where she was, you’re right. Let’s just hope she gets bored and leaves on her own. This isn’t exactly her kind of country. She’s a city girl. With a bit of luck, she’ll go back to the States or somewhere one of these days.’
‘She’s American?’ Bryn asked in surprise.
‘No. But she’s spent time there. I remember Graham saying she was happiest there and he wished she’d go back. To be honest I don’t care where she goes as long as she doesn’t stay here.’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, boredom is a fairly rational state; it’s what one does to alleviate the boredom that’s important,’ Bryn said after a few moments’ thought. ‘She doesn’t sound very rational to me, and I would worry about what she decided to do to keep herself occupied. After all, very few violent crimes make sense in the cold light of day. If she’s suffering some kind of mental disorder, then maybe you ought to be worried.’
‘You sound like an expert on the subject.’
He looked uncomfortable. ‘I just want you to take care.’
‘I will, don’t worry.’
‘Promise me you will lock your doors at night at least.’
She was about to say, ‘I always lock my doors at night; I’ve lived in London, of course I do!’, when she realised how feeble that sounded. Sue probably never locked her doors in her entire life. But then Sue wasn’t a townie, always on the watch for potential burglars, and Sue wasn’t being pursued by a homicidal woman in a bright-red sports car. ‘I will be careful, I promise.’
‘OK.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Thanks for the coffee. And remember, I’m around if you need me.’ The words were comforting. It was only when he had gone out and shut the door behind him that she realised she didn’t even know his phone number. She didn’t get up and follow him. She could ask him next time she saw him.
Rhona spent an hour photographing the yews in Cusop churchyard. She was completely absorbed, enjoying the technical challenges posed by the light and the position of the trees, surrounded as they were by so many others in the ancient churchyard. The tiny church seemed almost to cower between them, overwhelmed by their size and venerability. Only when the light began to fade completely did she stop and put her camera away. She walked slowly back to her car and climbed in. She had carefully avoided thinking about her visit to Sleeper’s Castle and her conversation with the gardener. If indeed that’s what he was. He was a good-looking man. Obviously Miranda had picked yet another stunning, dependable male to keep an eye on her.
She was a fool to have gone there, but the sight of the van parked there on its own had made her careless. Miranda was obviously out and she had wanted to find out what was going on, see who was living there with Andy, look through the windows of the house, spy out the land. Only the sighting of the tall stranger with a spade watching her as she climbed the steps to the front door had shocked her into realising that she had better think up a story fast. The first thing that came into her head was the truth. More or less. He had been cagey. Was he naturally taciturn, she wondered, or deliberately obtuse? Or was he just a dim yokel who hadn’t the wit to be either? In any event he hadn’t denied that it was Sue Macarthur’s house or that Miranda was staying there. Not that there’d have been any point denying it after she told him she’d seen her car there the day before. She gave a small satisfied smile. Whichever category he fell into, he was not someone she need worry about, that was for sure, and she had had the chance to get closer to the house.
Sian was standing on the back step when Andy opened the door that evening. ‘I saw Bryn in town and he told me you were home,’ she said as Andy let her in. ‘Did you get my message?’ It was growing dark. Andy glanced out into the garden behind her then shut the door and turned the key.
‘I did. I am sorry, I should have rung you back. I got distracted. Did Bryn tell you what happened this morning?’
Sian shook her head. If she had noticed the door being locked, she made no comment.
‘I had an unexpected visitor while I was out. Rhona – Graham’s wife.’
‘Oh my goodness!’ For a minute Sian seemed to be completely thrown. She walked across to the table, took off her jacket and slung it over the back of one of the chairs. ‘She must be the last person you want to see up here. But I haven’t come about anything Bryn did or said. Can we talk, Andy?’
Andy fetched two glasses from the cupboard and poured them both a glass of wine. ‘Go ahead.’ She indicated the chair opposite hers and threw herself down in her own with an exhausted sigh.
‘I had a long chat with Ella Pascoe, and what she told me rather scared me. I thought you ought to know about it.’ Sian stared down into her glass without touching it. While she launched into her account of Ella’s revelations about Sue and Joe, Andy sat silently, her eyes fixed on Sian’s face. When she stopped, neither woman spoke for a while.
‘Sue never mentioned someone called Joe to me,’ Andy said eventually. ‘Not a word.’
‘I think she wrote him off as one of life’s disappointments. From what Ella said, she didn’t believe a word he said about his dreams.’
‘No, she wouldn’t.’
‘Andy,’ Sian said after another short silence. ‘You remember you showed me where you had burned your hand …’
Andy stretched out her fingers and flexed them. ‘That was not the result of a dream. I told you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ Andy sighed. ‘No, perhaps a daydream is a better way of describing it, but it wasn’t the result of a medieval battle. Far from it.’ She stopped dead, thinking about the dagger.
Sian was studying her face. ‘You said Rhona was here? Really here, or was it another dream?’
