Time’s Legacy

20

In the orchard Justin stood beneath the apple boughs, facing the moon. He raised his arms in supplication and closed his eyes in prayer. ‘Romanus and Cynan, sons of the fen, children, both, of this watery paradise, you died here to protect those you loved. For so long your souls have cried out for justice, but know here and now, that your part in this drama has been recognised, the story will be told. Abi and I will return to bless this orchard, to pray in the church on your island, Cynan, to set right the memories and to tell the world that you saved Yeshua so he could return to his destiny in the Holy Land.’ He paused, listening. A breath of wind rustled the leaves around him and he opened his eyes. A stray moonbeam filtered through the crisp golden leaves on the ancient apple trees, turning them silver and he saw a huge clump of mistletoe shimmering above him in a crook of the gnarled branches. He smiled. It was a sign.

In twenty minutes Abi had grabbed a quick shower, thrown some things into an overnight bag, tucked her Serpent Stone in amongst them and climbed into the car beside Justin. Cal thrust a packet into her hands. ‘Sandwiches. Guaranteed not poisoned. And here’s a Thermos.’ She leaned in and put a basket on the back seat. ‘Phone us when you get there, OK?’

As the car swung out of the gates Justin and Abi both glanced up and down the road. There was no sign of any traffic. He grinned across at her. ‘You’ll be safe at Ty Mawr. Once the others have dealt with Kier and he is safely out of the way we’ll come back and if there are any loose ends, which I doubt, then we’ll follow up Mora’s story? Deal?’

Abi smiled. ‘Deal,’ she said.

Kier flattened himself against the hedge as the car drove past him, heading towards Glastonbury, or possibly the bypass and then who knows where. He had watched Abi climb in, watched them throw her bag onto the back seat, seen Cal pass them a basket, seen Justin fold his tall frame into the driver’s seat, his face illuminated for a moment by the light from the front door and he had felt a sob of despair rising in his throat.

‘The police were less than helpful, as it turns out,’ Ben was explaining to his brother. Cal had brought coffee and biscuits to the table as they sat there with Greg. ‘Because we found Abi and she is safe they seemed to think the whole thing was some kind of “domestic”.’

‘It was the sight of two clergymen and the idea of a third who has gone gaga, and then the magic word bishop that finished them,’ Greg said with a wry laugh. ‘I can just imagine the story they will be telling back at the station.’

‘You told them about the poison?’

Ben nodded. ‘Of course we did. I don’t think they believed us. They said would we bring the suspicious food items into the station tomorrow and they would send it for testing.’

Mat snorted. ‘It sounds as though they were disappointed Abi wasn’t dead.’

‘It would have made a better case.’ Ben shrugged. ‘To do them justice there was all sorts kicking off last night apparently at some pub somewhere in town. Blood and gore and GBH. We heard it on their radios. They needed our story like a hole in the head. No body. No violence. No poisoned sandwiches that we could hand to them and a dippy vicar.’

‘Or three.’ Mat grinned.

‘Perhaps it is better they are not involved,’ Cal said thoughtfully. ‘With David coming. He wouldn’t welcome the publicity for the Church. Can you imagine if the press got hold of this? And Abi is safe with Justin.’

They sat in silence for several minutes, then Mat looked at his watch. ‘I don’t know about you folks, but I might go and get some shut eye. Ben and Greg, you could kip down in the spare rooms. We haven’t any guests at the moment. David’s chauffeur is going to bring him straight here when they arrive, so I suggest we get a bit of rest. Wherever Kier is, he can’t get at Abi, that’s the important thing, and there is nothing else we can usefully do for now. I’ll make sure the place is locked up and we can reconvene for breakfast.’

In the garden Kier watched the lights go out one by one. He saw the figure of Mat through the windows checking the locks were in place in the conservatory, then again in another downstairs window, then the light there too went out and all was silent. He glanced up. The lights upstairs came on briefly, then they also went out one by one. They had gone to bed. He frowned, feeling a constriction round his chest. Had Abi cursed him as she lay in that barn? Had she invoked evil spirits to torment him? He murmured a silent prayer in the dark. Stupid to have lost his torch. He could barely see as he walked across the lawn away from the house. He wasn’t sure where he was going. He couldn’t actually remember where he had left the car. Somewhere on the edge of the road, pulled into a farm gate. He wandered past some shrubs, smelling the damp night-time scents of the garden and came up hard against something which cracked his shin. He let out a cry of pain and leaned forward to feel it. A bench. He sat down heavily and leaning back with a sigh, he saw ahead of him the silhouette of an arch against the sky. Then he heard a woman crying.

