30

I

Viv looked up at the quiet knock on the door. She had come upstairs after supper and was sitting on her bed, deep in thought.

‘Come on, we’re going out again.’ Pat pushed the door open and stood there, silhouetted against the hall light.

‘Tonight?’ Viv glanced at the window. ‘I don’t think so.’

Pat nodded. ‘We needn’t go far. Just out onto the hillside to get the right ambiance to the sound; so it matches up.’

Viv shook her head. ‘Not now, Pat,’ she said uneasily.

‘You’re not losing interest?’

‘Of course not! It’s just it’s late. I’m tired. I don’t want to.’

‘I think you do.’ Pat’s eyes were strange. Unfocussed. Viv felt a bolt of fear go through her. ‘No, Pat. Not tonight. I’m sorry.’

Medb. Medb was there in the room with them. All over Pat. Viv could feel her skin crawling. ‘Pat,’ she whispered. ‘Go away. Please.’

Pat merely smiled some more. ‘Find your shoes, Viv. We want to know what happened next. You do, as much as me, don’t you.’

For a moment Viv said nothing. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Pat’s. Something strange was happening. Desperately she tried to fight it but she felt herself sigh. She was agreeing. Every part of her screamed in protest, but she was agreeing.

‘OK. I suppose you’re right.’ It was as though someone else was speaking for her. She was powerless to resist. In two minutes they were making their way along the passage and down the stairs.

The evening was clear and cool, the sky luminous; a mass of purple clouds hung on the horizon but above them they could see the evening star as they let themselves out into the lane. They were heading for what Pat had dubbed Base Camp One – an outcrop of rocks a few hundred yards up the track once they were over the dry stone wall and up onto the open hillside.

In the distance a curlew cried mournfully at the cloud-striped moon. ‘A bit spooky,’ Pat said. She laughed. ‘I hope we can get that on disc.’ She sounded quite normal again now they were outside.

Viv glanced over her shoulder nervously. The cloud moved on and the moon shone more brightly casting deep shadows behind them.

Ten minutes later the cloud was back, more thickly this time. The moon vanished.

‘Where are we going?’ Viv was finding it difficult to keep up as Pat scrambled ahead of her. They had passed base camp and turned off the track.

‘Not much further.’ Pat was heading towards the limestone pavement.

Viv stopped, suddenly suspicious. ‘I’m not sure we should go any further.’ She shivered. ‘We can’t afford to lose our way. It could be really dangerous up here in the dark. It would be so easy to fall and break a leg.’

Pat was gazing into the distance. ‘I agree. ‘She turned to look up towards the summit, barely visible in the darkness. Wisps of mist were clinging to the northern cliffs. She was staring up at the hill. The half-moon had appeared again, through trails of cloud streaming towards the east. The wind was strengthening as they watched, dispersing the mist, rustling the grasses.

‘Why don’t we go back?’ Viv said.

‘No. No, that would be such a waste. Now we’ve come this far, let’s do it. We can sit here, out of the wind behind this stone wall. We needn’t stay long. All I need to know is where you’ve put the brooch.’ Pat’s voice was harsh suddenly. ‘Medb wants it back.’

‘Don’t be silly!’

‘It’s not silly.’ Pat sighed. ‘Medb is quite anxious about it.’

‘Right, that’s it. I’m going!’ Viv turned away.

‘No.’ Pat caught her arm. ‘No! Sit down!’ She gave her a sharp push and Viv found herself falling. Frantically she tried to regain her balance. When she recovered Pat was standing over her, the recorder in her hand.

They waited for five minutes. Nothing happened. Now that they were sitting still and Viv seemed to have acquiesced, Pat relaxed. Around them the grasses rustled faintly. Down in the valley an owl hooted. Pat closed her eyes. ‘Lady Brighid, goddess of the silver stars, comfort our queen, Cartimandua,’ she whispered. ‘Goddess of the land, keeper of the rocks, sacred spirit of the waters, grant her the blessing of another child.’

She lapsed once more into silence.

Viv glanced at her. ‘You don’t mean that.’ Her skin was crawling.

‘Oh but I do!’ Pat smiled. ‘Cartimandua, Queen of the North, We are here. Speak to us,’ she said softly.

Viv bit her lip, fighting the urge to reply but it was overwhelming. When at last she spoke into the deepening silence, it was with the voice of the queen.

Vivienne. I gave you gold. I gave you blessings. I gave you the body of my child. What more can I give?