‘If it was a dream, it was Bryn’s dream. He spoke to her while I was out.’
‘Why has she come?’
‘I don’t know, but I doubt if she’s just being sociable.’
‘Then why don’t you come and stay with me? It makes perfect sense. That way the wretched woman won’t be able to find you.’
‘That’s very sweet of you, but I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
Why indeed?
Because of Catrin. Because Andy had to know what was happening to her.
‘Well, for a start there’s Pepper.’
‘We can come up here every day to feed him. And Bryn would be here.’
‘No.’ Andy sighed. ‘I have to sort this out. I am not going to be chased out of yet anoth
er home.’ She stood up and walked slowly round the table, then sat down again. ‘No. I’m not going to go anywhere.’
All the dreams, all the history, were centred on this building.
Sian seemed to be reading her mind. ‘Are you sure it’s safe to stay here, Andy? Not only because of Rhona, but because of the dreams. If what happened to Joe is anywhere near real – you’ve got to think about it. Joe was not the hysterical type. He was a good, solid, down-to-earth bloke and he thought he was in danger here. Not from some psychotic former wife, like you, but from the past. He was so scared he left.’
‘We don’t know that for sure. Ella might have got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’
Sian opened her mouth to protest then closed it again helplessly. ‘You have to make your own decision.’
‘And I will. I’m not looking for trouble, Sian. I really appreciate your warning me. But I know what I’m doing. And I won’t do anything dangerous, I promise.’
‘What about Rhona?’
‘I’m keeping my doors locked. And I will do all I can to avoid her.’
Sian nodded. She pushed her glass away and stood up. ‘Fair enough. I’ll ask around and see if anyone I know has seen her. She must be staying locally somewhere.’
‘Thanks. Bryn is doing the same.’ Andy hesitated. ‘Sian, please, stay and have some supper.’
‘I can’t, love.’ Sian shook her head regretfully. ‘I have to get back to the dogs. I’ve been out most of the day. But take care, please. And if you change your mind, remember you can come to me any time.’
Andy watched from the window as Sian disappeared down the steps, climbed into her car and pulled out into the lane. The sight of the red tail lights disappearing round the corner left her feeling desperately bleak. Glancing round the empty room, she drew the curtains. She checked the locks on the front door, then went into the kitchen and did the same for the back door. Pepper was sitting on the dresser, his paws tucked neatly into his chest. She had never been so pleased to see him.
It was spring. There was a vase of daffodils on the table.
‘Edmund has gone!’ Joan pushed open Catrin’s door and stood on the threshold. Tears were coursing down her face. ‘He’s gone to fight for the rebel cause.’
Catrin looked up, startled. ‘How did you hear? Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure!’ Joan brought her apron up to her eyes and wiped them. ‘The news is all over Hay. Allies of Glyndŵr captured Conwy Castle while the garrison were at prayer on Good Friday. The rebels are cock-a-hoop about it and men from all over the country are leaving their work to go and follow him. It’s all your fault Edmund has gone, you and your father. If you hadn’t taken him with you, he would never have seen him.’ Her voice rose into a wail. ‘Now Edmund will be killed and we’ll all be arrested and hanged for treason.’
Catrin looked round desperately. ‘Hush, Joan, you mustn’t be so upset. He was going to be summoned for the muster anyway. As an archer and an able-bodied young man it was bound to happen. Fighting for Lord Glyndŵr would be no more dangerous than fighting for the king. In fact, it might be safer. Owain’s army has the reputation of being the better fighting force.’
‘Oh, so you know that, do you?’ Joan cried. ‘Well, if they are it is only because they pounce on the king’s army from the hills and then turn and run away before our men have the chance to fight back and win.’ Her voice was heavy with scorn. ‘We could have proved Edmund was needed on the farm. We could have done something. Your father could have pleaded for him.’ Her voice echoed hysterically round the room.
The study door opened and Dafydd looked out. His face was peevish. ‘What is all this noise?’
‘Nothing, Tad.’ Catrin seized Joan’s arm and squeezed it warningly. ‘Don’t say anything,’ she whispered. ‘He mustn’t be upset. He is finishing a poem which has taken months to compose.’
Joan sniffed. She directed a look of pure dislike at Catrin’s father then turned and flounced back to the kitchen.
‘What was the matter with her?’ Dafydd peered short-sightedly after Joan.
Catrin ran across the room, caught his hand and drew him back into his study. She closed the door carefully. ‘Edmund has gone to join Prince Owain,’ she said softly. ‘Joan is distraught.’
‘Edmund has gone already?’ Dafydd queried crossly. ‘No. He said he would wait for me.’
‘What do you mean?’ She froze.
‘I am going to Prince Owain. I have to recite my poem and tell him my forecast for the future. He is destined for such great glory—’
‘You knew Edmund was going?’ she interrupted him.