They had found Romanus and Cynan that evening and borne their bodies home on stretchers of animal skins. When Gaius returned it was to a scene of devastation. He stood looking down at his son, his face white with grief. Already the druids had come from the college and taken Cynan back with them to lie that night in his own cell under the oak trees and within sound of the rustling apple orchards on the edge of the mere.

Lydia came to watch beside her husband and together they stood in silence, hand in hand. ‘Flavius did this,’ he whispered at last. ‘Did he kill Yeshua?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Joseph waited as long as he dared. He had to take the ships out of the channel and round into the sea before the storm came. He said Yeshua knew he couldn’t wait any longer.’

She nodded dumbly.

‘Fergus Mor told me Mora was with him.’

Tears were running down her face. She was no longer capable of speech. Behind them Sorcha came out of the house and gently put a shawl round Lydia’s shoulders, then she went back inside to Petra whose inconsolable sobs echoed round the compound and out into the night.

Kier could hear their grief. He shuddered, hugging his arms around himself, staring out into the dark. Whatever had happened here was of such incomprehensible sadness that it had soaked into the soil of the garden. He could feel the tears welling up in his own eyes.

Behind him the house lay in darkness. How could they sleep when such awful things were happening so close at hand? He stared round wildly, dashing the tears off his cheeks. Someone had to stop this. But how? How could anyone put right something which had scarred the ground where it had happened so deeply that it still echoed two thousand years later?

He stared out at the arch. How did he know it was two thousand years? Abi, of course. She had told him. She had woken these echoes with her crystal ball and her witchcraft. Without her these memories would still be sleeping under the ground. He stood up, slightly unsteadily and walked forward to stand for a moment on the edge of the flowerbed where the stones of the villa lay in the dark. This had not been the house where the tragedy had taken place. Intuitively he knew that. Someone had built a house there in later times, but the boy’s blood was still crying out for revenge. Revenge against who? He stood staring up at the sky. The mist had gone. The clouds had parted and he could see the stars. Was this how Abi felt? She had come to him for help and spiritual guidance to deal with all this weight of guilt and fear and vision under the auspices of the church and he had turned away from her. He had called her names and reviled her, distracted by his own emotions. He had failed her. Again and again he had failed her. He turned sharply and began to walk across the grass, not thinking where he was going, heading automatically for the orchard and beyond it the steep path which led in one direction down to the levels and beyond in the other to the track up towards St Mary’s. Instinctively he knew he would find succour there. And answers.

It was several seconds before Abi could work out where she was next morning. She lay still staring at the whitewashed walls of the tiny room, taking in the deep set window embrasure with cheerful gingham curtains, the small pine chest of drawers with a mirror, a candlestick and a vase of rosebuds. Her bag lay on the floor near her, still closed. She brought her attention to herself. She was still fully dressed except for her shoes, laying under the bedcover rather than in the bed properly. She raised herself onto an elbow as memory returned. She had fallen asleep in the car. They had arrived in the early hours with a thick white mist lying across the hillside and Justin had woken her, led the way indoors, showed her round the cottage and directed her to his spare room while she was still half-asleep. She remembered nothing more of their journey or of their arrival.

They had abandoned the canoe next to several others at a landing stage on the next bend of the river, leaping out and running for the cover of some trees. There was no-one around and they hid, waiting, as the larger boat grew closer.

‘Is it him?’ Mora whispered. She was pressed against the broad trunk of an ancient willow aware of Yeshua beside her, his arm protectively round her shoulders.

He put his finger to his lips. Wisps of mist were drifting ahead of them, coiling around the low hanging branches of ancient trees. Mora glanced across at him and he smiled reassuringly. They could hear the sound of the paddles now, pushing in unison against the sluggish brown water and the low murmur of voices as the boat sped down the centre of the river.

‘He’s there. In the middle of the boat,’ Yeshua breathed. ‘They never even glanced this way. My guess is he is heading for the port. He knows the ships will have to catch the tide. He knows that’s where we’re going.’

