Time’s Legacy

21

‘The most ancient of the Christian churches were built on sites that were already sacred,’ Ben said thoughtfully as they sat with their guests eating a late breakfast at Woodley. ‘As we know Pope Gregory sent instructions to Augustine to reconsecrate pagan temples for Christian use.’ He looked up at the others. ‘Our St Mary’s is one of those, and so, of course almost certainly, is the abbey in Glastonbury unless they were already dedicated to Christ by the Celtic church.’

The bishop leaned forward and helped himself to more homemade marmalade. ‘I think we would all agree on that.’

‘Sometimes,’ Ben glanced at him cautiously, ‘I have always suspected, there is a residue left of their previous incumbents.’

Greg nodded. ‘I can substantiate that. I have dealt with sites where ancient pagan shadows remain. It is often the case where there have been problems with the church. The cleansing and maintenance of prayer space is something that ancient priests were taught as part of their training, but since the Reformation a lot of important knowledge has been lost. Sometimes just praying is not enough.’

‘Incense?’ the bishop said.

‘Indeed,’ Greg said. ‘Not just a pretty smell. And also of course the efficacy of spiritual cleansing depends so much on the pray-er.’

‘And if the pray-er,’ the bishop echoed Greg’s emphasis, pleased with the phrase, ‘is not up to scratch for some reason, he can cause more harm than good.’

Greg sighed. ‘I fear so,’ he replied. ‘There is so much to think about. I don’t like to think of previous gods and goddesses as devils.’

The bishop looked at him enquiringly, a piece of toast halfway to his mouth. ‘We are a missionary church, Greg,’ he said reprovingly. ‘Christ himself insisted on that. It is one of the commandments. “Thou shalt have no other gods but me”.’

‘Which isn’t to say that the other gods didn’t, and don’t, exist,’ Greg retorted quietly. ‘In this day and age we would not dare speak out against a Hindu god. So why do we still get away with turning our old gods, Herne the Hunter, or Pan into the devil?’

‘Originally, because he was so real,’ Ben put in thoughtfully. ‘Talking to people round here, where there are more pagans per square inch than in your average town, I would say I have quite a good angle on what they worship and why. They want a god or gods who is or are approachable. Not someone accessed through an intermediary and kept at arm’s length. The gods they worship are far more like what we would call angels. Guardian angels; nature angels, perhaps. Devas, they call them, borrowing the name from the Hindu pantheon; spirits in charge of the elements and of trees and flowers. I find the idea delightful. And I don’t find it anti-Christian. God and Christ himself acknowledge the reality of angels.’

‘Good point.’ The bishop nodded. He sighed. ‘It is so very easy to understand the position of the young, especially young women, in resenting the inflexible patriarchy of our church. I had hoped we were taking steps to change, to be less puritan, less authoritarian, but people like Kier do not make that easy.’ He sighed again. ‘Well. First things first. Before anything else, we must call off the police and make sure this is not logged as an attempted murder or anything like that. Next we have to find Kier and I have to persuade him to come back with me to Cambridge. Then we, or more likely you, Greg, have to perform some kind of exorcism, I fear, to sort out this ancient bloodshed and its awful repercussions down the centuries and after that we have to decide what to do about Abi’s visions of Christ. They can’t be made public. You do all realise that?’

‘Why not?’ Cal felt it was time to stand up for the female sex, and say something.

‘Why not?’ The bishop looked at her askance. ‘Come on, Cal!’

‘You have proof that Jesus existed; that he came to Britain, that all the legends are true and Britain is a special holy place, and you say why!’

‘Proof?’ Mat said with a wry smile. ‘I think David’s point is that we don’t have that, Cal. Not by a long way. And even if we did, think Lourdes; think mobs; think fundamentalists; think tourist junk. Think Abi being lynched.’

‘And that is just for starters,’ Ben put in. ‘David is right, Cal. It can’t happen. It mustn’t happen.’

‘And how are you going to stop Kier telling the world, as a way of justifying himself, that his curate went insane and started having visions?’ she said furiously.

‘One might say that so did a lot of the saints, of course,’ Greg said.

‘We won’t let him say those things, Cal,’ David said, ignoring the comment from his deliverance minister. ‘We have to make sure he doesn’t. And we will. Now, have you heard from Abi this morning? They did get there safely I assume?’

