Time’s Legacy

17

Kier had bought an Ordnance Survey map of the area and taken it to what was rapidly becoming his favourite coffee shop. Opening it on the table, he carefully folded it open at the right place and began to study the terrain. The only hard part of his scheme would be to lure her away from her companions, and already he had had an idea how to do that. Finishing the coffee, he asked the waitress where he could find the nearest electrical shop.

Only an hour later he was driving back towards Glastonbury, heading once more for the abbey car park.

‘I phoned Bishop David last night, Abi.’ Ben bent to throw another log onto his study fire. Janet had already brought them coffee. There were two slices of cake as well this time, Abi noticed. Did that mean she had been in some way promoted on the scale of acceptance? ‘We had a long chat about Kier. Did you realise he went back to see the bishop last week?’

Abi nodded with a shrug. ‘He told me he’d spoken to him again. I didn’t really take it in.’

‘I don’t think I’m betraying any confidences in saying to you that David is very concerned for you. He was horrified to hear that Kier was here again. He had specifically forbidden him to go near you.’

‘And the first thing he did was come back and look for me.’ Abi felt her stomach clench with apprehension merely at the sound of the man’s name.

Ben nodded. ‘We wondered if it was safe for you to stay where you are. You are a sitting target there, Abi. He knows the house now. He knows how to get in, he knows where you go.’

‘What does David think he is going to do to me?’ She picked up her cup and realised that her hands were shaking.

‘He doesn’t think Kier would hurt you.’ Ben walked restlessly up and down in front of the fire a couple of times, then he subsided into the chair opposite hers. ‘Kier is contrite, and too horrified by the fact that he laid hands on you before. We both feel that he means you well. He is genuinely frightened at the thought of the contact you are making with a spirit world. It is that which he finds terrifying and evil.’

‘You don’t agree with him about that?’ She looked up anxiously.

He shook his head. ‘No, of course not.’ She heard the qualification in his voice. ‘Although I think you should be wary of what is happening. We discussed that as well.’ He leaned forward, his eyes on her face. She saw nothing but kindness there, but there was also a hint of anxiety. ‘We do both however feel you need to be far more cautious than I think you are. You are dealing with a people from a pagan age. People whose beliefs and practices were unpredictable. You are dealing with a pre-Christian era. I know,’ he held up his hand as she opened her mouth to protest, ‘I know that you feel you are watching Our Lord when he visited this country. I know it is a distinct possibility. But it is also possible, Abi, that you are watching a demon in disguise. A phantasm. Something directed specifically against you as a Christian priest.’

Abi stared at him. ‘No, Ben.’

‘In all the years the ghosts of Woodley have been recorded, I don’t think there has ever been a mention of the man you call Yeshua.’

‘But he came with Mora to see them. She was a healer from Glastonbury. From the druid college there.’

‘We don’t even know if there was a druid college there, Abi. Not for certain.’

She stared at him in dismay. ‘But I thought…There was a ceremonial way. The Chalice Well was a pre-Christian sacred spring. The Tor was the centre of a sacred landscape. I’ve read about it. It was sacred to the cult of Gwyn ap Nudd.’

‘A pagan Celtic god.’ He sighed. ‘The ghosts of Woodley have all been Roman, Abi.’

‘Until I brought my crystal down here.’

He shrugged. For a moment he said nothing. He reached for his cup and sipped the coffee appreciatively. Janet had made it rich and strong and spicy.

‘I thought you were on my side,’ Abi said at last. It sounded childish even as she said it.

‘We are not taking sides, Abi. And we are not understating the problem of Kier, I promise you. That is why I am saying that you should be very wary. That you must test your contact with the other world which surrounds you. That you must allow people to have doubts and have doubts yourself. Question the stories. For instance you mention Jesus meditating at the red spring, which you feel is the Chalice Well, but that was not the only one. There was a white spring too near it; it’s still there. And what about St Joseph’s well in the abbey, which is under the Lady Chapel, and the holy well of St Edmund, for many centuries that was the most sacred spring of all?’

