BARBARA ERSKINE

The Warrior’s Princess

Copyright

This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2008

Copyright © Barbara Erskine 2008

Map and chapter head illustrations © Andrew Ashton 2008

Barbara Erskine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780007174287

Ebook Edition © DECEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780007287208

Version: 2016-10-26

For Liz Graham and for Brian Taylor In memory of happy conversations much missed

Contents

Title Page Copyright Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty One Chapter Twenty Two Chapter Twenty Three Chapter Twenty Four Chapter Twenty Five Chapter Twenty Six Chapter Twenty Seven Chapter Twenty Eight Chapter Twenty Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty One Chapter Thirty Two Chapter Thirty Three Chapter Thirty Four Chapter Thirty Five Chapter Thirty Six Keep Reading Author's Note By the Same Author About the Author About the Publisher

Prologue

In her dream Jess was standing on the track near the wood. In front of her the gnarled, ancient oaks and taller, stately ash stood in a solid silhouette against the moonlit sky. Behind her, her sister’s white-painted stone-built farmhouse lay sleeping in the warm silence of the summer night, bathed in moonlight, pots of lavender and rosemary mingling their sweet fragrance with that of the wild mountain thyme in the still air.

‘Where are you?’ The child’s voice was clear in the silence, coming from deep within the trees. ‘Are we still playing the game?’

In answer the leaves of the trees rustled in the gentle breeze.

‘Hello?’ Jess took a step towards the wood. From where she was standing she couldn’t see the track which led into its depths.

There was no reply.

Jess moved closer to the trees. ‘Are you there?’ A slight chill played across her skin and she felt herself shiver.

Behind her the house was silent. The windows dark. She had been aware, seconds before, that there were people there, asleep. Her sister. Her sister’s friends. Her own friends. Now she knew in the calm logic of her dream that the house was empty. The curtainless windows were blankly staring eyes and the hearth was cold.

‘Where are you?’ The child’s voice was closer now. She could hear the fear in it.

‘I’m here.’ Jess ran a few steps closer to the wood. ‘Follow my voice. I’m here. On the track!’

She could hear the wind in the valley now, its gentle murmur growing louder as the branches of the trees began to move. The sound was coming closer, the whisper turning into a roar. She could feel the cold on her face. Then in her hair. Across the broad valley moonshadows raced across the dark swell of the hills.

‘Come to me, sweetheart. You don’t want to be caught in the storm. You’ll be safe here with me. We’ll go and hide in the house!’ She was shouting now as loudly as she could, hurling the words towards the thrashing branches.

Then she saw her in the moonlight as the black clouds raced up the valley towards her. A girl with pale, flaxen hair, a long dress, colourless in the whirling shadows, her feet bare, her arms outstretched in desperation, her eyes huge in her frightened face.

‘Come on, sweetheart! I’m here!’ Jess was running towards her. She was only feet away now. In a second she would be able to reach the child, to draw her into her arms to safety.

The moon vanished for a second. When it reappeared the squall had passed. The night was silent. The girl was no longer there.

‘Jess?’ The voice behind her was her sister’s. ‘Jess! Come inside. You shouldn’t be out in the dark alone.’

In her sleep Jess turned over and reached for her pillow. Tears were trickling down her cheeks. Already the dream was gone.

1

The curtains were open. There were voices in her head. A lost child, crying; two children. Three …

For a while Jess lay completely still staring, puzzled, at the narrow beam of sunlight as it moved slowly across the painting on the wall. Her painting. Her picture of the woods behind her sister’s house with the leaves touched to fire by the first frosts of autumn. There were magentas there and crimsons she did not remember seeing before, though she herself had painted it. Extraordinary, beautiful details; nuances of shadow that without that spotlight she had never fully appreciated. Why? Why hadn’t she studied it properly like this before? Why had she not looked at it in its full glory?

And where were the children?

Moving her head to glance out of the window a dizzying wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She groaned, the picture and the dream forgotten. Outside the window she could hear the roar of traffic in the distance as it surged up towards the lights at the High Street crossroads, briefly stopped and surged on again. When she dared to open her eyes again the sunlight had moved on and the picture was once more in its accustomed shadow.