‘But your kinsman will wait for you,’ Mora said indignantly.

‘Not if it means losing his cargoes.’ Yeshua released her and they moved away from the tree. ‘It was agreed. If I was not there seven days after the full moon he would leave without me. The equinoctial gales will be on us soon. The weather is deteriorating. He can’t wait any longer.’

‘Not one day!’ Mora was distraught.

‘He doesn’t know we are only one day behind.’ Yeshua shook his head.

‘But there will be other ships.’

‘I am sure there will, but Flavius will be searching every one.’ He walked further into the alder scrub and sat down wearily on a fallen log.

‘Then what shall we do? We can’t go back.’

He caught her hand. ‘You can go back, Mora, and you must. You do not have to come with me any further. I have asked more than enough of you and those you are close to.’

She shook her head. ‘I am coming with you until I know you are safe.’ She glanced back. ‘We can pick up the boat again. Now we know Flavius is on his way north we can follow more slowly.’ She couldn’t believe Yeshua’s kinsman would just leave without him.

But he had. As the river grew wider and they felt the pull of the tidal water become stronger they approached the port at last, wearily keeping an eye out for Flavius and his crew. But the river was deserted. As evening grew near the grey water had become increasingly choppy and unpleasant and when they at last pulled into the bank they staggered ashore with relief. Leaving Yeshua with the boat, Mora walked towards the township. A pedlar carrying a basket of wooden spoons and little carved toys which he had hoped to sell to the sailors, told her that the last of the traders had gone. The harbour was empty, and just as well, as they stood looking down at the mud-coloured waves lashing against the quay in the strong north-westerly gale which blew up the channel. She turned back and told Yeshua the news.

Taking pity on them when he saw their crestfallen faces the pedlar led them to a farmstead where he knew the family and they found themselves ushered into a small round house where they were at last out of the rain and wind.

A druid priestess and an itinerant healer were guests to be honoured, as was the pedlar himself. They were offered baked fish and mussels, flat malt bread and blackberries with honey. Then their host pulled out a bird-bone pipe and played for a while as they sat near his fire. It wasn’t until long after they had eaten that he laid down the pipe and looked at them. ‘There is a Roman in Axiom, who is looking for you. He has let it be known he will pay a reward to anyone who hands you in.’

Mora let out a little cry of distress. Already she was scrambling to her feet. The man held out his hand. ‘We do not betray those who have eaten under our roof, lady.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t take to the man at all.’

Mora put her face in her hands. ‘We have nothing to repay you with.’ He shook his head again. ‘If this young man is a healer, he can suggest something for my aching bones and have a look at my mother. That will be more than enough. Then as soon as the storm lets up and the tides are right, we will make an offering to the goddess Sabrina and I will take you across the estuary. Drop you off in Silurian territory. They don’t hold with Romans over there.’ He chuckled. ‘The way I see it after that, you have two choices. You can make your way back east across country and cross back into Gaul, that way. There are often quiet days, whatever the season, when boats ply the Straights, so I’ve heard. Or you can winter with the Silures and leave in the spring when the traders return. Either way yon Roman will lose track of you. If you stay here or go back to Ynys yr Afalon he will find you.’

It was two in the morning when Kier finally got back to his hotel. He had to knock up the night porter to get in. He regained his room and sat for a while, exhausted, on the bed. He must have dozed off because the next time he glanced at his watch it was nearly five. Splashing his face with cold water he switched on the kettle, then he took his notebook out of his suitcase. He had reached a decision as he sat in the little church in the dark, listening to the owl in the churchyard outside. He was going to follow Abi. She had taken a bag so she was going to stay somewhere. Cal had passed them a basket. If it was food it implied a long journey or going somewhere that might not be ready for them. Justin’s house. It was worth a gamble, and what other lead did he have? He thought hard. Where was it Justin lived? Surely one of the articles he had read online had mentioned a town? Ten minutes later, fortified by a cup of coffee mixed with two pots of disgusting milk substitute, he had the answer. Hay-on-Wye. Fifteen minutes after that with the help of his credit card and the fact that Justin Cavendish was not a common name he had the man’s address. He smiled grimly. The click of a button and he could download a satellite picture and mapped instructions on how to find the cottage. He silently thanked his former curate – former but one – he corrected himself wryly. Almost the only useful attribute that the man had possessed was a sure grasp of computer skills. One day when Kier had bemoaned the fact that he had lost touch with an old college chum the young man had introduced him to the art of people-finding. Kier finished his second cup of coffee, then he stood up. Within half an hour he was washed, shaved, packed and ready to go downstairs to pay his bill. Outside the window, even here in the city, the mist had returned.