‘But none of that proves anything,’ she said weakly. ‘Just that he, or they, preferred the one place.’

‘I think it proves you are being influenced by modern legend.’

‘No!’ She shook her head violently. ‘No. What I am seeing is real.’

‘You can’t be sure, Abi.’

‘And where does faith fit into all this?’ She could hear the harshness in her own voice.

‘Faith is everything.’ He smiled. ‘But we must beware of false gods.’

‘When you stayed behind in the church yesterday to pray and cleanse it,’ she looked at him through narrow eyes suddenly, ‘did you see anything?’

He shook his head.

‘But you felt something?’

‘I felt anger and rage and fear. But they were all very human emotions, left by Kier’s intrusion into a quiet and sacred place.’

‘You didn’t see Mora or Cynan?’

‘I told you, I have never seen a ghost.’

‘But you believe that other people have? Cal, Justin?’

He nodded. ‘I believe they exist.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Abi, it was wrong of me to bring in Justin. I should have realised he carries too much baggage to be of any use in this situation, however knowledgeable he is in some respects. So, what we were wondering is, would you talk to someone else about this, someone who has studied ghosts, and believes in them, a friend of David’s, a member of his deliverance team in Cambridge? David feels it would help you to have someone to talk to, someone on your side as you put it. An impartial expert on the paranormal who happens also to be a parson.’ He paused, waiting for her response.

She shrugged. ‘I’m not going to stop consulting my crystal.’ Once again she heard the sulky child talking.

‘I’m not asking you to. All I am suggesting is that you talk to this man. His name is Greg Solway. David thinks you would like him and that it would be helpful to you. We are both thinking of you. He’s prepared to come down today. He can stay with us here and you can talk to him wherever you like. At Woodley. Here. In the garden by the Roman site, in St Mary’s. In Glastonbury. On your own, or with me. Wherever. However.’ He smiled. ‘Abi, please, will you eat some cake! I don’t feel I can unless you do. I’m not supposed to eat Janet’s cakes, they are too scrumptious and rich and bad for me. You don’t know how honoured you are to have been offered a piece.’

Abi gave a wan smile. She reached for her plate. ‘For Janet.’

‘Thank you.’ He reached for his own slice with alacrity and took a huge bite. It was several seconds before he could speak. His action had given her time to think. ‘So, can I go ahead and ring to say Greg can come?’

She nodded tolerantly. ‘Why not? He sounds an interesting man.’

‘And meanwhile, pray, Abi.’

She nodded.

‘If you go to St Mary’s, check the atmosphere. Surround yourself with the love and peace of God. If Our Lord truly came there then you have nothing to fear and neither does your Mora.’ He smiled.

Gaius was standing on the quay at the port of Axiom looking across the decks of several ships moored alongside. They had almost finished loading their cargoes of lead and silver and were riding low in the water. Nearby a group of great hunting dogs was howling into the wind as though aware that soon they would be embarking for the long voyage away from the land of their birth. Beyond them a compound held some two dozen slaves destined for the same ship. All had the blonde hair so beloved of Roman buyers. All looked cold and miserable and frightened.

Gaius nodded slowly, folding his alderwood notebook shut and tucking it away into the leather bag on his shoulder with his stylus and pens and wax tablets. It had been a good year for trade. He was well satisfied. He smiled as he saw the ship owner approaching in a small tender. The sailors tied it to the ladder and he climbed up stiffly to stand on the quay beside Gaius.

‘It has gone well, my friend.’ He held out his hand. Gaius clasped it. Joseph was one of his regular customers, arriving almost every year on one or other of his ships. Of sturdy build, with grizzled hair and bright intelligent eyes Joseph from Arimathaea was one of the owners he most looked forward to meeting each year. In his early sixties, wealthy and extremely well read, the man was a fascinating conversationalist and a mine of information. Gaius always hoped there would be time for a drink or a meal together and a chance to gain news of the wider Empire beyond this distant outpost.

