Daughters of Fire (55 page)

‘Stop it, Venutios!’

‘I need to know. I need to know who could have sired the child that will call me father.’

‘It was you, Venutios.’ He was holding her arm so tightly she thought the bones would crack. ‘Ask Mairghread.’

‘Perhaps I will.’ He turned and shouted towards the doorway. Mairghread came in so fast it was obvious she had heard every word.

‘So, Mairghread, tell me. Has my wife entertained a man alone while I was away?’

‘No, my king.’ Mairghread was pale. ‘No one save Artgenos and Culann.’ There was a pause. ‘And the Roman.’

There was a long silence. Venutios felt the tension in her body like a charge. Slowly he dropped her arm.

‘So. I do not suspect the Druids. Such would be a treason against their gods and against their own wives. But the Roman.’ He paused, then suddenly he was shouting. ‘So now we know why you are so keen on this Roman alliance, so eager to please, so anxious to flatter. They fascinate you, do they, wife? They intrigue you, these powerful men? And was he good? Was he as strong as a Brigantian warrior? Was he as virile? Did he satisfy you? Did you reward him for his dalliance, or did he reward you?’

Grabbing her by the shoulders he shook her hard, then spitefully he punched her in the stomach. ‘That is what I think of the Roman. And that!’ Another blow, harder this time, that left her doubled up on the floor, retching.

With a furious bark Sun launched himself at Venutios’s throat. With a yell of fury he dragged a knife from his belt and thrusting it into the dog’s side he pushed the animal away from him and stood panting as with a scream of pain Sun fell to the floor, twitching, then lay still.

Carta let out a cry of agony, reaching in despair for the dog as he drew back his foot and aimed another kick at the animal’s body.

‘My lord! Stop!’ Mairghread was screaming. ‘The queen was with child before you left. Before the Roman came. It is your child, King Venutios. I swear it. May I be cast beyond the ninth wave if I tell a lie! Stop, my lord, please … !’

It was too late. Already the first blood was seeping through onto the skirt of Carta’s gown. Collapsing back onto the ground, she lost consciousness as Moon sniffed at her brother’s body and raised her head in a howl of misery.

Mairghread and two of her slaves carried Carta to her bed and called Gruoch to attend her. Venutios had gone and by dusk the Carvetians had packed their tents and vanished into the rolling mists. Carta was unaware of anything around her, lost in a swirling sea of pain. As Gruoch bent over her sweating, contorted body she tossed and twisted and screamed in her agony.

Twice she awoke briefly, staring up at the roof above her bed. Putting her hand down to the bedside she felt Moon’s cold muzzle touch her fingers. The dog had refused to leave her and no one had
the heart to force her out of the room. Hugging the animal in despair, Carta closed her eyes and wept. Then she opened them and screamed at Venutios in her anger and her pain, calling down the curses of the gods against him. Then she wept again. Hands tended her gently and changed her linen as she bled, and sponged her forehead. Through the haze she dimly recognised Gruoch’s gentle face bending over her. Another woman was there with her, helping, holding the silver bowl of rose water. Tossing and turning in her pain, Carta caught sight of the woman’s face in the dim light, as her veil slipped from her hair. She tensed, a shaft of terror cutting through the pain as the woman reached forward with the damp wash cloth and Carta cried out in fear. It was Medb.

‘You?’ She groaned as her body went into spasm again.

Medb smiled. ‘I am here to help, great queen.’ A touch of sarcasm tainted the words. ‘The lady Gruoch is my teacher.’ She lowered her eyes meekly, then rinsed the cloth once more in the silver basin of fragrant water and pressed it on Carta’s brow. ‘It is so sad, is it not, lady, that you can never bear a child,’ she whispered. ‘Never!’ For an instant the gentle smile was replaced by a look of utter hatred. As Carta struggled to sit up, the woman pushed her back against the pillow. ‘There is nothing you can do, Cartimandua,’ Medb whispered again. ‘Nothing you can do at all.’

When Carta awoke Gruoch was alone, with Mairghread to help her. By moonset she had been delivered of a tiny female foetus. By sun up Gruoch had given the child’s body to the gods.

‘Are you OK now?’ Pat had been watching her closely as Viv went on with the story. She was clutching the microphone after rescuing it from the rocks where it had fallen as Viv leaped to her feet.

Viv nodded, rubbing the tears from her eyes. ‘That was too real; too close! Childbirth is not something I know anything about!’ She shuddered. ‘And Medb. There, in the room.’ She looked up. ‘Did you know this was going to happen?’ She rubbed the back of her
hand across her mouth. ‘I don’t think I can do this any more. It was -’ She shook her head, unable to finish the sentence.

‘It was awful.’ Pat did it for her. She was as much in shock as Viv. ‘No, I didn’t know that was going to happen. Do you think Gaius was the father?’ She perched on a flat piece of rock, her arms around her knees. Nearby a patch of bog cotton nodded in the breeze.

‘She swore he wasn’t.’

‘Of course she swore it, but do you think he could have been?’ Pat leaned forward and tucked the voice recorder into the small rucksack at her feet.

‘She had morning sickness before he arrived.’

‘She said it was food poisoning,’ Pat sighed. ‘Maybe she was lying. I suppose we’ll never know.’

Viv stood up. ‘Medb was there. You did know that was going to happen, didn’t you! She was there, as Gruoch’s helper.’

Pat shrugged. She smiled. ‘I told you this was Medb’s story as well.’

Viv rubbed her face with her hands. ‘Did she make Carta lose the baby?’

‘I think Venutios did that.’

Viv shuddered.

‘Every time you do this -’ Pat gave a wry smile, ‘- describing it all, the experience gets more vivid and more violent doesn’t it? Does it frighten you?’ She glanced up.