Justin was sitting at the table in the living room when Abi appeared at last. A fire was blazing in the grate and the room was full of the incense smell of the oak blocks from the basket. He glanced up with a grin. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘OK.’ She sat down opposite him. ‘Did all that really happen or was it a bad dream?’ She ran her hands through her long hair, still damp from the shower. She had dug a pair of black jeans and a blue shirt out of her bag, with a cardigan slung over her shoulders.

‘It all happened.’ He reached across the table towards a jug and poured her a mug of black coffee. ‘I’ll make you some breakfast. Welcome to my world.’ He gestured towards the windows. The mist was still thick and white, lapping against the glass.

She took a sip of coffee and felt the caffeine hit as a physical jolt. ‘Have you heard anything from Woodley?’

He nodded. They are all there and still waiting for the bishop to arrive, I gather. No sign of Kier. Cal is cooking them all a huge breakfast which is what gave me the idea.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘You and I have work to do later, so food would be a good way of grounding us before we start.’

She scanned his face. ‘Work?’ It was slowly dawning on her that she was alone with this man, a druid priest, who was far too good-looking and attractive for her peace of mind, in the middle of God knows where, part of something which had all the makings of a first-rate melodrama, and they were discussing breakfast.

‘Did you bring your magic stone?’

She nodded. ‘It’s in my bag.’

‘Good. That will be where we start.’

While he was in the small kitchen – ‘only space for one at a time in here, so you can’t help,’ – she stared round. It was a man’s room, a scholar’s room, lined with books. On the table in the window she could see a computer – so he probably did have e-mail – and a phone, papers, more books. But there were other things, interesting things. Crystals, a drum, jars of dried herbs, bunches of ditto, a jar of large feathers – buzzard at a guess. Were these the working tools of a druid in the twenty-first century? Apart from the desk and writing chair there was the large table at which she seated herself, and two deep armchairs near the fire. There was no TV that she could see, and there were no other doors. In the corner of the room a small winding stair led out of sight to the upper storey. That must be where his bedroom was. Her own room was off a passage on the opposite corner on the ground floor, in a converted outbuilding of some sort, as was the kitchen and the obviously newly built bathroom with to her relief, every modern convenience. She was conscious of the smell of bacon drifting through the door. Not a vegetarian then. She bent to throw on another log. She suddenly felt ridiculously happy.

‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked as they tucked into the bacon and eggs and toast.

‘About five years.’ He gazed round the room fondly. ‘This is a magic house. I was incredibly lucky to be able to buy it. A young couple, Beth and Giles Campbell lived here, but they decided it was a bit remote once they started a family. Before that, a friend of mine, Meryn Jones was here for years. My guru and teacher.’ He gave a mischievous grin. ‘He lives in Scotland now, so I have in a sense inherited his hideout.’

‘It feels very special.’ She looked towards the window. ‘Is there a view?’ The mist was still all round them.

He laughed. ‘The gods of the druids have given us protection today. We are on top of the world here. You can see, and be seen, for miles.’ He paused. ‘I am sorry. Does it make you uncomfortable if I talk about other gods? It is easy to forget you are a vicar.’ So he too was aware of the irony of their situation.

It was her turn to laugh. ‘It should, but somehow it doesn’t. Everything that has been happening to me has opened my eyes to other beliefs in a way I hadn’t expected. If Our Lord studied with the druids, why shouldn’t I?’

He reached for the coffee jug. ‘Why not indeed.’ He looked at her attentively. ‘So, would you like to talk about your stone?’

They were shaken awake at dawn. ‘Come.’ The man beckoned Yeshua and Mora out into the cold rain-washed world. ‘The gods are with you. The tide and wind are right. I’ll take you over now.’