When Viv said nothing, Pat leaned towards her. ‘Go on. Answer.’

Viv hesitated, her mouth dry with fear. ‘Your prayers and blessings, lady, are all that I require.’

She glanced at Pat. She remained unmoving as the wind rose round them, lifting their hair. Then at last Carta began to speak again.

‘Venutios has gone, lady.’ Mairghread helped Carta on with her mantle. ‘It’s for the best.’ She knew it was not her place to speak so, but she could not stand silently and watch them tear themselves and the whole of Brigantia apart in their fury and their mutual distrust. By the fire, in the fields, in the kitchens, on the training grounds since they had both returned at last to Dinas Dwr, people were beginning to align, some for her, some for him. If they stayed apart, matters could lie quietly and healing begin.

Carta frowned.

It had been a long time before she had brought herself to speak to Mairghread again. She blamed her, in some secret inner part of herself, for the loss of her baby. She blamed her for allowing Medb near her. She blamed her for Venutios’s rage and now, she blamed her for supporting him.

She and Venutios had not spoken again since his return to Dinas Dwr with Brucetos from Caer Lugus. Although he was there, in the township, often near her, often at table with her, he somehow contrived to avoid her and the silence irked her. It challenged her authority as it was probably meant to do. She shivered. A gale howled down the dales outside and the fire smoked in a sullen refusal to burn clear. She sighed and pulled the heavy woollen folds around her against the cold, still not fully recovered from her miscarriage. That morning he had ridden down from the township into the forest. He had not returned.

‘Berthe has made honey cakes, and there is fresh buttermilk to drink. It will make you feel better,’ Mairghread coaxed, busying herself by tidying the room. ‘Perhaps you might go for a short ride later? You like to ride in the storm. Or Fergal could take you in your chariot?’

Carta shook her head. ‘I’ll stay here for a while, then I’ll come and join the others to listen to the music. Is Finley still here? I hear he has a fine repertoire of songs for all he is so young.’ Dafydd, the bard given by Venutios as a gift on her accession, had gone. He had stood, and before the entire township he had spun a song of anger and betrayal, a song which pointed the finger at her and the Roman. A song designed to cut and wound; a song designed to destroy her.

Before she had a chance to respond, a young bard from the Druid college had stood up, incensed, to out-sing him, to stand for her as her bardic champion, but the damage was done, the poisoned dart had lodged home. She did not have to dismiss the older man. By next morning he had gone, back to the mountains of Eryri where he had come from. She gave the young bard, Finley, his position, a place he would hold as he continued his studies at the college under Artgenos, a position which would be hard to maintain as whispers flew around the firesides and men and women began to look at her askance.

‘Go away, Mairghread. Leave me.’ She put her hand down on Moon’s head and fondled her ears. When the woman glanced in later, her queen was sitting by the fire, staring deep into the flames.

By noon, however, she had called for her pony and a warrior band to accompany her as she set off into the storm, Moon at her heels.

She caught up with Venutios in the end at a small fortress near Eburos. He was in bed with a pretty servant girl when Carta strode into the guest chamber soaked with rain, her hair matted, her colour high.

The girl tumbled from the bed with a squeak of fear and ran for the doorway. Carta ignored her. ‘I did not give you leave to come here. How dare you ride out of Dinas Dwr without seeking my permission.’

‘I need no permission to travel the kingdoms.’ He pulled on his tunic and breeks angrily. ‘What am I? Some kind of servant? I am a king, madam, in my own right and I go where I wish, and like you, I bed when and with whom I wish!’

‘And you foment rebellion where you wish too?’ Ignoring his jibe she stared at him for a long moment with narrowed eyes. ‘Do not push me too far, Venutios. You attacked me. You killed our child. I could have you executed for less.’

‘Our child!’ He retorted. ‘A foreign bastard!’ He spat on the floor.

‘Our child.’ She repeated coldly. ‘A child of double royal blood and a child of the goddess.’ She stared at him disdainfully. ‘Did you please that girl?’

‘I did. Greatly.’

She smiled. ‘How strange. She knew no better, I suppose.’

There was a moment of total silence. Venutios’s face suffused with scarlet. ‘You whore!’

‘I am a queen, Venutios, and a free woman. I take whomsoever I please to my bed, but I don’t need to take slaves.’

She turned and walked out of the house.

Vellocatus was waiting just outside the doorway. ‘Are you all right, lady?’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Venutios is not in the best of moods. His temper rules his head, and his sword arm.’ He grimaced. ‘He will calm soon.’