‘Abi and the druid priest?’ Cal was suddenly really angry. ‘Yes, they got there safely. You don’t actually believe anything, do you? It’s all for show. Keep the status quo and keep everyone calm. Don’t scare the horses!’

Mat got up and went round to stand behind her chair. He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Calm down, my love. We are trying to do some damage limitation, that’s all.’

‘What about the food that Kier left in the barn?’ Greg asked suddenly. It seemed wise to change the subject. ‘Has anyone been down there to collect it? Supposing someone finds it and eats it in the mean time?’

‘He didn’t poison it,’ Ben said thoughtfully. ‘I am prepared to bet on it. Well, no, perhaps not on someone’s life; it would be wise to confirm it one way or the other. I wonder if we can have it tested somewhere without the police finding out.’

David nodded. ‘It would help us judge his state of mind to know the truth. I’ll ask Donald to see to it.’ Donald, the bishop’s chaplain, had been the overnight driver. He was at present upstairs asleep.

When the phone rang it was Mat who answered. He turned back to the table. ‘That was Justin,’ he said. ‘Kier has followed them to Ty Mawr.’

‘Don’t let him see you!’ Justin turned away from the phone as Abi peered through the curtains. Kier had returned with his car and parked outside the cottage right in front of the door. He was sitting at the wheel, his arms folded, staring straight ahead through the windscreen.

‘Your smudging didn’t work, then.’ She walked back to the fire.

He smiled. ‘I think it did as far as it went. After all it stopped him sending malign thoughts through the letterbox.’

She acknowledged the comment with a wry grin. ‘Is the bishop coming to get him?’

He nodded. ‘Though it’s a long way to come on the off chance that he will stay here.’ He paused. ‘Shall we ask him in?’

‘You’re insane!’

‘No. Druids are negotiators. We like to discuss things. And in any case there are two of us and only one of him. Come on, Abi. You are a Christian. You should be turning the other cheek.’

‘I am not a very good Christian.’ She felt like the sulky child again. She didn’t need this. She wanted the door to stay locked; for someone to take Kier away and the sun to come out so she could sit outside in Justin’s beautiful little garden, looking at the view and feeling safe.

Justin was watching her with wry amusement. He could see the conflict going on inside her. ‘Abi, there is a car on its way with no less than four clergymen in it, one of them a bishop. Don’t you think we owe it to them to keep the culprit on the scene?’

She turned to look at him. ‘You just want to see if you can sort him before they get here!’

He smiled broadly. ‘That thought had occurred to me. But in fact this is a problem for Kier’s colleagues. I don’t understand the technicalities of Church of England dogma. I would like to try and put the case for open-mindedness and free thinking though.’

She took a deep breath. ‘All right.’

‘Really?’

She nodded.

‘OK.’ He turned towards the door. ‘First, go and hide your Serpent Stone. The sight of it would probably send him right over the top. I’d hate to think of him snatching it and chucking it off a cliff or something. Tuck it under the bed or somewhere.’

He waited for her to disappear down the passage towards her bedroom, then he slid back the bolt and pulled open the door.

Abi sat on the bed for a moment, holding the stone in her hands, reluctant to go back and face him. Was this the right thing to do? She stared down into the grey surface of the stone. ‘What happened next, Mora?’ She touched the crystal lightly.

She hadn’t meant it to happen. Not now. Not with Kier so close, but she could see Flavius approaching his brother’s house. Her stomach clenched with apprehension. ‘Be careful.’ The words of her whisper went unheard in the roar of the wind across the mere.

Flavius stood in the doorway looking down at Petra as she knelt by the fire feeding twigs under the pot of water. She glanced up and screamed.

He gave her a chilly smile. ‘There is no point in screaming, niece. There is no one to hear.’

‘What do you mean?’ She stumbled to her feet, her eyes darting into the shadows. There were no servants in the house, no slaves, no farm workers. They were all out in the fields, or the woods, or fishing on the mere. Her mother and father had gone across to Afalon to speak to Mora’s father. She had told them of her dream, to study with Mora; to become a druidess, to fulfil her brother’s ambition for him and they had agreed. Now it was for them to see if the college would accept her.

She clenched her fists in the folds of her gown and stared at him defiantly. ‘Yeshua isn’t here. He has gone. You will never lay hands on him.’