Mora glanced at Yeshua and put her finger to her lips. ‘Think of Sabrina as the guardian angel of the river,’ she had whispered to him the night before. ‘Your father god will help us – but so will she.’ And so it proved. The wind had dropped and the waves of the night before had settled to a gentle swell.

The boat was bigger than the ones she was used to on the meres and fens of home, with a small stumpy mast and a sail of tanned deerskin. A pile of nets lay in the stern. The tide was rising, carrying them over the mudflats then out across the deep channel and towards the northern coast. She could see two small islands with their attendant clouds of birds, and beyond them the dark hills of the interior of the Silurian territory, rising misty and mysterious in the distance. Once the breeze caught the sail they were able to ship the oars and sit back, enjoying the sunlight on the glittering water, watching the gulls swoop and dive. Nearby a seal surfaced briefly and gazed at them with soulful eyes before vanishing again under the waves. There were no other boats near them; if Flavius was still on their tail he must be waiting at Axiom for them to appear. Mora turned to look behind them, but there was no sign of any ships emerging from the harbour mouth beyond the point.

Their host ran the boat ashore at last on a pebbly beach below low cliffs. In the distance they could see a farmstead, much like the one where they had spent the night. ‘They will see you on your way,’ he said. ‘Good people even if they are from over the water.’ He chuckled.

Yeshua threw his pack onto the beach, then he climbed over the side and stood for a moment in the shallow water, holding the edge of the boat. ‘I want you to go back, Mora,’ he said. ‘This kind man has said he will take you and put you ashore somewhere safe.’ She had already risen to her feet and for a moment she stood balancing as the boat moved gently up and down beneath her, its nose firmly wedged in the sand, the tide already threatening to lift it free. ‘From now on I go alone,’ he said firmly as he saw her hesitate. ‘You must go back to the college, to your people and to Petra.’

‘But I want to go with you!’ She caught his wrist, feeling the warm blood pulsing under his skin. ‘Please.’

He shook his head. ‘We have already spoken about this. Your story is not my story, Mora, not now. Our ways have to part.’ He put his hand out and touched her cheek with a gentle smile. ‘There is something you must do for me, Mora. I want you to heal in my name. Go back to Petra. She is going to need you. Lay your hands on her and pray to my father.’

‘But you have healed her already,’ Mora protested. She was clinging to his hand.

Gently he freed himself. ‘Go home, Mora. Now, as the tide turns. I have to leave. I will always remember you.’

She felt the tears well up in her eyes. ‘Will you be safe?’

He nodded. ‘You know I will. It is written by the prophets. I will go home to my people and I will take up the position that my father put me on Earth to fill. He turned to look up the beach. ‘It appears I haven’t finished my apprenticeship in the Isles of the West. I will make my way north as far as I can go and then I will cross over to the eastern coast and return to my home from there. Do not fear, Flavius will not catch up with me. Not yet. But you must take care, my Mora. I do not want you to fall into his clutches.’ He put both his hands on the gunwale of the boat and began to push it round. The tide lifted it at once. ‘Take care of her, my friend,’ he said to their host. He leaned in and put his finger on Mora’s lips. ‘Do not look back. Fix your eyes on the south.’ With a last hard push he sent the boat sliding into the deeper channel, then he turned and began to walk up the beach.

Abi looked up at Justin. There were tears on her face. ‘She didn’t go with him.’

He shook his head. ‘It appears not.’

‘So, where were they?’

Justin stood up and went over to his bookshelves. He brought out an old cloth-bound volume and then after staring at the shelf for several seconds, another. ‘There are legends that after visiting Cornwall and various places in Somerset including of course Glastonbury and Priddy, Jesus crossed over into South Wales. Interestingly there is one strand that follows him in a fairly logical fashion doing exactly what he said, according to your Mora’s story. If I remember right, he was supposed to have landed near Monknash and Llanilltud Fawr on the coast near or in the Vale of Glamorgan.’ He was rifling through the pages. ‘Then the stories say that he went on, probably by sea, landing here and there up the coast of Wales, maybe over to Ireland, then to Scotland where he is supposed to have gone to Mull, I think, and of course to the sacred isle of Iona and then across to Fortingall where there is an ancient yew tree which would have been already ancient when he was there.’ He saw her look of incredulity and smiled. ‘It is a wonderful skein of legend and myth, always involving the druids, and, who knows, with maybe a bit of history thrown in, all trying to explain why in many eyes Britain is – or was – such a sacred, special place.’ He sat down at the table and reached for the other book. ‘I used to pooh-pooh this sort of thing as utter waffle, but over the years I have become more open-minded. Social and political historians will talk about attempts to boost Britain’s self-esteem and the need for a Protestant foundation ethic and such like, but, who knows?’ He shrugged. ‘And now here we have a window into what happened, via your stone.’