‘You sail on the tide?’ Gaius led the way to the mansio, one of the cluster of tabernae and cauponae which had mushroomed around the little port. This was the most respectable of the buildings and served, besides ale and the local cider, passable imported wine.

Joseph shook his head. ‘Not quite yet. I am waiting for my nephew. He left word here that he is ready to go home. I sent messengers yesterday to tell him my captains say we have to sail within the next few days. The weather is about to change. Hopefully he will take the hint and leave at once.’ He glanced up at the lowering skies with a shiver, noting the wheeling gulls with a professional eye.

Gaius smiled. ‘Your nephew has been causing a certain amount of excitement in our community.’

‘Really?’ Joseph smiled fondly. ‘Why does that not surprise me!’

The two men commandeered a table near the fire and Gaius beckoned a serving girl over. He ordered wine and, with a regretful sniff at the luscious aroma of roasting boar which permeated the building, asked for fish stew in deference to his guest’s religion.

‘There has been a problem, to my enormous regret. My brother Flavius arrived from Galilee.’

Joseph’s eyebrow shot up. ‘I didn’t know you had a brother, never mind out there.’

‘No.’ Gaius pulled a wry face. ‘Not something to brag about. We don’t get on. He works for Herod Antipas and it appears that your nephew has been targeted by the Roman authorities. You need to get Yeshua away from here as fast as possible. It is a blessing from the gods that you are here now, and in a position to take him home.’

Joseph frowned. ‘I thought he would be safe so far away from Galilee,’ he said with a sigh. ‘But I suppose am not surprised to hear he has been followed. He was destined to catch the attention of the authorities since he was born. His mother, my niece, fears for him every moment of the day. We hoped that if he went away to study he would be safe and allowed time to prepare for his destiny in peace.’

‘His destiny?’ Gaius reached for the jar of wine and poured two beakers. The two men clinked them together.

Joseph pulled a face. ‘If the prophecies are to be believed, it appears God has a very special mission for him.’

Gaius studied him over the rim of his beaker for a moment. He saw a mixture of emotions flit across his companion’s face. Sorrow. Pride. Regret. Determination.

‘So, that is why you brought him here. To get away from the Empire.’

Joseph smiled. ‘I didn’t exactly bring him by force. He has travelled all over the world in the last few years. But he recalled these islands from when I brought him as a boy, do you remember? He loved this land and he wanted to study with the druids. Their reputation as philosophers and theologians stands very high amongst men of learning.’

‘But not with the Emperor, I gather.’

Joseph shook his head. ‘The Emperor won’t tolerate any stratum of people who are organised enough to oppose him. It is very hard in Gaul.’ He sighed. They fell silent as the girl brought their plates. The stew, thick with leeks and flavoured with chives and mustard seeds was excellent. It was served with chunks of bread and savoury bean and mushroom fritters. For several moments the two men ate in silence.

‘I take it that it was no coincidence that your brother came here,’ Joseph said thoughtfully at last. ‘He had information about Yeshua’s whereabouts?’

Gaius nodded. ‘He wasn’t paying a visit out of fraternal affection.’

Joseph noted the grim line of his friend’s mouth and nodded slowly. ‘As you say, Yeshua is in danger. We must leave as soon as he arrives.’ He shrugged. ‘I have to go soon anyway. Another day or so and it will be too late to sail this year.’

‘Is your crew trustworthy?’

Joseph nodded. ‘They have been with me for years. I can vouch for every man and boy on the ships.’

‘You had better take no more passengers then, my friend,’ Gaius said grimly. ‘Collect your nephew and go on the first tide.’ He stood up. ‘I will head back home tomorrow. If he is still at the college when I get there I will speak to Fergus Mor and precipitate matters and in the meantime try and delay my brother, much as it pains me to think of him for even another minute under my roof.’ He paused with a grimace. ‘Yeshua will be much missed. From what I gather he has made many friends here.’

Joseph nodded. ‘He is a very special young man.’

‘Then we will do our best to look after him.’ Gaius reached out to clasp the other man’s hand. ‘I shall see you next spring if the gods are willing.’