He held her gaze. She was a pretty girl, now she was standing upright, with clear skin and bright eyes, albeit swollen and red from weeping. ‘I will find him, never fear. If I have to follow him to the end of my days, I will find him.’ He folded his arms. ‘He cured your agues and your crippled bones, I hear.’ There was a sneer in his voice. ‘But did his healing last? Can you still skip around the fire, and dance for your supper?’

She straightened her shoulders. ‘I am well now. As well as you are.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘A testament to what Yeshua did. I will tell the whole world what he did for me, and everyone else around here. He was a good man.’ She paused. ‘Not like you. My father will never forgive you for what you did to Romanus.’ To her own surprise she had stopped being afraid of him.

Flavius smiled coldly. ‘What did I do to Romanus?’ The smile vanished as he waited for her to answer.

‘You killed him! You know you did.’

‘And you can prove that, can you?’

She hesitated.

‘I thought not. I don’t think anyone will ever know who killed the boy. Perhaps it was the druid. Perhaps they killed each other. Perhaps they killed themselves. It is the Roman way when life becomes insupportable.’

She shook her head. ‘Cynan would never kill anyone. Nor would Rom.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘It was you.’

He turned away towards the door. ‘Nonsense! Be very careful of the accusations you throw around, young lady. They could get you into all kinds of trouble. I should if I were you be more worried about the fact that your pain is already returning, and your fever is building again and you are beginning to realise just how much of a fraud your friend Yeshua was.’ Turning to look at her over his shoulder he fixed her with an icy stare. ‘It will happen so quickly you will wonder why you ever thought you were cured.’ Again the hard cruel smile as he gave silent thanks to the seeress, all those years ago in Rome for her curses, which he had never forgotten.

‘No!’ Petra burst into sobs. She was looking down at her hands. Already they seemed to be swelling again, her fingers bending into claws, and slowly she was aware of the dull ache starting in her wrists and ankles.

He smiled again. ‘So, are you going to attest that the man was a fraud?’

‘No.’ She shook her head, tears pouring down her face. ‘No. He was a good kind man; a great healer.’

Flavius sneered. ‘You stupid girl. Don’t you see, I was offering you a chance to live!’

She shook her head again. ‘No, you weren’t. You wanted me to lie.’ She was still standing facing him, her face white with pain.

He shrugged. ‘So be it. You will go to join your brother.’ His short sword reflected the small flames licking up from the logs onto the softly glowing metal of the cauldron over the fire.

Her final terrified scream was lost in the hiss of steam as he tipped the cauldron over and lunged towards her.

‘No!’ Abi’s whisper was a whimper of pain. ‘No, oh no, how could you?’ She put down the stone. How long had she been sitting here? She glanced at her watch, trying to shake off the horror of what she had seen. Standing up she seized a T-shirt from her bag, wrapped up the stone and tucked it under the far corner of the mattress. It seemed a bit obvious, but then she wasn’t planning on Kier getting anywhere near her bedroom. She went to the door and listened. Nothing. Was he already inside? Had Justin offered him a coffee or a drink or something? Opening the door she tiptoed up the short passage, listening. There was no sound of voices from the living room.

Kier and Justin were standing in front of the fire, about four feet apart, awkwardly, both looking into the body of the room, not talking. She took a deep breath and stepped towards them. She tried to make herself smile, but her face refused to comply and she felt herself staring at Kier showing nothing but hostility in every atom of her body. Coming to a standstill on the far side of the central table, she looked from one man to the other. She said nothing.

Justin grinned at her and she saw a flash of mischief in his eyes. ‘I have offered our guest some coffee or tea or a drink, but he has declined.’

She shrugged. ‘His loss.’

Justin scanned her face for a moment, then he turned to Kier. ‘In which case, my friend, perhaps it would be as well to discuss the reason for your visit with as little preamble as possible.’ He paused.

For a long moment there were no sounds in the room but the cracking of logs in the fire and outside the lonely yelping of a buzzard riding the thermals high above the hills.

‘I want Abi to come back with me,’ Kier said at last. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

‘No.’ Abi’s response was so quick it made Kier step back. He looked surprised and for a moment almost frightened at the force of the one word.

‘But this man is a pagan,’ he said after a minute, sounding more hurt than angry.

‘This man is a gentleman,’ she said softly, and then paused, astonished at her own choice of words. ‘He would never imprison me, or hurt me or make vicious unfounded accusations against me.’