They both looked at it, nestling on Abi’s lap as she sat in one of the chairs near the fire.

‘The Serpent Stone.’ She smiled.

‘Is that what it’s called?’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I wonder why. Of course, the ancient druids were sometimes known as adders, as perhaps you know. In Welsh, the glain neidre, the jewel of the snake, was a special talisman, known to have powerful magical properties. No-one really knows what they were like, so perhaps we are looking at one here.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘But how does it work? Does it create a hologram?’ Picking it up she turned it over and over in her hands. ‘If we knew that, wouldn’t it give us some idea as to its – ’ She paused, searching for the right word.

‘Authenticity?’

She smiled. ‘If you like, yes. And its purpose. Why does it exist?’

‘I think a hologram might be a good way of describing what happens. I don’t know any more than you, to be honest. I do know that technically crystal can hold a memory. From the esoteric point of view we can say that looking into a crystal is an aid to looking into your own subconscious, just like looking into a bowl of water or a saucer of tea leaves.’ He grinned. ‘But crystal has an extra quality which can be scientifically measured. Quartz oscillates to a specific frequency which can be made to match the frequency of sound and of thought. So what is happening may not come from inside your head, it may be an actual physical phenomenon of some kind. I will dig out a book for you if you are interested. Crystals can be encoded and I think that is what has happened here.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘May I?’

She handed it to him and watched as he cupped it in his palm. ‘All we need to do is ask it,’ he said after a few seconds, shaking his head. ‘And that is for you to do. I have my own theories about how this was done, and how it is user protected,’ he grinned, ‘but I think you will have to ask Mora. It may be that we are not permitted to know that particular secret.’

A ray of sunlight fell on it, lighting the prisms in the cloudy crystal core of the stone. Putting it down, he stood up. ‘The mist has withdrawn. Come out for a moment and look round. You need to clear your head anyway before going back to the story.’

Following him out of the door she stood and stared. The cottage and its garden nestled in a nook on a low summit; on almost every side the ground fell away in stunning open views across the grassy mountainside, ridged and folded and sweeping. To the north, he showed her, they could see out across the Wye Valley to the Radnor Forest beyond; to east and west more hills, pools of mist still lying in some of the hollows. ‘It is beautiful.’ She turned round slowly, taking it all in.

He watched her, touched by the carefree expression on her face as she walked across to study his herb garden, Meryn’s herb garden, lovingly tended and enlarged by Beth. The strain and pallor had gone and with it the hunted look in her eyes.

Behind them the track led across the soft, sheep-cropped turf between the cottage and the hill road above. Abi stared at it for a moment. Was that a movement up there? The glint of sun on windscreen? She stepped away from Justin, thoughtfully narrowing her gaze against the glare. Kier was no fool. He could well have worked out where she might have gone; the others wouldn’t tell him, but it was probably possible to find his address somehow. She sighed.

Justin frowned. Something wasn’t right. He could sense it. ‘Shall we go back inside,’ he said quietly. ‘I want to study the stone, maybe test it further.’

She followed him in. With a quick look behind him he closed the door and slid the bolt. She bit her lip. ‘You saw it too. There is someone out there, isn’t there.’

He nodded. ‘I think so. We won’t take any chances. There are only two doors and they both have stout locks and bolts. We have nothing to fear.’ He glanced at her. She didn’t seem afraid at all. Was that her own serenity showing through or was it her confidence in his ability to keep them safe? He gave an inner chuckle. What he was about to do would probably freak out your average clergy person. He wondered how she would react. Probably calmly, he decided. He hoped.

He closed his eyes, went briefly inside his head and in seconds he had cast a protective shield around the house. The sun became hazy; a pall of mist drifted back up the valley. Opening his eyes, he gave her a sideways look and saw her raise an eyebrow. ‘Druid magic?’ she asked. She had noticed then! She didn’t seem phased when he gave a nod.