‘Of course I knew. I asked him to come with me. I can’t go alone.’
‘And what about me?’ Catrin’s eyes were blazing.
‘You can’t come. It was nothing but trouble when you were there. Never again. It is too dangerous for a woman. That’s why the Lord Owain sent you away. You have to stay here and run the house.’
‘I am not staying here. I am going with you!’
‘No.’ He tightened his lips in fury. ‘I forbid it.’ He walked across the room and picked up his staff, which had been leaning in the corner. ‘And now I am going to find out what the truth of this is. I will have to go to see Edmund’s father.’
‘You can’t.’ She stared at him, aghast. ‘Edmund’s father is loyal to the King of England. He is an Englishman!’
‘He allowed Edmund to come last year.’ She recognised the stubborn note that had crept into her father’s voice.
‘Yes, when the country was at peace. Now Gwynedd and the border March is awash with blood, there are armies roving the hills. Your gentle patron has proclaimed himself Prince of Wales, and apparently he has captured Conwy Castle!’
Dafydd’s face broke into a smile. ‘Has he now! I foresaw a great victory. I saw stone walls with the standard flying. I saw men on their knees—’
‘It was on Good Friday,’ she said. ‘He took the garrison by surprise when they were at prayer.’
He looked at her uncertainly. ‘I have to go to him, Catrin.’
She gave up.
‘I know.’ She turned away helplessly.
The next morning Peter, the stable boy, knocked on the back door. He refused to be intimidated by Joan, demanding to see Mistress Catrin and when Catrin came to the door he handed her a folded piece of parchment. ‘From Master Dafydd, mistress,’ he whispered. He glanced at Joan. ‘I was told it was a secret.’
Catrin closed her eyes in despair. ‘Thank you, Peter. You may go back to the stable.’
She took the note and turned away, well aware of Joan’s eyes following her curiously as she walked into the great hall. She stood by the fire and opened the folded parchment.
Catrin stared at it, not sure whether to be furious or afraid. Turning, she walked towards her father’s study. It was empty, the fire out. His writing materials and his scrip were gone. Slowly she made her way outside. Walking round the back of the house she went to the stable. The cob’s stall was empty. She saw Peter peering at her from the grain store. ‘What time did they leave?’ she asked bleakly.
‘Before dawn. They told me not to tell you until after you had broken your fast.’ He looked very scared.
‘Was it just the two of them?’
The boy nodded.
‘And did they tell you where they were going?’
‘No. Hereford market, I thought.’
She smiled. ‘Of course. Why didn’t I think of that. Thank you, Peter.’
When Catrin returned to the kitchen, Joan was sitting at the table, staring into space. ‘They’ve gone,’ she said slowly. ‘Betsi saw them leave this morning before cockcrow.’
‘I know.’
‘They’ve gone to join the rebels,’ Joan said slowly.
‘No one must know, Joan.’ Catrin sat down opposite her. ‘I know you don’t approve, but for your family’s sake as much as mine you must tell no one.’
Joan pursed her li
ps. ‘That’s treason.’
‘It’s common sense. If anyone asks we can always claim ignorance. They did not tell us where they were going. Peter thinks they have made an early start for the market. In Hereford.’
‘And when they don’t come back?’
‘We will think of something.’ Catrin groped in her pocket and pulled out the scrap of parchment. She walked over to the fire and dropped it into the heart of the flames, watching as it blackened and curled and finally turned to ash. ‘We will say my father decided to go on his usual tour early this year. No one will question that Edmund went with him as he came with us before.’
‘They will when Edmund is summoned to serve in the army.’
‘Then again we will have to say that he accompanied my father on his travels. If I ask your father, what will he say?’
Joan was rubbing her eyes. ‘I don’t know. He will be so angry.’ Again she dissolved into tears.
With a sigh Catrin stood up. She climbed the stairs to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Her father had forbidden her to work in trance. It was too dangerous, he had said, without the years of training that he had been given by his father as he was growing up. Now was not the time to worry about what her father had told her. He had lied to her. Her apprenticeship to him was over. She was now the poet in residence at Sleeper’s Castle, and it was her job to act as seer and bard and keeper of the stories of the past and of the secrets of the future.
In her dream Catrin watched Glyndŵr.
She saw him in an encampment with his followers, studying a map, which was spread on a folding table under his rippling standard. She saw the campfires of the cooks who fed his army, smelling the roasting venison and mutton as it turned on the spits, hovering in the shadows watching the men carefully oiling their yew-wood bows, rubbing the hemp strings with lumps of beeswax against the rain and checking the ever-growing piles of arrows. These were the bowmen of Wales, the best in the world, and daily more and more came to answer the call to fight for their country.
Catrin stood behind Owain, watching him trace a valley on the map with his finger. She saw him shiver slightly as her shadow fell across him. He looked up, puzzled, failed to see anyone near him and went back to scrutinising the map.
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