‘He’s not a Christian, Abi.’

‘Do Christians behave the way you have behaved, Kier?’ she retorted.

He was still staring at her, but suddenly he turned away. He slumped into the chair by the fire and put his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry I frightened you. I didn’t mean to. I left everything for you to make you comfortable. I wanted to keep you safe.’

‘So safe you put wolfs bane in my sandwiches?’ Her voice rose an octave.

He looked up and slowly shook his head. ‘I didn’t put anything in your sandwiches. I said that to make them realise how desperate I was. I would never hurt you, Abi. Never. I swear it.’

‘The police are testing all the food you left with Abi,’ Justin put in at last.

Kier looked shocked. ‘The police?’

‘Of course the police. You kidnapped and falsely imprisoned her and you were threatening murder.’

‘Sweet Jesus!’ Kier rubbed his face with his palms. Abi could hear the rasp on his unshaven cheeks. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to me. I wanted to save your soul, Abi. I could see the danger. I could see the evil spirits spinning round you. They were everywhere in that house. In the church. Back in Cambridge. One day, suddenly, you were surrounded by whirling lights and voices. You didn’t seem to see them.’ He looked up and to her horror Abi saw tears in his eyes. ‘I responded the only way I knew how. To try and surround you with Jesus’ love and protection, to try somehow to protect you myself. I did it all wrong.’ He dropped his face back into his hands, and she saw the tears trickling between his fingers.

Justin frowned. ‘Can you see these spirits round her now, Kier,’ he said gently.

Abi froze. She felt a cold breath circle round her as she stood staring at them. She leaned forward, her hands on the table, feeling the warmth and solidity of the old wood beneath her fingers, waiting in silence for his answer. Kier looked up and stared at her. Then he nodded.

‘Describe them.’ Justin walked over to his desk and produced his jar of smudge bundles. He scrabbled amongst the litter of pens and other oddments on the desk for a box of matches and lit the bunch of herbs, waving them gently until the flame died to be replaced by a wisp of blue smoke. He laid them in a dish and brought it back to the table, standing it in front of Abi.

‘I can see a young girl. Her hands are all strange. She is holding them out, twisted, like claws – ’

‘No!’ Abi almost screamed.

Justin looked at her sternly. ‘Let him talk, Abi.’

‘But – ’

‘We can deal with the situation in a minute. I need to know what Kier can see.’

‘She is trying to protect herself from a man. He has a knife in his hand. A large knife. A sword. He is threatening her with it.’ The tears were pouring down Kier’s face now. ‘He is going to kill her.’

As Abi opened her mouth to cry out again Justin stopped her with a sharp gesture of his hand. ‘What is he saying?’

‘The healing didn’t work. The healing was a sham. Admit it. Yeshua is a sham!’ Kier was shaking violently.

‘And what is the girl doing?’

‘She is terrified. She is trying to get out of his reach, dodging behind the fire. There is smoke and steam everywhere. There is a cooking pot lying on its side in the fire. She is screaming for her mother.’ His whole face had collapsed. A string of spittle dripped from his lips. He wiped his face angrily with the back of his hand. ‘Why is this here? Why can I see it and you can’t? This all belongs to that house in Woodley. You have to stop it!’

‘Do you know who Yeshua is, Kier?’ Justin said. ‘Listen to me, Kier. Can you hear me? Who is Yeshua?’

‘I don’t know!’ Kier shook his head. He squeezed his eyes closed.

‘He is a healer, Kier. A good man, from Galilee.’

Kier swallowed his sobs and stared at Justin, his mouth open. ‘Galilee?’

‘Galilee, Kier.’ Suddenly the room was totally quiet.

‘Jesus?’ Kier whispered.

‘Yes, Kier. Jesus. Jesus healed this child, then this man, this Roman, who wanted Jesus dead on the orders of Herod Antipas, decided to wreak his revenge on this little family who had sought safety on the edge of the Summer Country in faraway Britain.’ Justin turned to Abi. ‘Fetch the Serpent Stone.’

Abi didn’t argue. She was trembling all over as she went back to her bedroom and extricated the stone. She brought it back into the living room and set it down on the table. A wisp of fragrant blue smoke lazily drifted over it, curling in the air and dissipating up near the ceiling below the beams.