‘I’m sorry. I am sure Christianity has its own esoteric branches; probably no more than special prayer but maybe you need to know how to word it?’ He grinned.

‘I suppose we just pray. Perhaps I don’t know the esoteric stuff.’ She went to stand near the fire. ‘This is all so strange. Jesus, my Jesus, is different now. I see him in a new way. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to believe any more. This man, who kissed Mora, and paddled in the sea, down there in the Bristol Channel, is my God.’ It was strangely easy to talk to him about her faith. In some ways easier than to his brother.

‘I don’t have to tell you, there is a lot about Jesus and boats in the Bible. His disciples were fishermen.’ Justin came over and piled logs onto the fire. ‘He stilled the storms. Who knows, perhaps that was druid magic he had learned here.’ He frowned as he straightened, listening. All they could hear was the crackle of the flames as they licked round the logs. He hastened across the room and pulled the curtains, hurrying between the windows until the room grew shady. Then he went over to the door and put his ear against it. Abi hadn’t moved.

He gestured at the front door silently. There was someone there.

Abi knelt down in front of the fire and held out her hands to the flames. She watched as Justin waited by the door. She could picture Kier the other side listening just as they were listening. He would know someone was at home because the car was outside, so why hadn’t he knocked?

She hugged her cardigan around her shoulders and watched as the flames climbed higher, illuminating the chimney. There was a loud crack as one of the logs split and she jumped. She turned and looked at Justin. He smiled at her and gestured at her to wait. Not long, he seemed to say. Just be patient.

‘I know you’re in there!’ Kier’s voice was suddenly very loud in the room. He had crouched down and spoken into the letterbox.

Justin didn’t answer. He tiptoed across to the table and reached for one of the jars. Inside were several bundles of dried herbs bound up with wool. Taking one out, he brought it over to the fire and pushed it into the flames. He waited until it had caught, then he blew it out gently, leaving the herbs smoking. Abi saw the trail of fragrant blue smoke spiralling lazily round his head. He winked at her and went back to the door. Somehow he managed to lever the inner flap of the letter box open and he held the bundle near it and, pursing his lips, he blew smoke towards the aperture.

They both heard Kier cough. Justin smiled – he had obviously been very close – and blew again, gently, watching as the smouldering sticks in his hand glowed red. Abi climbed to her feet and stood with her back to the fire, watching. Any lurking fear had gone. They were safe here. Kier couldn’t get into the house.

He coughed again, then there was silence. After several moments Justin went to the front window and cautiously lifted the corner of the curtain. He grinned. ‘He’s thinking about it,’ he said softly. ‘The smoke is working on him.’ There was another silence. They waited. Then suddenly a loud bang on the door. ‘I know what you’re doing. You think that pagan smoke is going to drive me away. Well, you’re wrong.’ Kier’s voice was harsh and panicky.

Abi and Justin exchanged glances. ‘I’m going to hit you both with bell, book and candle!’ There was another crash on the door. Then silence.

Justin peered out of the window again. ‘He’s going.’ His voice seemed unnaturally loud after the long silence. ‘Back up the track, although I fear we haven’t seen the last of him.’

‘You think he’s going to come back.’

‘Well, don’t you?’

She hesitated before nodding. ‘He won’t leave us alone, will he.’

‘I doubt it. But while we wait to see there are things we can do. I think you should pray for him, Abi. Pray that he sees how foolish he is being. Pray that he will leave you alone in future. Pray for his soul which is tortured and in pain.’

‘You don’t think I haven’t done that already?’ She spoke more sharply than she meant to. His magic seemed so powerful, and his concessions to prayer so patronising.

He raised his hands in surrender. ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

‘What is that stuff you are burning? It doesn’t smell like church incense.’ She sat down, staring back into the fire. ‘If it has special powers I would like to know what they are.’ She softened the unintentional sharpness of her tone with a smile and a shrug.

‘Smudge.’ He came over and threw the remnants of the bundle into the fire. She smelled the sweetness of the herbs as it burned. ‘Something modern druids have learned from the Native Americans. They use wild sage to bless and purify and our guess is that other cultures, including our own tradition, would have done the same. I have made my own bundles. The different coloured wools mean the dried herbs I have used are for different specific jobs. That one, with red wool is to dispel danger and calm the atmosphere.’

