24

I

Hugh slammed down the phone and walked over to the French windows. The heat from the terrace was rising like a tangible wave as he stood staring out. He grimaced. He had been ringing Viv all morning. He ought to go back to Edinburgh now. Camp on her doorstep. Search her flat by force if necessary. He clenched his fists. He could feel it again, the strange overpowering anger which seemed to lurk out here in the garden. Cautiously he looked round. The place was silent; nothing stirred. The heat from the stones and the walls radiated out into a stillness which was uncanny and suddenly he knew why. Venutios was there. He listened. There wasn’t a breath of wind; not a bird sang. He could hear nothing. He looked down at his hands and cautiously he flexed his fingers. Had Venutios really invaded his soul for a few terrifying seconds or had it been his imagination? He had felt the man’s anger and his strength. For a paralysing moment he had known what it would feel like to want to kill and to know himself capable of violence such as he had never contemplated. In those same seconds, while he had been on the phone, he had also realised that, however much he tried to deny it to himself, he loved Viv Lloyd Rees, but that one day he might be forced to hurt her.

When he saw the tall figure, over by the laurels, it was with a sense of inevitability and overwhelming defeat. Venutios was standing on the grass, his hands on his hips. His handsome face was hard and set, the blue painted swirls around the temples terrifying, the long hair tangled by a wind Hugh couldn’t feel. Frozen with fear, he watched as Venutios strode towards him, knowing he should turn back inside and slam the doors; knowing he should ring Meryn; knowing he should throw himself into the car and drive. Drive anywhere, as fast as he could. He didn’t move.

When at last the tall figure was standing only a few feet from him he merely shook his head. ‘I couldn’t find the brooch,’ he said quietly. ‘I did my best. It’s not Viv’s fault. Leave her alone. If you want to blame anyone, blame me.’

II

‘Viv, we’ve got to talk!’ Hugh’s voice echoed through the flat. ‘I have to have the brooch. It’s the only way to get him off my back. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Help me, Viv!’

Miserably she stared at the phone. It was the third time he had called her that morning. Fifteen minutes later she was still seated at the keyboard when the phone rang again. This time she switched it off. A mug of coffee, cold and skimmed with a milk slick, lay untouched beside the monitor as her fingers rattled over the keys and the documentation of Cartimandua’s life grew longer and longer, the story loud and insistent in her head.

        CARTA: I will lead these men into battle myself.

        VENUTIOS: No, I will lead them. That is what men do.

        CARTA: But I am queen.

       VENUTIOS: You may be queen, but you are only a woman!

That was all wrong. Venutios would never say that. Elected as high queen, she must have been able to lead her men herself. Boudica did. And Carta had proved herself. She was strong. And she was ruthless.

       CARTA: I have ridden into battle, sir, at the head of my troops and I shall do so again. And I have ordered the death of traitors. Remember that.

How would she address him? How did she address him in the dreams? Viv bit her lip, staring back at her notes.

       VENUTIOS: My queen, this is a job for a man!

Oh God, how corny!

       CARTA: I think not! I shall lead my men, and the women of the tribe shall as always accompany us. That way we shall be sure of success.

Viv began to write again. By the time Pat arrived she had several pages to show her. They sat reading, passing notes and pages of dialogue to each other and then at last they put the sheets down and looked at one other.

‘Well?’ Viv was eyeing Pat nervously.

Pat exhaled slowly. ‘It’s good as far as it goes. But it’s still too self-conscious. You need to lift bits out of your notes in toto. Real language as you’ve noted it down. As we recorded it before. You’ve edited it back into history speak. We need to bring in earlier more of a feel of what Carta’s beliefs – Medb’s beliefs – meant to them. Lift it out of the ordinary. Convey something of the amazing Celtic world view’. She paused thoughtfully. ‘I’ve had a glimpse of what it means to live and breathe a native spirituality from a programme I’ve worked on about the Native Americans. Living as part of the world around them, not top species laying down the law, but being one with it. That’s what we need here. To think as Carta thought.’

There was a moment’s silence. Viv put down her pen. ‘You’re right.’

‘Sound effects are going to be important to help with this,’ Pat went on. ‘Nothing too spooky, but we’re going to need some atmospherics to back up the spiritual link to nature. Waterfalls. Wind on the high moors, that sort of thing.’ She shrugged. ‘I haven’t really got to grips with what Carta’s world looked like, you know. Your descriptions in the book are great as far as they go, but obviously it’s a history book. I want to go and see it all myself.’

‘I suppose we could go to Winter Gill Farm.’ Viv put in. ‘It would be a great place to record sound effects. You could climb Ingleborough. You’re in training now you’ve been up Traprain.’ She smiled.

‘That would be great –’ Pat stopped. ‘You know, I’m learning to notice things I never used to. How one can look into a stream or a pool of water and see the future and the past, for instance. We can do it, just as they did.’ Medb was teaching her.