Carta paused. ‘No doubt so will I. Escort me to a guest house, Vellocatus, if there is such a place and send for the headman so that I can meet him and explain why his high queen has arrived unannounced, and then send for Artgenos. I will speak to him as soon as he can ride here.’ She hesitated. ‘It may take him a few days. I will wait here.’ She took a breath. ‘The Roman, Gaius Flavius Cerialis told me between our romps in the bedchamber, that Eburos and Isurion would make fine trading posts.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘He did not like the moors and mountains and forests of our kingdom, they made him nervous, but these rich eastern lands, where the forests have been cleared and we have good fields rich in wheat and barley are different. No doubt they remind him of the south.’

‘We encountered several traders when we arrived, lady.’ Vellocatus was profoundly embarrassed at her remark. He refused to meet her eye. ‘They brought fine wine and fabrics with them and they were interested in the horse harnesses made by Oengus and his family here.’

‘One of our best craftsmen.’ Carta raised an eyebrow. ‘Did they trade?’

Vellocatus sighed. ‘Venutios chased them away, lady, before they had a chance.’ He was hesitant, uncomfortable about telling her what had occurred. ‘He kept the wares they had brought north to trade with.’

‘Without payment?’

She scanned his face intently. The young man’s handsome demeanour was incapable of guile. Every emotion swept over it as he met her gaze with large blue eyes. Anger, embarrassment again, shame and then reluctant acquiescence: they were all there in their turn. ‘My king does not care for the Romans or those who trade on their behalf.’

‘He doesn’t, does he.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Come to my chamber as soon as I am settled and I will give you some coins. The Romans like to be paid in Celtic gold. See it is sent after the traders and see it is fair. I will not have them reporting to the governor, or to Gaius Flavius Cerialis, that they have been cheated by Cartimandua.’ She paused. ‘Or her husband.’

Vellocatus watched her walk away, his discomfort forgotten, and with something like hero worship in his eyes. She was strong and honest and let her head rule her heart. That gave her power. And she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He pulled himself together guiltily. Before all else he must see to the king, who was, after all, his master and his battle companion and his friend.

He turned back towards the house and was brought up short by the sight of Venutios standing in the entrance passage. ‘So, you crawl to my wife!’ he snarled.

Vellocatus blushed. ‘I must obey the queen’s orders, Venutios, as you do.’ He squared his shoulders.

‘Indeed? ‘‘Venutios chased them away, lady.’’’ Venutios quoted him with high-pitched sarcasm. ‘She did not command you to tell her what she did not know!’

‘She guessed,’ Vellocatus retorted hotly. ‘It would not have been hard to do! The Roman wagons are standing out there on the trackway! Yet, there is no one to guard them. Not a merchant in the place. She could hardly have missed them.’

Venutios took a step towards him. ‘Go, then. Run her errands. But be careful.’ He narrowed his eyes threateningly, his voice an angry growl. ‘Remember where your loyalty lies.’

Artgenos was not pleased to have been asked to ride the long miles to Eburos. His legs were aching and his back hurt. Wrapped in his woollen mantle, with a second one of furs over the top he laid his staff beside him on the ground with a sigh as he sat down and reached for the cup of spiced mead the servant passed him. Coel, the headman of the township, had joined Cartimandua and Venutios by the fire to greet him.

‘So, is the debt paid?’ Artgenos looked at Venutios with a raised eyebrow.

Venutios inclined his head. ‘I was not to know they were peaceful traders,’ he snarled. ‘To me, every Roman sympathiser is an enemy, as she was –’ he glanced at his wife, ‘to Caradoc.’

‘And rightly so, in present circumstances.’ Artgenos took another sip from his cup. The mead was particularly good, flavoured with borage and anise. ‘If we are to fight the Romans effectively and ensure our continuing independence we must use the cunning and diplomacy of the fox,’ he glanced at Venutios, ‘and the patience and discretion of the crane as she stands in the shallows of the pool, unmoving, waiting to strike at the unsuspecting fish.’ He looked straight at Carta. ‘My spies tell me we are right to be wary. Right to be cautious. ‘It is not yet time –’ he paused, once more looking at Venutios, ‘to act. All over the Empire, Druids are watching and waiting. Brothers have come from Gaul. They warn of conspiracies against us.’

‘From Gaul?’ Carta frowned. ‘I spoke to no Druids from Gaul.’