Kier stared at it. He began to rock backwards and forwards, moaning quietly.

‘You, Kier, have probably got more natural psychic ability than Abi and me put together,’ Justin said. ‘This sensitivity of yours has been suppressed and ignored and probably fought so strenuously that it has brought you to the brink of a nervous breakdown. You have to understand, that it is part of who you are. It is a god-given talent, not something evil, and it is something that you can use in complete assurance that it is compatible with your Christian faith. You are in the wrong job, Kier. You should be doing what the bishop’s friend Greg is doing. Working to overcome darkness and bring in the Christ light. You have targeted the wrong person in Abi. She has acted as a catalyst. This stone is an age-old tool. Someone has told it this story; someone has encoded the horror and fear and evil of what happened at Woodley inside the crystal in this stone, and that someone wanted the story to be known one day perhaps in the hope that terrible wrongs could thereby be righted.’

Kier looked up at Justin, his face blank with misery and exhaustion. ‘You believe this?’

‘I know it.’

‘And Abi is safe?’

‘Abi is a strong woman, Kier. She is safe. She too has seen what you have seen, and been made unhappy by it, but between you, between the three of us, we can fight this evil. We can try and put some light back into the darkness.’

‘We can’t save that child’s life retrospectively.’

‘We don’t know she died at his hand, Kier. To find that out we have to ask the crystal.’ He paused. ‘On the other hand,’ he shook his head, ‘perhaps we shouldn’t ask the crystal, because maybe the act of watching what happened will mean that it did happen.’

There was a long pause.

Kier sat up. He groped in the pocket of his trousers and produced a handkerchief to wipe his face. He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand.’

Abi was frowning. She had been watching Kier’s face intently. Now she turned her gaze to Justin. ‘Are we talking Schrödinger’s Cat here?’

Justin shrugged. ‘Something along those lines. We are actually talking about a fascinating phenomenon which is not unconnected with some very real magical formulae about which I don’t know very much. I’m wondering whether the druids were adepts in a way we don’t understand.’

‘Mora?’ Abi asked.

‘Mora, or her father or the healer she trained with. Perhaps all of them.’

‘And how does all this fit into the story of – ’ Kier hesitated. ‘Jesus.’

‘That is something we three have to unravel. Our villain is obviously the Roman with his sword at the little girl’s throat, the Roman with the mission to kill Jesus before he went back to Galilee. Our victims are the children. Romanus and Petra.’

‘And poor Cynan,’ Abi put in.

And poor Cynan. But it is Romanus who screams for revenge. His soul which is anchored to the earth by despair and hatred and disappointment and fear.’

‘But the others – ’ Abi put in.

‘The others are part of your story too.’ He paced up and down the room a couple of times. ‘But it is Romanus who is the source of all this energy.’ He threw himself down in the chair opposite Kier. ‘And Mora is our key. She wants to communicate with you, Abi. She has done so successfully and she has the tools.’

‘And she thinks we can help?’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘She thinks we can help and she wants us to know the story.’

‘Of Jesus.’ Abi glanced at Kier.

‘Of Jesus,’ Justin agreed.

Kier said nothing. He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes wearily. He was slowly shaking his head from side to side.

‘So what do we do?’ Abi asked at last. Her voice was husky. She looked down at the crystal. The smoke from the smudge was still curling round it, as though seeking it out, testing, licking the cold crystal surfaces.

Justin nodded. ‘We work together.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the man in the chair by the fire. Kier’s eyes remained closed.

‘What about the car full of clergymen and bishops?’ she whispered.

Justin smiled. ‘Back up with knobs on. Ben will be up for it and so I suppose will Greg as that is his job. What about your bishop?’

Abi shook her head slowly. ‘I have no idea. He’s a nice man, that’s all I can say. Of course, he was born in Priddy.’

‘Oh well, if he was born in Priddy!’ Justin laughed out loud. The sound seemed to percolate through to Kier’s brain. He opened his eyes. ‘You think this is funny?’

‘No, not funny. Very serious,’ Justin replied after a moment. ‘This is something world shaking, Kier. We are going to try and influence the course of history. We have to see to it that Petra is or was saved. We cannot allow that anything else happened.’

‘The space time continuum as they call it in sci fi books,’ Abi added dryly. ‘That kind of thing usually results in the end of the world.’