Raising herself with difficulty she squinted at her bedside clock. ‘Shit!’ It was midday. No wonder everything in the room looked different. With a groan she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her head spinning. How much had she had to drink the night before? Levering herself upright she caught sight of herself in the mirror and stared, appalled. Her blonde, shoulder-length hair was straggly, her eyes, normally a clear blue-grey, were bloodshot and slightly swollen. Her gaze moved on down her body and she froze with horror. The pretty new blouse she had worn to the party was torn almost in two; her bra had been dragged down below her breasts; her skirt had been pulled up around her waist. Looking down at herself disbelievingly she ran a finger over the livid bruise on her thigh, the raw scratch across her belly. There were more bruises on her arms.

‘Oh God! What’s happened to me?’

The words hung soundlessly in the room as she stared back at her reflection. Staggering slightly, she made her way to the door of the bedroom and clinging to the frame, she peered through. There on the coffee table in the living room were two wine glasses, stained with the dregs of red wine. The empty bottle was lying under the table. Whoever had been in the flat with her the night before, there was no one there now; nor in the kitchen, nor in the bathroom. The front door was closed. With shaking hands she examined the locks. No one had broken in. Whoever had been in here with her had not forced an entry. She must have asked them in.

She had been at the end of term party at school, that much she could recall vaguely. Beyond that, nothing. What had she had to drink while she was there? Where had she gone after the disco? Who had she been with? She could remember nothing.

The end of term disco had been in full swing when she had arrived. The sixth form college sports hall was a whirl of spinning lights and the noise astronomic. She stood in the double doorway, open to the humid air of the summer night, reluctant to step inside. She wanted to clap her hands to her ears, she wanted to turn and run, anything but plunge into the heavy mass of perspiring bodies with the overpowering smell of cheap scent, aftershave, stale tobacco, weed, sweat and booze. They hadn’t managed to frisk all the kids then. But what was the point. They were selling drink inside the hall and half of them were legally allowed to drink anyway.

‘Hi, Jess!’ A figure emerged out of the heaving darkness. Dan Nicolson, her head of department, stepped out onto the tarmacked parking area outside the hall and gave her a weary grin. ‘I’m getting too old for this!’ His lurid T-shirt belied his words; this was the one night of the year he let himself be seen at the college without more formal attire.

She laughed. ‘I’ve always been too old for it, Dan. Since the day I was born. You’re looking very cool.’ His short mouse-coloured hair had been brushed to stand upright, his brown eyes were hidden by a pair of designer shades. ‘I hear you’ve drawn the short straw. You’ve got to stay to the bitter end?’

‘And tear the copulating kids apart!’ He glanced heavenwards. ‘Unless I can persuade someone else to do it. Can I get you a drink?’ He pushed the glasses up onto the top of his head.

She nodded. The wave of noise coming out of the doors was too loud to fight. What it was like inside she could imagine all too well, but she had promised she would come and she had promised someone a dance. Ashley. Ash was her most promising pupil, the most promising for years. Destined to get Grade A in every subject he was taking, this young Jamaican was someone in whom she had invested a huge amount of time and effort and she could see him even now in the distance with his mixing desks on the stage, cranking up the volume. All she had to do was make sure he had seen her there, wave, raise her thumb in acknowledgement, shrug to show that there was no need to dance, something that was anyway all but impossible in that wall to wall crowd, then she could slip away.

As Dan disappeared towards the bar somewhere in the depths of the hall, another colleague appeared at her side. ‘Hi, Jess!’ Will Matthews grimaced at the noise. ‘We’ll be in trouble for this with the neighbours.’ He gestured towards the doors of the hall with a half-empty bottle of lager.

She and this tall, good-looking blonde-haired man had been an item for most of the three years she had taught English literature at North Woodley Sixth Form College in south London. Most, but not now. Will was senior master in the history department. He also coached basket ball, squash and athletics. In an open-necked blue shirt, jeans and a heavily engraved and studded leather belt he was, she noticed, the target of several pairs of lustful eyes amongst his teenage girl pupils.