Viv gave a wry laugh. ‘I should be putting stuff like that into the dialogue.’ She sounded subdued. ‘I’ve seen it through Carta’s eyes, but when I write I still see it as a historian. I’m as bad as Hugh. I see her beliefs as quaint. Primitive. Pagan. And I am unconsciously editing it accordingly.’

‘Well, she was a pagan in that hers was a pre-Christian world.’ Pat nodded.

‘But I’m using pagan as a pejorative term. You are right. I wouldn’t dare call in question Native American spirituality these days, would I? And Celtic religion is similar. It dramatically effects their attitude to death. That’s important. That’s what we have to get in very early in the dialogue. It effects how she feels about Riach and about Triganos and her baby. She obviously felt sad on a day to day basis, sad because they weren’t there any more, but not as sad as someone feels who thinks ‘‘that’s it, gone for good’’. If they communicated with their ancestors and their gods, surely they communicated with their dead.’ She broke off with a curse as the phone rang again. Hugh had called half a dozen times since Pat had arrived. ‘He’s not going to give up, is he? And he’s going to keep on threatening to come round.’

This time, though, the message was longer. ‘Listen, Viv. This is important. Don’t let anyone else touch the brooch, or touch it yourself again. It was cursed.’ He paused, and they could almost hear his embarrassment down the phone. ‘I’ve been told by someone who knows about these things, that that is how Venutios got to me. And it might affect other people. You. Anyone who touches it!’ There was a pause, then the line went dead.

Pat’s face had drained of colour. ‘I touched it, Viv! I touched that brooch. I held it in my hand.’

Viv stared at her. She was biting her lip. ‘That’s where Medb came from, Pat,’ she said at last. ‘She gave Venutios the brooch. It’s imbued with her power.’

For a moment neither of them said anything. When Pat spoke at last it was one word. ‘Shit!’

In the long silence that followed the phone rang again. They ignored it.

‘You need to move out for a bit,’ Pat whispered. ‘Get right away. Come and stay at Abercromby Place. He won’t know where you are.’

‘No. ‘Viv shook her head. ‘Don’t you see, Pat. I have to get it back to him.’

‘You can’t! It’s dangerous! He just said so.’

‘If it is, it’s too late for us.’ Viv shrugged. ‘We’ve both touched it.’ She glanced at Pat with a shudder. ‘You have to fight Medb. She’s evil.’ She was scanning Pat’s face carefully.

‘Thanks!’ Pat scowled. ‘How exactly am I supposed to fight her?’

‘Don’t listen to her.’ Viv looked down at the manuscript in front of them. ‘Don’t keep writing about her.’ She stood up and walked towards the window uneasily, then she turned and faced Pat again. ‘Medb hated Cartimandua.’

‘Yes.’ Pat gave a small tight laugh.

‘She wanted to see her brought down. She wanted to drive a wedge between her and Venutios.’

‘I shouldn’t think that was hard,’ Pat retorted.

‘You suggested taking the brooch to Stanwick,’ Viv went on thoughtfully. ‘You were the one who didn’t want to give it back to Hugh once the programme was over.’

‘So? You agreed with me.’

‘Did Medb put that idea in your head, Pat? Was it Medb who wants to keep it away from Venutios?’

‘If it’s cursed you’d think she would want him to have it!’ Pat scrabbled for her cigarettes again and shook the packet. It was empty.

‘There is something we are not seeing.’ Viv shivered. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Then don’t do anything. Concentrate on the play.’ Pat stood up. ‘I need to buy some more cigarettes.’

‘Let’s leave it there for tonight.’ Viv was suddenly exhausted. ‘Talk about it some more tomorrow.’

‘When you’ve consulted Carta?’ Pat raised an eyebrow sarcastically. ‘She knows nothing about Medb. And she doesn’t care! She never gave Medb another thought after she had her kidnapped.’

‘Maybe not.’ Viv frowned.

‘The truth will come out in the play.’

‘Will it?’ Viv watched as Pat pushed her papers into her bag and slung it onto her shoulder. ‘We’ll see.’

III

Vivienne.

The voice woke Viv from an uneasy sleep.

Vivienne. Sweet goddess, protect me and protect my people!

It was just growing light. In the distance she could hear the blackbird. She frowned. Blackbirds sing at dawn because every dawn has a message. A sheaf of messages. She glanced towards the phone, then she shook her head. Every dawn is also a potential gateway, a magical time. Not a time for modern technology. A time to listen to the voices from the past. And to act.

She had to retrieve the brooch. And she had to do it without Pat knowing.

It was still early when she drove out of Edinburgh and the streets were comparatively empty. By nine she was almost there.

Drawing up in the place they had parked before, she headed up onto the rampart wall.