He took another sip of the mead and gave a small groan of pleasure as it began to reach his aching joints. ‘They came to see me, lady. Silently, through the oak forest, wrapped in the cloak of invisibility.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘They did not expect to be intercepted by anyone who was not expecting them.’

Carta remained silent, stung by the rebuke.

‘You see, Carta, they no longer trust you!’ Venutios had no such qualms. ‘You must take care or you will find yourself pushed aside and indeed, one of the enemy!’

Artgenos raised his hand before she could retort. ‘Enough! Carta is not our enemy. She is one of us. A Druidess, dedicated to the service of her goddess,’ he reprimanded sternly. ‘But she is not an Archdruid, nor was she at the gathering at Ynys Môn where these matters were discussed.’

‘Nor were you!’ she retorted. She knew she sounded childish as soon as she said the words.

Artgenos stood up painfully. He put his cup on the table. It teetered for a moment on the edge and then fell to the floor. He ignored it. ‘At your command, if you remember,’ he said reproachfully. ‘Are you questioning my integrity?’ He looked from one to the other of the three people seated at the fire. It was Coel, who had not yet spoken, who replied. ‘No one would dare question you, Artgenos,’ he growled.

As if echoing his words a low rumble of thunder resounded around the stone walls of the round house. Carta shivered. ‘The gods are displeased.’

‘As well they might be!’ Artgenos agreed.

A flicker of lightning had found its way through the screened entrance. Moments later it was followed by a second, louder crash of thunder.

‘Dear God, where did that come from!’ Viv ducked as the lightning lanced across the hillside. A sheet of rain was heading towards them like a curtain.

Pat sat without moving. ‘It’s the voice of the gods,’ she said slowly. ‘They are angry.’ She shook her head. Her mind was still in the round house by the fire with the three men and one woman as the rolling goblet came to rest against the stones of the hearth. There were no servants in the room to retrieve it. That meeting was private. Secret. Important.

Medb had been outside, listening from the shadowy doorway.

‘This storm is going to get worse.’ Viv glanced round apprehensively. The moon had gone and the hillside had been completely blotted out. They could see nothing in the dark as the slanting rain hid the distant lights in the valley.

‘Perhaps it would be better not to move until the storm has passed over,’ Pat said doubtfully. ‘That lightning was very close!’ As though in answer to her words another flash zigzagged almost at their feet. Both women ducked down behind the wall. Pat reached over and snatched the small mike away from Viv, stowing it in her bag out of the rain, aware that ice-cold fingers of damp were finding their way down inside her collar. ‘It looks as though we’re stuck here! We can’t risk losing our way in the dark.’ She sounded almost triumphant. ‘So, maybe you should go on. The sound effects are fantastic!’

‘What about the recorder? Surely it mustn’t get wet?’

‘No.’ Pat shrugged. ‘So, we’ll do without.’

Medb was there, waiting, and Medb did not care about the storm.

II

Medb turned and made her way back into the shadows. She knew enough. She had seen Venutios dragged from a whore’s bed by his wife. Seen him wriggle like a fish on a hook. Seen Cartimandua lash him with her scorn, and then quail in her turn before the Druid. To push a wedge between the king and queen would be so easy. To boost Venutios in his arrogance to stand up against his wife would take no skill at all.

As he stormed out of the meeting she slid out of the shadows and caught his arm, drawing him silently back with her towards the guest house where she was lodged and behind the curtain which hid her bed. There she pulled off his tunic and his mantle and his breeches and ran her hands over his body, teasing him to eagerness. ‘Your wife does not respect you, great king,’ she whispered. She leaned closer, pressing her lips to his chest. ‘Why do you let her walk all over you like that?’

He gasped as she knelt and her lips moved lower. ‘How do you know what we were talking about?’

‘I know everything, my lord.’ She drew him down towards her. ‘And I know how to help you.’

It was a long time before he could speak again.

Lying sweating, staring up at her as she knelt astride him he grinned, breathless with triumph. ‘You know how to please a man, Medb, I’ll grant you that.’ He was exhausted.

‘And how to instruct him in the ways of women.’ She leaned forward a little, allowing her hair to fall like heavy silk across his chest. ‘How to manage your wife so she obeys you.’

He gave a snort. ‘Not even you could do that, Medb.’

‘Oh but I can.’ Her eyes grew hard. ‘Listen.’

Viv was staring at Pat as the storm rumbled away towards the east. ‘Pat?’ She whispered. ‘Go on!’

Pat had fallen silent.