‘Not with Jesus on your side it doesn’t,’ Justin said.

‘Were you ever a Christian?’ Kier asked suddenly. He sat up and leaned forward, staring at the fire.

‘I was baptised.’ Justin nodded. ‘I gave up subscribing when I came face to face with some of Christianity’s greater inanities. Chiefly their bloodthirstiness. That had nothing to do with the Jesus of my bedtime stories.’

‘Or the Jesus of Mora’s crystal,’ Abi put in sadly.

Kier slumped back into his chair. ‘And I didn’t do anything to dispel your disillusion, did I,’ he said almost to himself. They weren’t sure who he was addressing. Perhaps both of them.

‘Are the spirits and energies still weaving around Abi?’ Justin asked after a moment.

Kier looked up, startled as Abi froze. He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘No. Neither can I.’ Justin looked at Abi and smiled. ‘Don’t look so shocked. Nothing has changed. You can cope with whatever is there. You can, both of you, cope.’ He hesitated, then he walked over and put his arm round Abi’s shoulders. ‘What say we all have some soothing herb tea while we wait for reinforcements. Once they arrive we will summon the powers of darkness and see whether we can sort this whole mess out.’

‘You make it sound so simple, but you still haven’t said how,’ Abi said with some asperity.

He shrugged. ‘We’ll play it by ear.’

She gave him a quizzical smile. ‘And Kier?’ she added softly.

‘Kier is no longer a problem.’ The husky voice came from the chair near the fire. ‘I give up. I can’t fight this. I am so sorry, Abi.’

The bishop’s black Volvo rolled up to park alongside Kier’s Audi at about midday. The four clergymen, all in mufti, climbed out stiffly and stared round at the view of the hills and the valley and beyond to the distant mountains, lost now in a haze, then as one they turned towards the cottage.

Cal had sighed with relief when they left after breakfast. At last they had the house to themselves again. She wandered back into the kitchen and began to collect the plates for the dishwasher. She was standing at the sink, rinsing the last of the glasses by hand when the dogs began to bark. Mat had been glancing at the headlines in the paper. He put it down on the table and looked up enquiringly. ‘You don’t think they’ve come back? I didn’t hear a car.’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll go and see.’ As she reached for a towel and began to dry her hands there was a sound at the back door.

Cal turned and looked at it. ‘Did you hear that? Is there someone there?’ She put down the towel and moved towards it.

‘Cal, don’t open it!’ Mat’s voice was suddenly anxious. ‘Look.’

She turned to see him pointing at the dogs. They were huddling together, their tails clamped between their legs in uncharacteristic terror, the hair on the back of their necks on end. Side by side they backed away from the door, their eyes fixed on the knob which slowly began to turn.

Mat shot forward and slammed the bolt across. ‘Who is it?’ he shouted. There was no reply. He glanced at Cal. ‘Come away from the window. Are all the other doors locked?’

She tried to think clearly. ‘I think so. I don’t know.’ She could feel herself beginning to shiver. ‘It’s not Kier,’ she whispered. ‘He couldn’t have got back here so quickly.’

He shook his head. The dogs were cowering now behind the settle and the silence in the kitchen was intense.

Mat tiptoed towards the table and Cal saw him pick up the bread knife. She felt her stomach turn over with fear. The earlier mist over the levels had returned and spread silently up through the gardens to encircle the house. Thick and white, it was drifting eerily past the windows. She resisted the urge to go and draw the curtains against it, backing away towards Mat. ‘What’s happening?’

His knuckles whitened on the knife and she saw him gesture towards the back door in sudden fear. Slowly it was opening. Wisps of clammy fog drifted in, weaving round the kitchen, then they saw the figure. A man stood, outlined in the doorframe, looking round. He was tall, square-shouldered, bare-headed, but otherwise dressed in the military uniform of the Roman army. They could see the breastplate, the epaulettes, the sinewy arms, the short leather skirt, the thonged boots. In his right hand he carried a broad-bladed short sword. Cal felt herself freeze. She couldn’t look away. His eyes were dark and hard. They bored into her own and she knew she couldn’t run; she couldn’t move. Her heart was thudding dangerously. She couldn’t breathe.

His face was hard, the angle of his cheekbones harsh, his nose aquiline, his mouth set in a thin merciless line. ‘Lydia.’ Somehow she heard his voice, though his lips didn’t move. Oh God! He was going to kill her. He thought she was someone else.