‘And the savage beast.’ Abi shook her head slowly. ‘I am out of my depth here.’

‘No, you are not. You are a priestess of your church. And a good one, if I read the signs right. The trouble is you are confused, and rightly so, by all that has happened to you. As soon as Kier has gone we can relax and get back to Mora. I think you will find your doubts will be resolved.’

‘Even when my bishop hears I’m shacked up with a druid priest burning smudge in the Welsh mountains?’

There was a moment’s pause. ‘Shacked up,’ he repeated. ‘That sounds potentially interesting. I wonder what he’ll think about that.’ He smiled as Abi blushed and it was a moment before she turned away and reached for the crystal.

He laughed softly. ‘Don’t worry. You forget that the bishop in question has known me since I was born. He’s a Somerset man. There must still be vestiges of magic in his soul.’

It took two days for Mora to make her way back to Ynys yr Afalon, partly by boat, hitching a ride with one traveller after another and then on an ox cart for the last part of the journey. She did not go at once to see Petra and her parents, instead waiting on the landing stage until one of the young druids saw her and responded to her wave by coming across for her in a dugout. She went at once to see her father.

He took her into his arms and held her for a long time. ‘You know that Cynan is dead,’ he said gently. She nodded, her face muffled in his robe, her tears falling anew at hearing the words spoken aloud. ‘And with him, Romanus.’

She pulled away and looked at him. ‘How could he do it?’

‘Flavius?’ Her father shrugged. ‘He is a man driven by evil gods and by a vicious master.’ He sighed. ‘Yeshua is safe?’

She nodded once more.

He took her hand and led her over to the two intricately woven wicker chairs which stood near the fire. His attendants had left them alone and the interior of his house was lit only by the flames licking over the burning peats. Outside the rain had started to fall again. In the distance she could hear the sound of chanting.

He looked sternly at Mora. ‘I have sworn our community to silence about Yeshua’s story here. We do not wish to attract the attention of any more vindictive dictates from the Emperor. His reach, and that of Herod Antipas appears to be as long as it is deadly. The Emperor bears no love of druids as it is. It is not our desire to bring his wrath down on the Pretannic Isles. Because Julius Caesar abandoned his attempt to conquer these shores does not mean the Romans might not be moved to try again.’

In the cottage Justin shook his head. ‘What an irony,’ he whispered. ‘That the end of the druids came not through the hostility of Rome, in the end, but through Christianity itself.’

Abi, her hands clasped around the Serpent Stone, did not hear him.

‘Cynan and Romanus have gone to the land of the ever young,’ Mora’s father said gently, ‘but they have gone with Yeshua’s blessing to the feet of his god. You know of course, that that young man was wise far beyond his years,’ he went on. ‘He came here to learn, but also he came to teach. You and I and all who have known him have been blessed by his presence in so many ways.’

She nodded, trying to hold back her tears.

‘This island is a sacred place; now it is thrice blessed.’ He smiled sadly. ‘He won’t come back here, Mora, not in his lifetime, but one day his spirit will visit us and we will feel that he is near again. I have seen the future here. It is tied up inextricably with Yeshua and his teachings. His uncle will return again and again, as he has always returned, but one day he will come here to settle and with him he will bring some special sign.’ He reached across for her hand again. ‘You will still be here, my daughter. You will see this for yourself.’

Mora stared at him. ‘Did Yeshua tell you this?’

He shrugged. ‘Not in so many words. But he and I talked many times. He told me that you too saw his destiny. One day you will serve his god, Mora.’

She shook her head. ‘I love my own gods; the goddess.’

‘We talked of the goddess. In his land she is called Sophia which means wisdom.’ He stood up stiffly. ‘Go now and rest and pray. Tomorrow you must go to see Lydia and her daughter. Take them the comfort of Yeshua’s words. And remember,’ he raised his hand and touched her hair for a moment, ‘all this for now must remain our secret. Flavius is still in this country. He still harbours hatred for his brother in his heart and when he finds that his quarry has eluded him my guess is that he will return to try to wreak vengeance on everyone who has outwitted him.’