Joseph nodded slowly. ‘If God wills,’ he echoed, but so quietly his friend did not hear him.

Greg Solway was tall, completely bald and wore rimless glasses. He arrived at Ben’s door at midday in a bright red open-topped MG and, climbing out, leaned in to extricate a shabby overnight bag, a laptop and a rucksack.

He turned as the door opened behind him and raised his hand in greeting. ‘Sorry. I expect you heard the old girl. Bit noisy these days. I shall have to get rid of her. My carbon footprint must equate an entire small country but I try and make up for it in other ways.’ He strode forward and held out his hand. ‘Greg. I take it you are Ben?’

Ben nodded, wincing under the force of the man’s handshake. He led the way in and took Greg straight to his study where Janet had set a tray with a decanter of sherry, another of whisky and an array of glasses. Greg rubbed his hands together appreciatively as he headed for the fire. ‘A bit colder than I expected with the lid down, in spite of the sun. Whisky please, Ben. No water. OK, tell me everything you know. I take it Abi is not here?’

The two men talked for an hour, then continued their discussion over the cold lunch which Janet had laid out in the dining room. She had tactfully left them alone. It was when they went into the kitchen to brew themselves some coffee afterwards that Ben reached for the phone and put in a call to Abi. There was no reply from Woodley or her mobile.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Greg said easily. ‘Why don’t I go over to your brother’s house on my own, if he doesn’t mind, and take a look at the places all these things have been happening. The ruins; the little church. The orchard.’

He found it easily and left his car in front of the house. There was no-one else there as far as he could see. The back garden was warm, ablaze with autumnal colour in the sunshine. He strode towards the far end of the lawn, looking about him with interest. So far he had felt nothing untoward.

Heading up the deliverance team which served part of David’s diocese, he had a wealth of experience in dealing with the paranormal. Before his ordination twelve years before he had been a practising psychologist for ten years, then he had quit to study parapsychology at Edinburgh. He had been psychic his whole life. Most of the stuff he had to deal with was low key; unhappy souls, restless spirits, egos trapped by the power of their refusal to let go. He had visited houses and public buildings, pubs, the scenes of fatal car crashes where the deceased hung around in confusion and misery, not sure what to do, even on one occasion a supermarket plagued by a poltergeist, but never yet a Roman ruin, nor yet an active church.

He found the ruined arch easily and sat down quietly on the wooden bench to pray.

Abi had climbed the Tor once more, inexorably drawn to it and its strange powerful energies. This time she had sat alone, staring out across the levels, her back to the other people up there, trying to imagine herself into the distant past. It hadn’t worked. The day was still and bright. The sound of voices carried round her, dragging her back to the present. On the flanks of the Tor the grazing cows were restless. She could hear them mooing disconsolately. On a road in the distance she saw the glitter of car windscreens. In the end she climbed to her feet and began to descend.

The first thing she saw when she reached the drive was the bright red car. She stared at it dubiously as she let herself into the house. There was no sign of Mat or Cal or the dogs. She was just going out into the garden when the phone rang.

‘Abi?’ It was Ben. ‘Have you met Greg yet?’

The church was empty. She went back outside and looked round the churchyard once more, walking slowly between the ancient graves, listening to the gentle sad song of the robin perched on a lichen-covered elder bush. The air was unnaturally still. And then she heard it. Far in the distance the sound of monks singing. She stopped in her tracks, listening hard. The sound was very faint. She looked back at the church, but the sound was not coming from there. It seemed to be shifting, now coming from the orchard below, now from the flat green fields of the levels with their straight watery rhynes. Slowly she made her way back towards the lych-gate, following the sound. She could feel the skin prickling slightly on her arms.

‘Greg?’ she called softly as she came back towards the orchard. The apple trees rustled in the breeze, the sound drowning out the voices of the monks, then it returned. She could hear the words: Kyrie eleison. ‘Greg?’