‘What happened next?’ Viv moved towards her, rummaged in the bag and gently put the mike between Pat’s hands. This was incredible. Somehow they had changed roles. In the drumming rain and storm, Pat had started to speak, her voice filled with venom as she drew Venutios to her and poured out her plan.

Suddenly Pat laughed. ‘Venutios will kill his wife. I won’t have to do it. But I will make sure she knows who set the sword in his hand.’

Viv shuddered. She could barely see her face in the dark.

Medb had risen to her feet. She stood for a moment ethereal in her nakedness, her white skin and pale hair glowing in the darkness. As Venutios stood up beside her she reached for his mantle and pulled it round his shoulders, fastening the brooch and touching the bird’s head with gentle fingers. Viv could see them clearly. Then Medb turned away and drifted into the darkness.

Shocked, Viv stared after her, then down at Pat who was smiling.

‘You can’t fight her,’ Pat said quietly.

‘You saw her?’ Viv was paralysed with fear.

‘I saw her.’ Pat climbed stiffly to her feet.

Viv stepped back. The recorder fell to the ground between them.

‘Venutios didn’t kill Cartimandua,’ Viv said after a minute. Her teeth were chattering.

‘No?’ Pat smiled. ‘Can you be sure of that?’

Viv bent slowly to pick up the recorder. It was wet and she rubbed it against the sleeve of her jacket. ‘I suppose not.’

‘We’ll see, won’t we.’ Pat put out her hand for it and tucked it into her bag. Her fingers were ice cold.

Viv nodded numbly. She glanced round. The hillside was empty. The moon reappeared through a gap in the clouds and for an instant the fells were illuminated with silvery light.

III

‘Where have you been?’ Peggy was waiting at the door, her hair untidy, her eyes wild. She dragged them inside and slammed it behind them.

Pat led the way down the hall, shivering. ‘We wanted to record the storm. We’re fine. We’ll tell you about it later, Peggy. I don’t know about you, Viv, but I want a soak in a hot bath for half an hour before I die of hypothermia.’ And that was it. She had gone.

Viv stared after her. Peggy too watched her head off up the passage, her socks leaving wet footmarks on the flagstones, then she turned to Viv. ‘What happened out there?’ she snapped.

‘Medb was there. She took her over.’ Viv shook her head. ‘I was so scared, Peggy.’ Kicking off her own shoes she followed Peggy into the kitchen. She was shivering violently, her hair dripping down her neck as she went to stand near the comforting warmth of the Aga. ‘It was just dreadful. Pat was –’ She couldn’t think of a word that would describe it. ‘She was evil.’

Peggy handed her a towel, then automatically she slid the kettle onto the hob. ‘I warned you.’

‘This was different. It was threatening.’ Viv could hardly speak. ‘Pat was frightening.’ She rubbed at her hair. ‘She’s changed. Medb seems to have made her stronger.’ She shook her head. ‘Why did you show her the well?’ she asked suddenly.

Peggy went over to the fridge and brought out a jug of milk. ‘She asked.’

‘And you told her about the goddess?’

‘I had to.’ Pursing her lips, Peggy took three mugs down from the dresser.

‘When I went to the well yesterday there was an ancient head there,’ Viv went on.

‘So.’

‘It wasn’t there when you took me there before.’

Peggy shrugged. ‘It comes and goes,’ she said evasively.

‘By itself?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You hide it sometimes?’ Peggy didn’t answer. ‘It felt very –’ Viv hesitated. She had been going to say evil. ‘It felt very powerful.’

‘Oh, it is. She is Brigantia.’

‘Has she always been there?’

Peggy nodded. Behind them the kettle had begun to bubble. A wisp of steam escaped from the spout.

Viv could feel herself trembling again as she rubbed her hair. It wasn’t entirely from the cold.

‘When is Steve coming back?’ she asked suddenly.

Peggy froze. She glanced at Viv, her eyes veiled. ‘I don’t know.’ She smiled humourlessly. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s better he’s not here. We don’t want any men here at the moment.’ Her knuckles had whitened as her fists clenched.

‘Why?’ Viv pulled the towel away from her head and stared at her.

‘This is women’s business.’ Peggy’s expression hardened. ‘You have woken the sleepers. I’m sure it was not your intention, but it has happened. Cartimandua slept beneath this hill. You have brought her here to this house and you must face the consequences.’

Viv could feel the cold settling deep into her bones. ‘Do you mean to say that Cartimandua died here?’