She and Will had been a perfect couple in so many ways, but there had always been something between them that was not quite right. Will’s ambition, perhaps; his assumption, engendered courtesy of an adoring mother and two younger sisters, that he was irresistible, his tendency to assume that his work, his career, his opinions all took precedence over hers, his probably unintentionally patronising attitude to the study of literature as a career and to her undoubted talent as a water colourist. That had all rankled with her and when he had asked her to move in with him she had realised that on top of all those irritations, she couldn’t bear to lose her independence, however much they loved each other. That had started them on the slippery slope towards the break up.

There wasn’t another woman, at least she had never heard that there was anyone. It was purely his refusal to compromise and acknowledge her autonomy that had finally come between them, ended their relationship over the course of two or three short weeks and left her angry and uncomprehending and Will unhappy and bitter. After their acrimonious parting they had avoided each other completely, hard to do within the college, but still perfectly possible if they both worked at it. Which they had done. Until now.

‘Come on, Jess. What about a dance for old times’ sake?’ He grinned at her winningly.

She frowned. ‘I don’t think so, Will.’

‘Oh, come on. To show there are no hard feelings? End of term. Good results, please God! Then you need never see me again!’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Why? Are you leaving?’

He laughed. ‘You wish! No, but I promise I shall avoid you next term like the plague itself.’

She fought the urge to smile back. That smile of his had always been her downfall. It was too charming; too persuasive; too attractive by far. She had to fight it. ‘Let’s go on avoiding each other now, Will, shall we? Excuse me. I need to say hello to Ash.’ Not letting him see the longing inside her, the temptation which was still so strong, she gave him a strained, apologetic shrug and turned away. Taking a last breath of fresh air she plunged into the seething mass of dancing bodies, leaving Will staring after her.

As soon as he saw her Ashley stood back from his music mixing, nodded to his younger brother Max, on stage beside him, to take over and leaped down from the stage. ‘Come and dance, Jess!’ He was laughing, his handsome face running with perspiration, his bright shirt soaked, his hands reaching for hers, pulling her fists up into the air, then releasing her, positioned and ready for the dance as he gyrated, hips swivelling in front of her. She shouldn’t laugh. She should reprimand him for calling her Jess, but what was the point? School was over in every real sense. Exams were finished. The night was hot and enticing and all these young people were enjoying themselves. Surely she could let her hair down too. She danced with Ashley, she danced with several other pupils, and she danced with Brian Barker, the Head of the college, and finally, she was at last unbent enough to dance with Will – it had seemed too much effort to refuse. She drank Dan’s fruit punch. Then some more with a shot of staff-only extra-bite! She danced with Dan again and then with Ashley one last time. It was in the early hours that the disco broke up at last after a second visit from the police.

Ashley had been waiting for her outside the hall.

After that she remembered nothing. Making herself a cup of coffee with shaking hands, she sipped it slowly. Who would she have asked in to share a glass of wine so late at night? There had been no other relationship after Will. She fancied no one, especially not any of her colleagues at school. Not now. She was not the type to ask a casual acquaintance to come back with her and fall into bed with him. And no one, absolutely no one she knew would have hurt her and left her in this state.

Cudgelling her brain as she sipped more coffee, she remembered Ash leaping from the bonnet of a car onto its roof and declaiming, his fists raised to the stars. Shakespeare. He was quoting Shakespeare, this boy she had so carefully nurtured in her class, this boy who led his own team of street actors and who had a secret dream to go to RADA, a dream to be an actor on a West End stage, to defy his background, his absent father, his drug-taking brothers, to confirm his mother’s quiet determination to believe in him. He had yelled the speech to the world and then, laughing, had jumped down and swept a courtly bow in front of her. ‘Let me walk you home, Jess!’ She could hear his voice now, resounding in her ears.

Then nothing.

Her memories from that point were gone. Her flat was a half-hour walk from the school but she didn’t remember crossing the main road still with its heavy traffic long after midnight; nor walking down the busy street, half the shops still open to the hot July night air. Nor turning down into the terraced square with its tiny precious oasis of dusty bushes and trees in the centre behind the protective spiked railings with a raft of tossed litter inside them. Nor opening the front door, nor climbing the stairs, and unlocking the door into her flat and going in and presumably offering her escort another drink.