The sound was louder now. She turned away from the house, towards the far side of the orchard, and finding a rotten gate dragged it open and made her way out onto the track. It led towards an old stone barn which stood starkly on the skyline some half a mile away. Surely the sound couldn’t be coming from there? Walking slowly, drawn irresistibly towards it, she followed the old cart ruts which led out onto the levels. She glanced up. A kestrel was hovering nearby, balancing its wings against some imperceptible thermal as it scanned the ground beneath. She could almost feel the fear of whatever tiny rodent was hiding there in the grass.

The sound was coming from the barn. Curious rather than afraid now, she pushed tentatively at the huge double doors. They didn’t move. Slowly she walked round the building and found another door. This one was unlocked. Pushing it open she peered inside. The sound was clear now, the gentle cadences rising into the high rafters. She looked up. Sunbeams filtered through spaces between the tiles, illuminating dust motes which danced between them.

‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Is anyone there?’

She took a step inside. Behind her the door swung slowly closed, cutting off the sunlight.

For a moment she stood where she was in the semi-darkness, looking round, then she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. With a shock of fear she flung herself at the door. It wouldn’t budge.

‘Abi!’ The voice outside brought her up short. It was Kier. ‘I don’t want you to be afraid. You are not going to come to any harm. I have left food and water and blankets there for you. I knew sooner or later you would hear the music and follow it.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘It was sooner than I expected, I must admit. I want you to stay there for a few days. You will be quite safe.’

‘Kier!’ She rattled the door. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Let me out!’

‘Not now, Abi. There are things I must do. This is for your own good. Don’t be frightened. I have left a Bible for you. Pray. Pray as though your life depended on it, do you hear me?’

‘Kier!’ She was shouting now. ‘Kier, open this door now! What are you thinking of? Kier!’

There was no answer.

Phone. She groped in her pocket for her mobile. No signal. With an exclamation of disgust she held it up in the air and waved it round slowly. Nothing. Oh God! she let out a groan of frustration. Now what was she going to do? How dare he do this to her!

She turned round furiously and surveyed her prison. There must be a way of getting out. The huge old double doors at the end of the barn appeared to have been nailed shut years before. She fingered the wooden bars across them, looking at the rusty nails in despair, then she walked on round the stone walls. To one side were a couple of doors. They led into what looked like small stalls or sties built against the wall. In one was a bucket and a roll of loo paper. She let out a groan. He had thought of everything.

She discovered her bed in the far corner of the main barn. A pillow, three blankets and a sleeping bag. On the sleeping bag, as he had promised, lay a copy of the Bible. There were two plastic water carriers, a box of food and there, playing softly, was the portable radio CD player. The CD had been bought at the abbey shop in Glastonbury. There was no torch, no lantern and no candles. Clearly he did not mean her to sit up reading once it got dark. Trying to curb her anger, she toured the barn again, searching every corner for a way out. There appeared to be none. The only external doors were the large ones and the smaller one she had entered by. How could she have been so stupid as to fall into his trap! She cursed softly and stared round yet again. Why had he done this? What was he going to do with her? She tried the phone again. Still no signal. Furiously she shouted again. She only stopped when she grew hoarse.

They would come and look for her the moment they discovered she was missing. The dogs would find her. All she had to do was wait. With another groan she flung herself down onto the sleeping bag and reached for a blanket. She was only wearing a light jacket over her T-shirt. As soon as the sun went down it was going to get very cold.

Pushing open the church door, Greg looked inside. The sun was going down now. He stepped in and looked round. The place was quiet. There was no sense of disturbance. He frowned. Earlier he thought he had heard the faint strains of plainsong drifting through the orchard. He had stood listening. For a moment it had spooked him, he had to admit that, but you could tell very easily when something was genuinely not from this world. This had been a recording. A good one. Beautiful. Perhaps Abi had taken a CD player out with her. He walked slowly towards the altar feeling carefully into the shadows. No, Ben had done a good job in cleansing the place of any unpleasantness. There was nothing to fear in here. He turned back to the door and stepped outside, closing it carefully behind him. The churchyard was growing shadowy now. The sun was slipping into the west. Somewhere he could hear a bird singing. He listened until it stopped and then slowly he turned back towards the gate. He must have missed her. He would go back to the house, choosing a different route and meet her there.