‘No, I don’t mean that.’

‘What, then? You’re frightening me.’

‘Good. You should be frightened.’ Peggy shook her head. ‘Unless you do what I tell you.’

‘Did Pat do what you told her?’ Viv was suddenly suspicious. ‘Is that why you’ve shown her the well?’

‘I misjudged Pat.’ Peggy handed her a mug of tea. It was a gesture of such normality Viv took it. She found herself sipping it gratefully.

‘Medb, and through her, Pat, have embraced the goddess and all she stands for,’ Peggy went on thoughtfully. ‘I’ve changed my mind they are no danger to me.’

‘And am I in danger?’ Viv was holding her breath.

Peggy smiled. ‘Cartimandua was a traitor; I realise that now. Steve has shown me your book. She betrayed Brigantia; and the other gods of these hills, but she paid the price. If she has woken, we have to lay her ghost and Medb is here to help us do that.’

Viv could feel her fingers tightening around the mug in her hands as Peggy sat down at the table opposite her.

Peggy stared thoughtfully down into the tea. ‘The goddess will tell us what to do.’ She looked up. ‘Where is the brooch?’

Viv shook her head. ‘That is safe.’

‘I need it.’

‘That’s not possible, Peggy. It’s not mine to give to you or to the gods. I have to keep it. But it’s not in the house, I promise you. I have hidden it outside, far away, where no one will find it.’

‘On the hill?’ Peggy narrowed her eyes.

‘On the hill.’ She was studying Peggy’s face nervously, and suddenly desperate to get away from her, she turned and hung the towel on the rail. ‘Peggy, forgive me, but I’m very tired and cold. I think I’ll go up and have a bath and go to bed. We can talk some more in the morning.’

Peggy shrugged. She made no move to stop her.

In her bedroom, Viv turned the key and stood for a moment, her back against the door, breathing deeply. This was insane. For a while she had been really scared. She glanced round the room. Had anything been moved? Had Pat been in, searching for the brooch while she was outside? Or Peggy? She couldn’t see signs of anything being touched, but she couldn’t be sure. Thoughtfully she walked over to the window and looked out. The moon was hanging low in the sky now. Soon it would have dropped below the apple trees on the lawn at the side of the house. When it had gone all would be dark.

Double-checking the lock on the door, she ran a bath and climbing in, lay back gratefully, feeling the warm water easing the cold out of her bones. In the morning everything would make sense again and she would wonder why she had been so frightened, and in the meantime, she would give in to Carta’s incessant demand to tell her story by conjuring up another scene; a scene which Pat would not be overseeing with her digital recorder and her microphone and her computer; a part without Medb.

IV

It was autumn. The leaves were russet and rustled beneath the horses’ hooves. Carta had ridden through the gateway at Dinas Dwr with as always, a quick critical glance at the ramparts and the wall on top of it, the great oak gates, the watch towers, to check that all was well and properly maintained. She liked it here. More woods had been felled around the township now, and a large area of fields and meadows surrounded the place, bisected by its gently meandering stream. In the centre of each field, as was proper, a single oak remained, the refuge for the gods of the woods that had gone. No one would ever cut down those trees, and when in the fullness of time, hundreds of years hence they fell of their own accord, each would be faithfully replaced by a successor.

Behind her the huntsmen and women straggled homewards in a long untidy file with two noble stags tied to the backs of sturdy moorland garrons. It had been a good chase, exhilarating and exciting. Horses, dogs, men and women were exhausted, but well pleased.

Carta reined in with a frown at the sight of two wagons pulled up outside the great house. She glanced across at Catuaros, the township elder. ‘We have visitors, it seems.’

On the trackway which served as main street between the crowded houses and workshops and barns within the walls, a group of men appeared. Catuaros’s eldest son and his Druid were escorting a group of Romans. Catuaros froze, his hand on his dagger, but his queen too had dismounted and she walked towards them with evident recognition.

‘Gaius Flavius Cerialis! So, you honour us with another visit.’ If she had any worries as to the reason for his appearance she did not show it.

He gave a slight bow, scanning her face warily, as if not knowing how to react to her greeting. The queen was suntanned, dishevelled, dusty and mud-splattered from the chase, unlike any highborn woman of the Roman empire that he had ever seen. He reminded himself hastily that she was a native Briton with all their barbaric habits, remembering the scornful incomprehension with which he had first noted the blue swirls painted on her temples. In spite of it all she still had that magnetic beauty he found so alluring.