No, not Ashley. Please let it not have been Ashley.

It had to have been Ashley. People had warned her. They had said he could be violent. They had said he had become too familiar, too physical around her. But she had ignored them. She knew best. She had seen his potential and nothing was going to stand in the way of her ambition for him.

If it was Ashley, was it her fault? Had she encouraged him to make love to her? ‘No!’ The word came out as an agonised whisper. ‘No, I wouldn’t have. I couldn’t have.’ Gingerly she fingered the bruises on her arms. Whoever had done this to her had forced himself on her and had held her down. That wasn’t love, it was rape.

She stood for a long time under the shower, aware that she should not be doing this; that if she had been raped, she should call the police; that she should preserve whatever evidence lurked inside her body, but knowing at the same time, as she scrubbed herself raw, that she could never bring herself to go through the awfulness of the police process. One of her students had had to do it once and she had gone with the girl to the cold impersonal room where the teenager had been questioned and examined and eventually disbelieved. Jess shuddered at the memory. She would never put herself through that. Never. She could feel herself slowly beginning to burn with anger. However much she had been made to drink, even if she had been drugged to make her acquiesce and then forget, she would find out who had done this to her and she would make sure he paid for it.

Sitting on the edge of the sofa, huddled in her bathrobe, she could feel herself starting to shake again as in her head she went over and over the facts that she could remember. Had she asked Ash in? She had danced with him several times, after all. She had had another drink. Then another. Who had given them to her? She couldn’t remember. Obviously she had drunk too much but had they been laced with something? Had she, in whatever state she was in, agreed to sex? Enjoyed it? Her hands were clammy. She could feel a wave of nausea building somewhere under her ribcage. The room was starting to spin again.

She became aware suddenly of the sound of steps on the staircase outside running up towards her flat. Scrambling to her feet she ran to the front door, rammed the bolt across and slotted the chain into its keep then slowly, shaking with the kind of fear she had never in her life experienced before, she slid to the floor, tears pouring down her face as she leaned backwards against the wall, hugging the white towelling robe around her. Outside, the footsteps ran on up past her door without stopping and the sound disappeared somewhere on the upper floors.

In the end she fell asleep where she was, on the floor, her back against the wall.

When she woke it was to the sound of knocking. The door handle turned. Holding her breath she looked up at it, her stomach churning.

‘Jess, are you there?’ It was Will’s voice. ‘Jess, are you OK? Look, I wanted to apologise for last night. I behaved like an idiot. I’m sorry.’ There was a long pause, then she heard a deep sigh. ‘Jess? Are you there? What’s wrong?’ There was another pause. Then an angry exclamation. ‘I’ll see you on Monday for clearing up, OK, Jess?’ She heard him turn away from the door, then his footsteps as he ran down the stairs and the bang of the street door behind him. Then silence.

He had behaved like an idiot.

How had he behaved like an idiot?

Surely it could not have been Will. They had quarrelled in the past, even before that last break up. They had done more than quarrel. They had fought. But he wouldn’t force her against her wishes. Would he?

Could he have followed her and Ash home? If he had he could have let himself in. She was certain he still had a key in spite of his insistence that he had returned it to her. They had danced last night in the end. More than once. She could remember that. She’d felt his arms around her for a moment with such loving familiarity, felt herself relax into them. It was Will who, after a few minutes, had drawn away and moved alone to the music leaving her to dance by herself.

With a weary sigh she closed her eyes.

Much later she heard Mrs Lal from the ground floor flat open her door and go out, her slippers slapping on the steps. She was going to the corner shop; no need for proper shoes then. In spite of her misery Jess gave a fond smile. Sometimes the old lady would call up and see if Jess would like her to fetch a Sunday paper or some milk, but not today. Today there was silence; perhaps she had heard Will rattling her door and thought Jess must be out.