He was halfway across the orchard when he felt it. Suddenly the air was hot with pain. The shadows were screaming. Someone had died here. He groped in his pocket for the little cross he carried with him all the time, reeling back from the suddenness of it. He had been open, searching, listening. He had not protected himself and now he was suffocating under the overwhelming pall of fear and anger. He was seeing red. He could feel the blood, sticky and hot and thick, running over his hands and across his face. He couldn’t breathe. He reeled aside, and cannoned into the trunk of a tree. Clutching at the rough bark with desperate fingers he felt the rasp of lichen, he could smell the sharpness of sap mixed with the blood. He gasped, trying to find the right words. ‘In the name of Jesus!’ It was all round him. He could hear nothing but the thunder of blood in his ears. ‘In the name of Jesus Christ!’

And as suddenly as it had started it was over. The orchard was silent. He stood clutching the tree, his forehead against the trunk, his face pouring with sweat. He had lost his specs. For a long moment he didn’t move, then slowly he released the tree. His fingernails were broken and split; he had torn the knee of his jeans and he was shaking uncontrollably. He stared round, not daring to move his feet in case he stepped on his glasses, one hand now holding a branch as though his life depended on it. ‘Christ be with me, Christ within me, Christ behind me.’ He looked down at the grass and spotted the spectacles lying a few feet away from him. He reached for them frantically. They weren’t broken and he stuck them back on with relief. The orchard was growing dark. Somewhere an owl hooted. He took a deep breath, still clutching the cross. ‘Christ before me. Christ beside me. Christ beneath me, Christ above me.’ Somehow he had to get back to the house but before he left the orchard he had to pray for the soul in torment here. Someone had died in this place, violently. Someone had been murdered and their spirit was not at rest. Closing his eyes he clasped his hands together around the little cross. ‘Our Father, which art in heaven…’

‘Abi’s car is back so she must be here somewhere.’ Cal and Mat had searched the gardens with the dogs as soon as Greg had returned. It had still been light enough to see then, but even so Mat had taken a large torch with him. At the gate to the orchard they had hesitated, glancing at Greg, then all three had walked in under the trees, calling her. There was no sign.

Ben arrived as they filed back into the house. He glanced at Greg with a grimace. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea things were this bad.’

‘I suspect I stirred it up.’ Greg threw himself down on one of the chairs by the fire, shaking his head. ‘Idiot! Rushing in without proper preparation. I should know better after all these years. The church was so peaceful. I let down my guard.’ He broke off as the phone rang.

Cal picked it up, listened for a second and passed it over to Ben. ‘It’s Janet.’

Ben took the phone and listened, his face growing grave as his wife spoke. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said at last and slammed the phone down on the table. ‘Kieran Scott is there. He is claiming he has kidnapped Abi. Dear God!’ Ben looked at Greg. ‘Can I ask you to come with me? He’s a bit intimidating, this guy. Mat, can you two wait by the phone?’

‘So what has he done with her?’ Cal whispered.

Ben shrugged. ‘We’ll see if we can make him tell us. He wants me to speak to the bishop for him, apparently.’

‘Sounds as though he’s lost it,’ Greg said succinctly. He hesitated. ‘Can I suggest that you both stay away from the orchard for the time being?’ he said hesitantly to Mat and Cal. ‘I’m aware that this is very much your patch, but I think I may have awoken some problematic influences. My fault and I should deal with them.’

Mat nodded. ‘I for one am certainly not going to go looking for trouble.’ He sighed. ‘Phone us as soon as you know anything, Ben.’

When he had closed the front door behind them he came back to the kitchen to find Cal standing in front of the fire. ‘Has it occurred to you it might not have been Greg who stirred things up? It might have been Kier. Or even Abi,’ she said.

Mat nodded. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘We are going to take the dogs out again to look for her.’