The day was airless and the trees which hung over the track were still. In the short time since they had been there last the undergrowth had grown up even more thickly. Nettles and brambles crossed the track and in places it was hard to see where she was going. Cautiously she made her way down the steep bank to the bottom of the reconstructed piece of wall and began to feel along the stones. It was here somewhere. She paused uncomfortably. She could feel someone watching her. She turned round slowly. The clearing was very hot. No breath of wind stirred down here in the lee of the wall. ‘Carta?’ The word faded into silence. ‘Medb?’

Turning back, she scrabbled amongst the stones, pulling at them, patting the moss, trying to find which one was loose. She had counted the courses of stone. She knew where it was. Batting a fly away from her face she pulled at some grass and then let out an exclamation of triumph. Dropping the large stone on the ground, she pushed her hand into the space behind it. In seconds she had brought out the plastic box.

She tore off the lid and stared down at the package inside. It seemed untouched. Pushing the stone back into place in the wall, she turned round to scramble up the bank once more. The trees remained still. There was no sound from the path ahead where it vanished into the tangled bushes. In the distance she could hear the low mournful mooing of a cow.

She stopped and stared back over her shoulder into the undergrowth. There was someone there all right. Someone who did not want to be seen.

Carta.

Or Medb?

IV

‘I’m sorry to come unannounced! It was on the spur of the moment!’ Viv looked at Peggy, pleadingly.

Sitting in the car with the brooch in its box locked in the glove compartment, she had realised that she didn’t want to go back to Edinburgh. Not yet. She couldn’t face Pat, and she wasn’t ready to make contact with Hugh or listen to any more of his messages. Not yet. Making up her mind at last she had driven on south. The weather had changed and successive showers of rain greeted her head on as she drove west down Nidderdale. Then as she drew up at the farm gate, brilliant sunshine reflected off the house windows and raindrops spangled the flowers. Behind the blue sky another black cloud was powering up the dale.

Steve greeted her with a hug. Then he took her into the kitchen. The atmosphere at the farm had changed. ‘Dad went away without telling anyone.’ Steve shrugged. ‘It’s upset Mum a bit.’ It was obviously an understatement. As he glanced at his mother Viv felt a wave of sympathy for him. His anguish was palpable. There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence. ‘He left the dogs with one of our old farm workers up the dale,’ he went on, ‘which is odd, to say the least, and it’s kind of quiet without them, isn’t it, Ma.’

Peggy, her face shiny with heat, lifted a cake out of the oven and slammed it down on the table. She ignored his comment. ‘You’re not planning to go up the hill tonight, I hope?’ she said to Viv, with a glance towards the kitchen window where the next rainstorm was streaking the glass and lashing the apple trees. The great shoulder of the hill was out of sight, girdled by black cloud.

‘No. Not tonight.’ Viv shook her head. She paused awkwardly, watching Peggy turn the cake out onto a rack, before she looked back at Steve. ‘I am so sorry I didn’t see you again at the party. The row with Hugh completely threw me and then I was whisked away with Sandy. I hoped you’d understand.’

He nodded. ‘Of course. I knew you’d come back here in the end.’ Lifting three mugs down from the dresser, he lined them up on the table.

Peggy had seated herself in the armchair at the head of the table and was watching Viv and Steve through narrowed eyes. Wearily she reached for the teapot. ‘Well, those folk we’ve just seen off this afternoon – they heard your ghosts up on the top.’

Viv accepted a mug of tea from her gratefully. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Peggy clasped her own mug between her hands with a sigh. ‘They spent all day up there yesterday, didn’t they, Steve?’ It was almost a plea. There had clearly been a row between Peggy and Steve as well. ‘And what a to-do! Heard hooves, even though the hill was empty. Heard voices. Thought they saw a load of horsemen with swords.’

‘Swords?’ Viv’s attention snapped away from Steve and she felt the colour drain from her face.

‘So they said. It’s the second time they’ve been here. Remember, Steve, love?’ Peggy glanced at him again. ‘They were here last back end. And they heard something then. They were going to tell the local ghost club or something.’

Steve was concentrating on Viv. ‘I told them they were hearing noises from the boggart holes.’

‘Men on horses,’ Viv repeated thoughtfully. ‘With swords.’

‘Imagination, Viv.’ Steve reached for a knife. ‘Shall I cut this up?’ He turned to Peggy at last. ‘It’ll cool quicker.’

