Daughters of Fire (48 page)

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?

‘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 upon 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 upon 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.’

Viv woke early and lay listening to the silence. Sliding out of bed she went to the window and, pushing it open she took a deep breath of the cold air. Outside the dawn lay like a pure veil across the hills and dales. She stared up at the table top of the hill with its drifting mist and knew with a stab of excitement that she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

A few minutes later, fully dressed except for her shoes, she tiptoed down the passage, pausing with a wince at every creak of the floorboards. Padding downstairs and along the hall where the only sound came from the slow tick of the grandfather clock, she stopped in the kitchen to put on her boots and quietly let herself out of the back door.

It was very cold and the dew lay across the grass as a shimmering layer laced with spiders’ webs. She hurried towards the gate, past the lichen-draped apple trees and out into the lane. With a quick glance over her shoulder towards the sleeping farmhouse, she headed for the steps over the stone wall which would take her onto the track which led across the fields and up the hillside towards the summit. Her hands firmly wedged in her pockets against the cold, she set off up the steep track towards Carta’s birthplace; the place where the high queen of Brigantia had had her first encounter with a Roman and where she had begun to try her wings as a politician and a leader of men.

Pausing to catch her breath, Viv turned to look back the way she had come. Down there in the valley, the trees along the rivers and the valley bottom probably showed where the ancient oak forests
had long ago grown upto the edge of the escarpment. Somewhere down there, in a shadowy sacred grove, Carta had witnessed that bloody sacrifice and established herself as a strong and ruthless leader. What had happened after that? Finding herself a flat rock to sit on, Viv put her hands in her pockets, huddled into her jacket and closed her eyes. She did not have to wait more than a second.

Carta was standing with her back against the great oak. Sun and Moon were seated at her feet, watching the three men who stood in front of her. A light breeze stirred the thick foliage over their heads as they spoke and Carta was aware of the gods nearby, listening to their every word. She shivered. The lives of men and women for generations to come depended on her decisions. In the south and west the fight against the Roman invasion continued. Messengers had kept them informed of Caradoc’s progress as he led the native opposition to Rome. His two brothers dead, he was the only surviving son of Cunobelinos, and the only man left who could defeat the invaders and chase them back to the coast.

Venutios was determined to send him support. ‘The more successful he is the more tribes will join him and the moment will come when the scale begins to tip in his favour and we should be there when that moment comes. Chase the bastards back into the sea!’

Carta had folded her arms, her chin set, taking strength from the tree. She was aware that Artgenos and Culann were nodding at her husband’s words. It was happening again. She was being made to feel the one in the wrong.

‘I have sworn to uphold the Roman governor.’ Aulus Plautius had returned to Rome. The new governor was Publius Ostorius Scapula, as yet an unknown quantity. ‘The Brigantians will not support Caradoc against him. Not yet.’ She was adamant.

Venutios gave an exclamation of disgust. ‘You do not have to stick to your oath! You are high queen. You do not bend the knee to the imperial lap dog. You have sworn no oath at all to Scapula.’

‘No, but I entered into an agreement to do what is best for the people of our hills.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Do not contradict me, husband.’

‘But you in your turn, great queen, should not contradict the urgings of the gods,’ Culann put in quietly. ‘Have you thought,
lady, why the Romans are so anxious to move west and capture the lands of the Silures and the Ordovices? Their mountains protect the most sacred place in the Pretannic Isles. The Island of Môn.’

Carta hesitated. ‘They would not attack Môn. Surely the gods would not tolerate that.’ She closed her eyes, trying to think, aware of the rustle amongst the branches overhead as the messengers of the gods leaned closer in the west wind.

‘Ah, there you underestimate them,’ Culann continued. ‘They would indeed. They see us Druids at the heart of opposition to them. They see us behind every insurrection in Gaul and now in Britannia, as they choose to call the lands of the southern tribes who have been defeated by them or become their clients. They see the Druids supporting Caradoc, as indeed we do as he is now our only protector.’ He paused with a reproachful grimace in her direction. ‘The gods warn that the Romans mean to destroy us. They are not fools, Cartimandua. Far from it. Do not underestimate these people.’

She turned away sharply and walked a few paces away from them. Her dogs stood up at once and followed her. ‘I don’t underestimate them. Not for a moment!’ His rebuke had stung. ‘The gods are with us, Culann, not with the Romans.’ She threw a glance at Artgenos, who had remained silent. The old man did not respond. He knew as well as she did that the portents were not favourable. The eagles were circling over the fells.

As dusk fell she was once more at the shrine in the forest. She had to be certain what she did was right. Silently she knelt beside the dark water and gazed into its depths.

Vivienne?

It was a long time since she had called upon her own personal goddess.

Vivienne!