He gave a wan smile. ‘They are getting used to hunting for missing people!’

‘We don’t have to go near the orchard,’ she added doubtfully. ‘What could he have done with her?’ She shivered.

‘She could be anywhere, Cal, if he persuaded her to get into his car with him.’

She shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t have.’

‘Perhaps he drugged her or something.’

‘Surely not.’ She looked down at the floor. ‘Is he deranged, Mat?’

Mat shrugged. ‘Ring Justin, Cal.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’

He nodded. ‘We need his help. That chap Greg didn’t inspire me with confidence, to be honest. If he is the expert on the paranormal that Ben said, why is he making elementary mistakes? And Just might be able to locate Abi somehow.’

She glanced at him quizzically. ‘With his super magic powers?’

‘Something like that, yes.’ Mat didn’t smile.

Cal went to the phone. She did not have to look up the number, Mat noted. When she put the phone down she looked at him uncertainly as though she had read his mind. ‘He’s on his way,’ she said.

Mat nodded. ‘I’ll take the dogs out again.’

‘No. Wait. I’ll go with you.’

‘I’m not going near the orchard.’ Mat smiled at her. ‘That’s my brother’s job! No, I’ll just wander round a bit with the torch and see if these two little blighters can get a sense of where she went. ‘Abi, dogs! We really need you to find her.’

Pym and Thiz sat up. Neither seemed very enthusiastic. Cal frowned. ‘That’s not like them.’

Mat shrugged. He walked over to the door and reached for his jacket. At that the dogs leaped up, tails wagging. ‘Don’t leave this room, Cal. There has to be someone near the phone at all times.’

She nodded. ‘Have you got your mobile?’

He checked his pockets, held it up then headed for the door. Then he stopped. ‘Isn’t that Abi’s bag?’ He had spotted it on the counter half-hidden behind a pile of books.

Cal went over to it and after a second’s hesitation, picked it up. ‘She wouldn’t have gone anywhere without her bag,’ she said quietly. ‘Not voluntarily.’

‘Where is Mora?’ Cynan stopped to enter the house and looked round. Lydia was brushing Petra’s hair. She looked up at him and smiled. ‘Look. Petra is healed! Can you believe it, Cynan? Yeshua healed her.’

Petra smiled at the young man and rose to her feet. She stumbled slightly, still unsure of herself, but her smile told him all he needed to know as she slowly pirouetted in front of them. ‘The pain has gone, Cynan. It has gone!’

He forced himself to grin, genuinely pleased for her. ‘That is good news. Such good news. But where are they? Have they gone already?’ He tried to hide his anxiety.

Lydia nodded. ‘They went a while back. I’m afraid you’ve missed them.’ Her expression changed as she saw the young man stagger forward. ‘Cynan? What is it? Are you hurt?’ In the dim light she had not noticed the blood seeping through his hair.

He collapsed onto a stool near the fire and put his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry. Someone hit me. I was in the trees looking for them…’

Lydia went white. ‘Who hit you?’

He shook his head painfully. ‘I didn’t see.’

‘Flavius?’ Lydia spoke through pursed lips. ‘Of course it was Flavius! He must have come back. We thought he had gone away for the day. I knew we shouldn’t trust him. He must have been waiting.’ She blinked back furious tears. ‘What if he has hurt them!’

‘I’ll go back down to the boats.’ Cynan staggered to his feet again. ‘If they have already gone they will be safe. He wouldn’t dare follow them across to Ynys yr Afalon. You take care of Petra.’ He forced another smile. ‘If any of the men are around I will take them with me. Flavius won’t harm you or Petra. You will be safe. It’s Yeshua he’s after.’

‘Romanus!’ Lydia whispered. ‘Yeshua told him to stay here, but he followed them.’

Cynan shook his head. ‘He won’t hurt the boy either, lady. Don’t worry. It is Yeshua who is in danger.’ And Mora. He didn’t say her name out loud.