‘Mat?’ Her voice came out thin and reedy, a whisper. Where was he? He had been standing near her with the bread knife. ‘Mat? Help me.’

Mora was sitting miserably by herself in her small house, her eyes closed. Her father was right. She must speak to no-one, tell no-one what had occurred here, replenish her energies and her healing skills and then and only then go out once more to visit the sick, this time alone. She sighed unhappily. She was missing him more than she could have believed possible. Both of them. Yeshua and Cynan, the two men she had loved. Cynan, who was dead, who had died to save her. She pictured his face, remembered the touch of his hand, the promises they had made in the past of unswerving devotion before Yeshua had come. She had still loved Cynan and she knew he had still loved her. Had she betrayed him? Yeshua’s influence had been so strong, his personality so overwhelming, her attraction to him so powerful, had she forgotten her first love, her loyalty to a man who was prepared to die for her and for Yeshua?

Hugging her knees she stared down into the flames. Before anything else she ought to go and see Petra. Yeshua had told her Petra still needed her. Petra, who was now healed. Petra who should be running about and dancing and laughing in the autumn sunlight, making up for the lost years of childhood. Petra who would one day, if her wish was granted, come to study here on the island with Mora. Her parents were probably still here somewhere, talking to Mora’s father about it, but she knew already he would welcome Petra with open arms to the community.

Standing up she went to the doorway, looking down the hill towards the landing stage where two or three canoes lay tied to a post on the still, reedy waters of the mere. She could paddle over to the mainland now and walk up to the house. Why not.

Automatically she threw her herb bag into the bottom of the boat. She smiled ruefully. Petra should have no need now of her potions and ointments. Thank God!

She paused, letting the canoe drift gently into a patch of sedge. Thank God. She had grown used to Yeshua’s god being the only god. She glanced behind her up at the Tor. The entrance to the otherworld, the kingdom of Gwyn ap Nudd was there somewhere near the great Menhir. She had grown up with him; now she was full of doubt. Was he just a helper of the one great god, an angel who held the keys of the underworld or a god in his own right, powerful and all seeing? She smiled sadly. She would never know. Yeshua, her Yeshua would one day return to Afalon, but in spirit not in body. She had always known that. Just as she had always known that he was returning home to face certain death. She felt a warm tear run down her cheek as nearby with a steady beat of its enormous wings a single white swan angled in over the water and came to land on the glassy surface near her. Picking up the paddle she began to head once more out into the still water.

The homestead was silent. She let herself in through the gate in the palisade and stared round, surprised. She had never known the place to be unattended. There was always someone around if not in the house then in the sheds and barns, or Sorcha’s house – a member of the family, a servant. Slaves. Farm workers. Peat cutters. She peered in at the door of the main house. The fire was out. The huge central room was deserted and shadowy. She frowned. Where was everyone? She shivered. She knew the death of Romanus had hit the entire household harder than anyone could ever imagine. The fact that almost certainly the boy had been killed by his own uncle was a blow few parents could recover from; it was almost as hard for the men and women who had known him since he was born. Her own loss, of the brave and patient Cynan was only made tolerable by the fact that the young man had been there with Romanus; neither of them had died alone.

She ducked inside and looked round the large room. She could see Lydia’s favourite shawl, lying across the back of the oak settle. And Petra’s gaming board, the game she had so often played with her brother. Mora blinked back her tears. ‘Hello?’ She glanced towards the sleeping quarters. The curtains had been looped back, the screens left open. The bowls and plates on the sideboard were washed and clean. The fire was out. There were no dogs running round the yard outside. Nothing. The place felt dead.

‘Petra?’ She turned back to the doorway. ‘Is there anyone there?’ And then she saw it. The huddled figure lying against the wall.

‘No!’ Abi was holding the stone in her hands, the tears running down her cheeks. ‘Please, don’t make me go on.’

‘I think you have to, Abi,’ Justin said firmly. He was sitting across the table from her. He reached out and clasped his hands over hers.

She glanced round the room, aware of the men seated around her, all silent, all watching. Only Kier was looking away, staring down into the fire, his hands twisting together on his lap.

‘Try, Abi. Just a bit more,’ Justin went on. ‘We’re nearly there. Please. You and Mora. Two priestesses, two women who heal in Jesus’ name.’