Whatever the goddess demanded, she would obey. To ensure success and victory only the greatest and most valuable offering would suffice.

Viv stirred uneasily.

What? What was the greatest and most valuable offering? Not a human life. She, as goddess, would never demand a human life. But as she looked deep into the eyes of the queen she felt her implacable resolve with a shudder of primitive fear. One day Carta would feel the need to offer human sacrifice to her goddess. She
knew it in the depths of her soul. And when she did, nothing Viv could do would prevent it from happening.

What a brilliant start to a Monday morning! Hugh put down the phone and whistled. The bollocking Maddie Corston had just given him had taken him completely by surprise. All he had done was to warn her that she would be putting her credibility on the line if she persisted in scheduling any kind of programme based on Viv’s book.

‘What’s the matter with you, Hugh? You’re behaving like a spoilt, jealous, mean-minded vicious old goat!’ Maddie’s voice had filled the study, so loud he had had to hold the receiver away from his ear and check the door was shut.

‘Now, back off! Academic squabbles are all very well, but this is a nonsense. Go away and write your own book and leave Viv alone. I’m not having you interfere with my scheduling and I’m not having you trying to destroy my script writers. These two women have all the makings of a fantastic team and you will not poke your nose in. Is that clear?’

Suddenly, he laughed. He had really stirred up a wasps’ nest; maenads, all of them. Maddie was right. He should leave them to it and get on with his own research. And he owed Viv an apology. Another apology. He shouldn’t have done it. He was already regretting his interference, regretting everything, even before Maddie rang. But he had only wanted to stopViv making a complete idiot of herself.

He shook his head. If truth were told, he was missing her around the department, and if she had gone for good, it was going to be his own damn fault.

Pushing back his chair, he got to his feet and went in search of Heather. Perhaps she could arrange some flowers or something by way of an apology.

In Heather’s office downstairs the room was full of sunshine and busyness; her computer was frantically updating itself; her telephone was ringing on and off every few minutes; the coffee
machine was making strange cranky noises and Heather was full of the joys of spring.

For a few happy moments he felt almost himself again. Viv, she told him sternly, had probably gone away to get some peace after the book tour and he should just leave the poor woman alone and give her some space. It seemed a good suggestion.

‘You took the brooch!’ Pat was waiting for her on the bench outside the front door when Viv returned later that morning. ‘What have you done with it?’

Viv stared at her, stunned. ‘How did you get here?’

‘I borrowed Maddic’s car. She won’t need it for a bit. Not very friendly of you to rush off like that.’

‘I’m sorry. I needed to be alone.’ Viv was flustered and angry. ‘What makes you think I took the brooch?’

‘Because I went back to Stanwick to look for it. I take it you’ve got it here? You haven’t sent it back to Hugh, I hope.’

‘You had no business to check upon me!’

‘Why not? We’re partners. Remember?’

Viv sat down beside her. ‘How did you know I’d come here?’

Pat laughed. ‘Medb told me.’

Viv blanched. ‘Oh God, Pat -’

‘No, no! You told me the name of the farm. It wasn’t hard to find it.’

Behind them Steve appeared in the doorway. ‘Breakfast is ready, ladies. Isn’t it great Pat came too, Viv.’ Steve glanced at her. ‘We’ve put her in the room next to yours.’

Pat had brought her script and all her recording equipment. She had, it seemed, abandoned Pablo and her catsitting duties to Cathy’s downstairs neighbour - Cathy and Pete would anyway be back on Friday - so Daughters of Fire made their first official ascent of Ingleborough Hill later that morning, laden with Peggy’s picnic lunch, notebooks and recording equipment. The air was clear and gloriously sharpand they found they had the place to themselves.

Surrendering as gracefully as she could to the fact of Pat’s arrival,
once she had recovered from the shock Viv allowed her to select a couple of scenes and a section of narrative and if the ambient sound proved right up here they were going to try recording. If the idea worked out they planned to record trial sections in other places as well. Ingleton Falls, perhaps, with the thunder of water in the background, and somewhere where the muffled resonances of damp mossy limestone and caves with their echoing mysterious acoustics would fit in with the script. There were all sorts of possibilities.

For their first attempt to create some of the background atmosphere, they bivouacked in the lee of the shelter on the very top of the hill where the faint signs of the round houses of two thousand years ago were still visible within the ramparts. Around them the views stretched out over the full 360°: to the west the Irish Sea, a brilliant sparkling blue line, and in the distance the Isle of Man, hazy on the horizon. Northwards they would see the great Lakeland hills, nearer at hand the two sister peaks of Peny Ghent and Whernside.

The soundtrack to Viv’s introductory section was the gentle whisper of wind over the long dry grasses and the distant mew of a buzzard.