He ducked out of the door and stood for a moment as his head reeled in the bright sunlight. The compound was empty. There was no time to go and look for back up. Grabbing a staff which was leaning against the wall outside the house to replace his own which he must have dropped when he was hit he headed for the gate and the track back down across the fields and woods towards the water’s edge.

Both canoes had gone. He studied the ground carefully, trying to read the footprints, but so many people had walked there it was hard to make head or tail of the tracks in the mud. In one place he saw the marks of a smaller boot. Perhaps that was Romanus. Then he saw a sandal print. Small and neat. That would be Mora, but it was difficult to see which way she was going. They might have made these marks when they arrived. ‘Lord Gwyn, watch over them and keep them safe,’ he breathed. He turned north alongside the mere and began to run. There were hidden ways across to the island, threading through the reeds. He could get back without a boat.

A hundred paces further on he stopped again, listening. Somewhere behind him he had heard a shrill sound. He spun round, scanning the track. The day was warm and still. His skin began to prickle a warning. Carefully he backed into the shelter of some osiers and gripped the staff tighter. Then it came again. A scream from the direction of the house. There was no mistaking the desperation in the sound. He crept off the path and began to thread his way back the way he had come, watching for any sign of movement, keeping to the shelter of the trees and bushes, hurrying as fast as he could go. He could hear it now. The shout had turned to a painful sobbing. It was the boy. He was almost certain of it. He crept on, keeping his eyes skinned and then suddenly he saw him. Romanus was leaning huddled against the trunk of a tree, clutching his stomach. Cynan stared round cautiously. Romanus seemed to be alone. Running on his toes to stay silent Cynan approached him. ‘Rom? Are you all right, lad?’

He gasped as Romanus looked up. His hands were running with blood as he tried to staunch the wound in his belly. Only a rope tied around the tree was preventing him from falling. ‘Flavius told me to call Yeshua back,’ Romanus sobbed. ‘He said if I didn’t call him he would kill me.’ His words came in tight, thready sobs. ‘He stabbed me with his sword to make me scream.’ His voice was fading. ‘No-one came.’

‘I came.’ Cynan groped at his belt for his knife. It wasn’t there. The bastard must have taken it from him when he hit him. Swearing, he reached for the rope, groping through the blood, trying to find the knot. ‘Hang on, Rom. You’ll be all right. Let me get you free.’ They couldn’t be more than five hundred paces from the house. He wondered if he dared call out, or was Flavius still within earshot?

‘Yeshua and Mora have gone back to the island or they would have come for you,’ he murmured. He found the knot and tried to pull it open. The boy was failing. He could see the gleam of sweat, the pallor on his skin. ‘Your bastard uncle must have gone after them. Both boats have gone.’ He tugged violently at the rope with both hands. Romanus’s struggles must have tightened it too far to loose it. He had to find something to cut it with. He gave up pulling and looked round desperately. Then he stooped and picked up an armful of dead leaves from the track. It was all he had. He wadded them together and pushed them between the boy’s fingers. ‘Here. Hold this against your stomach. Hard. Push!’ He stooped and picked up some more. ‘These are willow. They will help staunch the blood. I’m going to have to run to the house to find something to cut you free. I’ll bring help. Hang on, Rom, do you hear me? Hang on.’

The boy’s hands grasped feebly at the leaves, then they fell away. Cynan swore softly. ‘Yeshua, where are you? We need you now, man.’ He stepped away from the tree, his own hands scarlet to the elbow and found himself facing Flavius. He drew in his breath sharply, swept with impotent rage at the sight of the man’s apparent calm.

‘You are right. Where is Yeshua when he is so badly needed?’ Flavius gave a cold smile.

‘This is your own nephew!’ Cynan shook his head. He was beyond fear.

Flavius shrugged. ‘Indeed, my own nephew. The spawn of my brother.’ He reached to his waist for his sword. ‘And you are an interfering priest. You can accompany the boy to Hades, my friend. That will comfort him and ensure there are two less people to stand in my way.’

The sun glinted for a moment on the blade of the sword, then the world turned red.