Peggy gave her a pretty, low-ceilinged room in the attic looking out over the front garden. She didn’t comment on Viv’s lack of luggage. She had brought her walking gear and a small overnight bag, thrown into the car at the last minute in case she decided to spend the weekend near Stanwick. No computer. No notes. ‘You’ve the whole floor to yourself up here and you won’t be disturbed by my other guests.’ Two other couples were arriving to occupy the rooms on the first floor where Viv had stayed before and that first evening she found herself sitting around the large dining table with Steve and several strangers. After a flicker of resentment, she relaxed. It was good to ground herself. To forget, however briefly, Pat and Hugh and Cartimandua and the brooch tucked into the bottom of her small holdall. Glancing at the others as they tucked into Peggy’s smoked chicken terrine she listened as they talked about their visit to Mother Shipton’s Cave.

Later she went to sit outside on a bench in the garden, staring out towards the hill. Her dinner companions had dispersed, one couple for an early night and one for an evening stroll. Moths were hovering above the grass and bats were swooping after them. Viv was watching them thoughtfully when Steve wandered out. He sat down beside her. ‘Enjoying the view?’ It was nearly dark.

Viv nodded. She shivered, huddling into her sweater. They sat side by side in companionable silence.

‘Do you reckon Mother Shipton’s spring was a Druid place too?’ she said at last.

‘Bound to have been.’ Steve nodded. ‘On the edge of a great river, water emerging from the womb of the earth and strange water, capable of turning things to stone. A kind of alchemy. Magic in everything. But not magic as we know it. The perfect place.’

‘The Celts lived in such a wonderfully vivid world, didn’t they.’ She smiled dreamily. ‘Even the silence of the hills and moors was special. They had no radio or TV. There was no newspaper popping through the letter box at breakfast time, no phone to warn them when visitors, welcome or unwelcome, were on the way. Their senses weren’t dulled by noise and bright lights. They couldn’t afford to let that happen. Instead they listened to everything. If a robin sang unexpectedly on a bush nearby they heard not just the beauty but what he was saying. Was he warning you off his territory or telling his friends – and you – that a fox or a cat or a human was lying in wait? When a blackbird sang at the liminal time of dawn and dusk they walked gently and with respect, for blackbirds were special. They were believed to guard the secret sacred places.’

He glanced at her. ‘You make it sound romantic, but it must have been a bit scary, don’t you think?’

‘What world isn’t?’ Viv shrugged.

There was another long silence. In the distance they heard the call of an owl. ‘Are you escaping Hugh?’ Steve asked at last. He wasn’t looking at her now, concentrating instead on the misty view in front of them.

She nodded. ‘He won’t find me here.’

‘He’s been giving you a bloody hard time, hasn’t he? And it’s more than professional antagonism, that’s obvious. It’s very personal, isn’t it?’

Viv did not reply. She sat staring at the mist closing in across the fields. It was growing cold. ‘We used to be such friends,’ she said after a long pause. ‘When Alison, his wife, was alive, I often went over to their house. He changed after she died. I mean, you’d expect him to of course, but he changed towards me. Even before he read the book something was different.’

‘I suppose the whole dynamic of his relationships with people would alter after losing someone close like that.’ He sighed. ‘It would be bound to. You were a friend of his wife’s. And you’re an attractive younger woman, remember.’

Viv gave a wry laugh. ‘Thanks for the compliment.’ She smiled at him, conscious suddenly of the warmth of his body as he sat so close beside her. ‘I don’t think that’s it, though.’ She turned back towards the hill.

‘That’s always it.’ Steve nodded. ‘At some level, acknowledged or not.’ He paused, giving her a sideways glance. She didn’t see it. ‘The book is a fantastic bestseller, I gather,’ he went on. ‘It’ll be the launch pad for your new career as a whiz kid trendy historian. Simon Schama, Michael Wood, eat your hearts out. Viv Lloyd Rees has hit the headlines!’

She laughed again. ‘You make it sound very glamorous.’

‘And so it is. You deserve the success.’ He rested his arm along the back of the bench behind her. ‘And the play will only consolidate your reputation.’

‘It would be fun to record some of it here.’ She was not going to think about Pat tonight. Enough time for that when she had decided what to do with the brooch.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing what happens.’ Gently he touched her hair. She didn’t notice.

There was another pause. ‘Steve,’ Viv said slowly. ‘Your mother didn’t mind me arriving like this, did she?’

‘On the contrary. She’s terribly pleased. Why?’

‘Without your father being around it makes extra work for her.’ She turned and scanned his face. ‘There’s nothing seriously wrong, is there? She seems a bit strained.’

He shrugged. ‘Dad and she had a row. A bad row,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘Then she and I had a bit of a barney as well. They’ve been under a lot of pressure over the last few years. We all have. He needed to get away for a bit, that’s all. But don’t you worry about staying. It’s good to have someone else here, and he never helps with the guests anyway; there’s a lady from the village who does that, and Ma was really pleased to see you. She’s a bit tired today, that’s all.’ He stood up and stared thoughtfully up at the hill, then he shivered. ‘It’s getting a bit parky. Come in soon or you’ll get chilled.’