He realised he was staring when she laughed at him. ‘So, my friend, do I have birds’ nests in my hair? Do Roman ladies not ride out on the hunt and come back blooded from the chase?’

So, she could still read his thoughts. He felt himself colouring slightly. ‘You look wonderful, lady.’ He bowed again, aware of the sniggers of her followers and the shocked silence of the men of his troop.

There was no sign of her husband, he noted, and he wondered if the rumours the spies had brought to Scapula about their increasing animosity were true.

‘We have brought messages and gifts from the Governor of Britannia, great queen,’ he said formally, aware of the intense interest immediately shown by the men around her and especially by the Druid standing beside her.

The man had greeted him with outward friendliness and dignity and with that strange sense of power all these Druids seemed to possess, when he had ridden into the township to find it all but empty and unguarded. It had shocked him that the place would be left to women and children and a few priests whilst most of the fit population had, it appeared, gone hunting. He glanced enviously at the two fine stags. He would have enjoyed such an excursion himself.

‘Had you sent messengers ahead, tribune, the queen would have been here to greet you formally.’ The Druid’s reproachful tone was designed to irk him. To make him feel guilty and ill-mannered.

‘I thought you people could see the future,’ he retorted. ‘Why did you not tell the queen yourself?’

The man had smiled gravely. ‘An oversight. I shall see it does not happen again,’ he said, mildly enough, but something in his tone made Gaius’s skin crawl.

Bathed, dressed in one of her best mantles and laden with gold bangles, Carta joined Catuatos to receive Gaius formally that evening at a feast in his honour. Regaled with music, stories and dancing, he sat back on his cushioned stool and prepared to enjoy himself. The queen had received her gifts of wine amphorae, the furs and rich fabrics from the east with quizzical good humour. He wasn’t entirely sure if she was pleased.

The food set before him as he sat at her right hand before the long trestle table was as before as good as any he would be served at home, he noted. There was venison and beef, there was rich mutton stew and there were wild mushrooms, bean cakes, breads and cheeses, wine and mead and barley beer. To follow there were huge polished wooden bowls of blackberries and vast ewers of milk and cream, honey cakes and nut dumplings.

More than once as he ate he found her looking at him. At first he looked away, embarrassed, then at last he straightened his shoulders and held her gaze. ‘I trust the governor’s gifts meet with your approval?’ He spoke quietly as the music ceased for a moment. The bard who had been singing picked up his small harp, bowed, and retired to the back of the crowd for some refreshment. His place was taken almost at once by another performer. This one had brought his pipes.

As he started to play, she leaned towards Gaius. ‘And why does the Governor send yet more gifts, my friend? Grateful though we are, there must be another reason for this visit.’

He saw the interest of the Druid next to her quicken and was intensely aware as she spoke of her eyes on his. ‘Keep her on side. Make sure she is still compliant.’ The Governor’s words rang in his ear. He managed a smile. ‘Does there have to be a reason, great queen? He wished to compliment you, no more.’

‘I see.’ She smiled. ‘So, tell me, are you still a part of the gift?’

As she held his gaze, he was intensely aware of how much he wanted her. He hesitated. He was a Roman officer. Her tone implied that he was a plaything. And, he reminded himself of how she had discarded him before. A night of passion, the start of a friendship or so he had thought, and the gift of the valuable dog and then – nothing. Not even goodbye. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from hers and at last he found himself replying, ‘I’m sure that could be arranged if it is the queen’s wish.’

She smiled. ‘It is the queen’s wish.’ And suddenly she was standing upin front of the entire assembly, reaching out for his hand, pulling him to his feet. He saw faces watching him. He saw his own men look up for a moment, alert to possible trouble, then he saw them relax and laugh. One of them cheered, thumb up, from the far end of the table.

Some of the richly woven cloaks he had brought with him as gifts had been thrown across her bed. The room smelled of herbs and crushed grass and hay and the sweet beeswax of the best candles. There was no trace here of the sour echo of tallow or the stink of the latrine pits at the edge of the township. This was, he realised happily as he glanced round the room, as exotic as he remembered it, as exotic as some of the eastern palaces he had seen on his tour of duty in Macedonia and Galatia.

Only the sound of music in the distance broke the silence now. Three harpists were playing together, a glorious rich medley of sound. There were no servants or slaves in sight, although someone must have lit the candles, trimmed the lamp and filled it with sweet oil and thrown herbs on the fire.