‘Yes, it does.’ Viv nodded.

‘But it’s exciting?’ Pat went on thoughtfully. ‘And you’re not going to stop, are you.’

Viv shook her head. Her misgivings were returning.

‘Aren’t you afraid of what might happen if Venutios gets too angry?’ Pat went on after a pause. ‘Supposing he hurts her. Supposing he kills her.’ There was a long silence.

‘He doesn’t,’ Viv said slowly. She wrapped her arms around herself miserably. ‘He doesn’t kill her and to my amazement she didn’t kill him! We know what happens. It’s all there, in the Roman histories.’

‘Is it?’ Pat raised an eyebrow. ‘But did they know the truth?’

‘Of course they did. Something important like this.’ Viv’s uncertainty was deepening.

‘Then why don’t we go on.’ Pat looked at her watch. ‘Peggy’s not
expecting us back until supper. Why don’t we go on and find out what happened next.’

Viv hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do. I think you want to know really badly. I think you want to know what happened to Medb.’ Pat smiled. She reached in her bag again. ‘And I think you’re going to tell me.’

Cartimandua had walked into the forest with Gruoch at her side, Mairghread following a few paces a behind, carrying a basket. It was nearly dusk. Two months had passed since her miscarriage, two months without a word or sign from Venutios, and the royal household had moved back to Dun Righ. For the first time in her life Carta had allowed Fergal to drive her almost all of the way. Her ponies were led at the back of the long train of horses and wagons as, sore and exhausted and still weak from loss of blood, she huddled in the chariot, Moon at her side, and for some of the journey even lay on a bed of rugs and furs in one of the wagons as it jostled over the rough mountain tracks.

Of Medb there had been no sign. She had vanished into the mists as though she had never been, and Gruoch, questioned about her assistant, had shrugged and admitted only that the woman had been knowledgeable, studious and keen to please.

Now, still tired and in pain, Carta moved slowly, her head held high by sheer willpower. The place of offering and sacrifice was shadowy in the mist which rose over the river and the falls. In the bushes clinging to the sides of the ravine, a blackbird let out its ringing alarm call. The women stopped.

‘
Druidh dubh
, the black watcher is guarding the entrance to other worlds. That is a good sign,’ Gruoch whispered. ‘He has announced you, and left the gateway open.’

Carta turned to Mairghread and held out her hands for the basket. Inside were two golden bangles, a bag of Roman coins and a carved wooden doll, the representation of a baby.

Taking them out, Carta gave the basket back and stepped forward to the edge of the falls alone, feeling the cold spray clinging to her skirts. She was at the sacred meeting place of the gods, between earth and water, between night and day, between forest and river, the place of nowhere and of no time. Behind her Mairghread and Gruoch withdrew along the bank of the river where the birch and
ash, hazel and wych elm grew right down to the edge of the water, clustering thickly at the very edge of the torrent. Above them on the cliffs clung sacred yew trees, dark in the shadow of the rocks. Glancing at each other the two women stopped to wait.

Carta was alone.

‘Vivienne?’ Her voice was trembling. ‘Why did you take my baby from me? What must I do to bear a child?’ She stood staring out into the spray, the crude wooden baby cradled in her arms. ‘Sweet Lady, take this offering. Do not ask of me another child of my body. Save me from Medb’s curse, I implore you.’ Tears were pouring down her cheeks. ‘Bless me with fertility and strength.’ She stood for a long time without moving, waiting in silence. In the distance a bird cried once upon the moor high above her head. It was growing darker.

‘Vivienne? Why don’t you answer?’

Pat was smiling.

Viv swallowed. ‘Carta, I hear you,’ she said softly in her own voice. ‘This child was not meant to be. Say farewell, and leave her to the gods.’ She paused. ‘Go back. Become strong and well again. More babies will come in due time,’ Viv went on. ‘I can help you. I will see the curse is lifted.’

Pat frowned and shook her head. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You’re not really a goddess!’ she mouthed.

Viv ignored her. ‘Farewell, Cartimandua, Queen of Brigantia. Tend your kingdom. Leave the rest to the gods.’

There was a long silence, then at last Viv’s voice resumed, speaking into the microphone. ‘She has kissed the doll’s head, pressed two fingers against its mouth in the sign of blessing and farewell and now she has thrown it into the waterfall where it disappears, sucked into the curtain of water. It bobs out for a moment on its torrential journey down the long fall then it is lost in the great whirlpool at the bottom. Now she has thrown in the bracelets and the bag of coins. They too are dragged out of sight. There is no chance the goddess is going to reject these. Her maw is ever greedy for gold. Carta watches the distant pool at the bottom for a long time, then she turns and walks slowly back along the bank towards the spot where her women are waiting amongst the trees.’

The Reverend James Oakley lay back in his chair and surveyed his visitor with a certain smug pleasure as the two men sipped his best brandy. At his own suggestion Hugh had eaten with him and his wife Margaret, and now that Margaret had retired to her own little sitting room to watch TV, the two men had settled down to a comfortable gossip. Now that he was here Hugh found himself in no hurry to contact Viv. Venutios seemed a million miles away, a figment of his imagination, and the whole sorry episode was best forgotten. The rector had taken a while to fathom the fact that this Hugh Graham was THE Hugh Graham, the Celtic scholar. He had, it appeared, all of Hugh’s books in his library. He had also bought a copy of
Cartimandua, Queen of the North
.

‘Have you read it?’ Hugh raised a quizzical eyebrow. He was not going to allow anything to spoil the evening.

‘Not yet, I must confess.’ James Oakley took a sip from his glass. ‘I read your review, of course.’ He glanced up cautiously.