She looked round pleadingly. They were all waiting, engrossed in the story, totally involved in their different ways with what she was telling them. She looked back into the crystal.

‘The house is full of shadows. She could be wrong. It could just be a bundle of rags,’ she went on, her voice shaking. ‘There is nothing to see with; no flaming torches, no candles or lamps, no firelight and it is a dark corner. She creeps closer, her heart hammering in her chest, bile rising in her throat.’ She paused and took a deep shuddering breath.

‘Petra?’ The voice was Mora’s now. Echoing strangely round the room, disembodied. Ghostly. ‘Petra darling, is that you?’

Mora took another step towards the bundle. ‘Petra? Speak to me.’

‘Petra is speaking to no-one ever again!’ The harsh male voice behind her made her cry out in fear as she spun round. ‘Why, if it isn’t the druid healer.’ Flavius sounded surprised. ‘Yeshua’s little helper! The one, so I hear, who whisked him out from under my nose.’

‘You can’t have killed Petra.’ Mora’s voice was husky, barely audible. ‘No! Why?’

‘Why? Because she was a witness of his healing powers, that’s why. She was cured. But not very well, as it turned out. Before she died her hands were turning back to claws!’ He gave a short harsh laugh. ‘She was so suggestible, that child, so malleable!’

She gave a cry of horror. ‘How can you be so evil?’

‘Easily. It is in my nature.’ He stared at her, his face devoid of expression.

Mora’s mouth had gone dry. She felt her stomach clench with fear. He was going to kill her as well. Her gaze slipped down a fraction and she saw there was indeed a sword in his hand, half hidden in the fold of his tunic. The blade glinted in a stray ray of light from the doorway. She could see the dried smears on it which must be blood.

‘Why are you so afraid of Yeshua?’ she asked softly, somehow finding the courage to speak now she knew she had nothing to lose. He was going to kill her anyway. ‘Why is your Emperor so afraid of him that you have to slaughter all his friends and hide all signs of his passing?’

He gave an infinitesimal shrug. ‘I do not question my orders. I obey them.’

‘And this is what makes your Empire so strong? Mindless obedience?’ She was playing for time, she didn’t know why. Who would come? No-one knew she was here. ‘But of course it is.’ A thought struck her and she felt her blood freeze. Had Lydia and Gaius returned to find him waiting for them? She met his gaze and held it. ‘And Lydia and Gaius?’ she whispered. ‘Have you killed them too? And Sorcha and the rest?’

He smirked. ‘Most of them ran away, but not Gaius. Fool that he is. He walked in here, calling for his daughter. Happy!’ He gave a snort of derision. ‘He really thought I would not kill him because I was his brother! All these years and he had failed to realise that I was put on Earth to kill him. There was no room for two of us in my mother’s womb, and not enough air for us both to breathe when we were born. Only now, at last, am I free of him!’

She shuddered at the sheer venom in his voice. ‘And Lydia?’ she asked bleakly. Her fear for herself seemed to have retreated onto some distant unregistered plane.

‘Lydia spurned me.’ His face darkened and for a moment she thought he was going to spit on the ground.

‘So, you have killed them all.’ She paused, unable to speak. When at last she could find the words they were barely audible. ‘But at least they are free and together. They will not be afraid of you ever again.’ She was biting back her tears.

Behind him she caught sight of a shadow in the doorway. He must have heard something for she saw him raise the sword. He stepped sideways out of the light, then he spun on his feet and when he lunged with his sword, it was towards her.

‘No!’ Abi looked up. The others, still seated round the table, were watching her in horror. ‘I can’t bear to watch.’ Tears were running down her face.

Standing up, Justin came to her and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She sniffed, groping in her pocket for a tissue. Waves of exhaustion were sweeping over her. ‘Just five more minutes, Abi. Go back. See what happened.’

‘No!’ Kier stood up. ‘You can’t go on with this.’

‘Sit down, Kieran.’ David Paxman barely raised his voice but Kier subsided at once. ‘I think we need to know this. Whatever is happening here, it feels very real to me. We must let it run its course. Please, Abi, only a few more minutes.’

She reached out for the stone. Her hands were shaking and her eyes tired as she peered at it. What had happened to Mora? Taking a deep breath she focused again on the cloudy, crazed surface of the crystal.

Whose was the shadow in the doorway?