‘It shocks you, doesn’t it, that a woman of our people may have any man she wishes,’ she said with a chuckle. She put her hands on his forearms, drawing him to her. ‘Roman women do not have that choice, I hear.’

‘Not if they are honest women.’ He reached out to touch her face, stroking the strangely beautiful decoration on her temples. She did not paint herself heavily as did some of her warriors or the other women, but the decorations were intricate and elegant. ‘I would kill my wife if she went with another man.’

‘So, you are married now.’ She seemed to find the idea amusing.

‘I am, lady. I have a wife in the south. She travels with the legion as do the other wives.’

‘But she did not travel here.’

He shook his head. ‘No. Not here.’

‘And what is her name?’ She ran her finger down the side of his face, echoing the gesture he himself had made. He had a scar down the edge of his jaw – a glancing blow from a spear which had it been an inch or so to the right would have killed him.

‘She is called Portia, lady.’

‘And is she faithful to you?’ She looked deep into his eyes for a moment and he tried to read her expression, suspicious suddenly that she could read not only his thoughts but, with the strange power these Celts seemed to possess, the future as well. She remained inscrutable. ‘More to the point, gift of the governor, are you going to be faithful to her?’ She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

Slowly, almost against his will, he found he had put his arms around her. His eyes closed and he began to return her kisses more and more eagerly. Her forehead, her mouth, her throat. He stopped short, his hand on the gold necklet she wore, unsure how to unfasten it and with a throaty chuckle she removed it herself, aware that with her arms raised to her own throat she was vulnerable and provocative, her breasts thrust against the soft wool of her tunic.

She was naked before him and watched amused as he groped with the fastenings of his armoured tunic and the thongs of his sandals, then at last he turned to her and pushed her back onto the bed.

This time when he awoke she was still there beside him, asleep, her hair spread across the pillows. While they slept the candles had been replaced and the lamp filled, the wick trimmed. Outside he could hear the rain smacking the limestone paving slabs on the pathway. He shivered. This accursed country. Did it ever do anything other than rain?

Someone was watching him, he realised suddenly. He made a grab for the sheet and pulled it over them both. Her attendant, the boot-faced one who disapproved of him with every fibre of her being, was watching him from the shadows.

‘Good morning.’ He yawned widely and scratched his head. The woman turned and left the room.

Cartimandua stirred. Her eyes were open suddenly and she smiled at him.

He stretched luxuriantly. ‘So, did you enjoy your gift?’

She nodded. ‘But today you must go. Back to your governor. Tell him how obedient we are; how we honour the treaty. How we enjoyed our gifts.’

‘I don’t have to go. Not yet.’ He raised himself on his elbow and leaned across to kiss her breast.

‘Maybe not.’ She pushed him away. ‘But I do. I have meetings to attend. So, off you go. Back to your Portia.’ She had remembered the name.

She slid from the bed and stood for a moment, looking down at him. ‘Will you tell her that you slept with a queen?’ She raised an eyebrow.

Mairghread reappeared as if at some secret signal and stepped forward with her mantle. Within seconds the two women were gone, leaving him feeling as though he was a discarded toy with which she had grown bored. He scowled and climbed from the bed. Within an hour he and his men were on the road south. That his men knew what had happened, that he had been tossed from her bed and forgotten was obvious. Behind their hands they were laughing, he was sure of it. His humiliation and anger at himself for letting her use him yet again were total.

Viv lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. In the distance the thunder had returned. It rumbled over the dales more and more softly until she could no longer hear it and the cloud began to clear. By dawn the thick mist which filled the river valleys was beginning to disperse and the brilliant blue sky heralded a beautiful day. She climbed out of bed and went to kneel on the window seat, staring out at the glittering rain-washed garden.

Just before six she went back to bed, fell asleep at last and dreamed of Venutios. He stood at the end of her bed, staring at her from his strange tawny eyes.

She couldn’t breathe. Shrinking back against the pillows she heard herself give a small whimper of fear. There was a sword in his hand. Short, stubby, sharp. Vicious.

‘No. Please.’ Her voice came out as a husky whisper.

He took a step towards her. ‘You can’t escape me! I will follow you wherever you go and I will kill you!’

With a cry of terror she raised her arm to ward off the blow as he lifted his arm, but his face changed. The man had gone. In his place stood a woman in a white gown – her hair veiled and her eyes as hard as granite.

Medb.

Viv woke up with a gasp and lay, her heart pumping adrenaline around her body, staring round the room. There was no one there.