Daughters of Fire (56 page)

Hugh smiled. ‘I feel now that I was a bit hard on her but then I’m a purist.’ He crossed his legs, flicking an imaginary piece of lint off his knee. ‘Tell me,’ he changed the subject hastily, ‘do you know the Steadmans? Their son is one of my graduate students.’

‘Peg and Gordon?’ James nodded. ‘Salt of the earth. Gordon’s family have farmed around here for hundreds of years.’

‘They run a B&B, I gather?’

James laughed. ‘Indeed. Much more elaborate than this, I fear. Margaret and I have only the one room. Well, one and a half, perhaps. I think they have about six. It’s a rambling old place.’

Nodding, Hugh thought for a few seconds. ‘I believe that Dr Lloyd Rees is staying there. To research a new enterprise. She believes Cartimandua lived upon Ingleborough.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction, his eyes on the golden liquid in his glass.

James shrugged. ‘Who knows. She must have come from somewhere. It is frustrating, you must admit, to know we may never be able to find out more about our more distant past. If only they had written something down!’

‘Of course forensic archaeology improves all the time.’ Was it Viv
who had pointed out that very fact to him? Hugh took another small sip, unsure if he would be offered a top up, and so making the glorious experience last. ‘I would like to stroll up there while I’m here. This is not an area I know at all, I’m sorry to say.’

‘A bit more than a stroll, old boy.’ James smiled. ‘But you look fit and dapper. You could do it all right. The forecast is good for tomorrow. Perhaps you should take the opportunity while it’s nice. And do please feel free to use the phone if you want to ring the Steadmans. I’m afraid most people’s mobiles don’t work around here.’

Hugh gave a small smile by way of acknowledgement. ‘Perhaps I’ll just surprise them,’ he said.

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 keepup 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.