Climbing stiffly to her feet, she went over to the window and looked down. Mrs Lal was walking slowly down the road, a blue cardigan pulled over her sari, her grey hair clamped into an untidy bun. As Jess watched she saw the old lady hesitate and slow down suddenly and cross over the road. Jess frowned, wondering why. Then she saw them. Two black youths loitering by the gate into the square. She watched them for a moment, her throat growing dry. One of them was Ash. The other his elder brother, Zac. They stood staring at poor Mrs Lal, obviously enjoying her discomfort. She saw Zac call out and the old lady moved more quickly, hurrying away from them towards the shop. Perhaps she should go down and chase them away. What were they doing here anyway? The boys lived on the Constable Estate on the far side of the school. Almost as though he was conscious she was watching him she saw Ash move suddenly. He stepped out into the road where she could see him more easily and perhaps he could see her, and she saw him sketch once more the elaborate theatrical courtly bow in her direction. She saw Zac laugh and aim a half-hearted kick at his brother’s head, before Ash blew a kiss towards her house and both boys turned away, loping nonchalantly towards the Underground station and the busy High Street.

Jess backed away from the window. He couldn’t have seen her. It was much too far away. And he didn’t know where she lived. Correction: he wasn’t supposed to know where she lived. She felt herself grow ice-cold. He had done it. It was Ash and he was mocking her. Oh God, what was she to do? He was telling her what he had done; gloating; knowing she could never nail him for it. Daring her to try. That was why he bowed. Her best student. She had thought she’d won his trust and respect and this was how he had repaid her.

She phoned Brian Barker with her resignation on Monday morning. She told him she was ill; too stressed to teach any more. She cut off his protests by switching off her phone. Then she went to the doctor who confirmed that her memory loss could well be the effect of some kind of drug. She had gone for the morning after pill. She had not thought of the HIV test, the other tests the doctor insisted on; the doctor’s worried glance as she examined her. ‘If you don’t know who it was, Jess,’ she said gently, ‘you cannot take chances. The bruises, the muscle stiffness. You obviously weren’t a willing participant in this. You are right, you were raped and you should go to the police.’ On that point Jess had not changed her mind. She spent the rest of the day huddled in a miasma of depression and self-pity.

The doorbell rang at just after five. This time she opened it. It was Dan. After a moment’s hesitation at the sight of her white face, he strode past her straight into the sitting room, taking a seat in the armchair near the window. ‘So, what’s this I hear about you resigning? You can’t! The school needs you. I need you in my department. Besides, you have to give a term’s notice.’

‘I told Brian I was ill,’ she said after a moment’s pause.

‘And are you?’ He was scrutinising her face carefully.

She shrugged. ‘No. Yes. I have my reasons, Dan. I’m sorry to let you down.’ She met his gaze defiantly, then at last looked away. She had perched uncomfortably on the edge of the chair opposite him.

‘You are my best literature teacher. You’ve done wonders. You’re part of the team, Jess,’ he said carefully. ‘Can’t you tell me why you want to go?’ He narrowed his eyes, still studying her.

She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’ She shivered in spite of the warmth of the afternoon drifting in through the window with the roar of distant traffic from the High Street.

‘Come on. I need a reason. What can be so bad? Is it Will? I saw him pestering you at the dance.’

She shrugged.

‘Jess?’ He moved forward and reached out to put a hand on her knee as she sat across from him.

She flinched at his touch and he frowned, sitting back. ‘What’s wrong?’

She shook her head.

‘It was Will, wasn’t it? He did something to upset you.’ He stood up and took a few paces across the floor and back again. ‘Did he hurt you?’

She shook her head. She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t tell anyone what had happened.

‘It was Will, wasn’t it?’ Dan repeated. ‘I’ve never trusted that arrogant bastard!’

‘He’s got nothing to do with it, Dan.’ She was shredding a tissue.

‘You were quarrelling with him at the disco. I saw you.’

‘Not seriously.’

‘It looked pretty serious to me.’ He narrowed his eyes. There was a moment of silence. ‘Why did you and Will break up?’

‘That’s none of your business, Dan. I don’t want to talk about this.’

‘He looked pretty pissed off when you left after the disco. He could have followed you and Ashley home.’ There was another long moment of silence. ‘It was Ashley! Ashley did something!’ Dan said softly at last. ‘The little bastard! What happened, Jess?’

‘Nothing.’ She clenched her fists. ‘Leave it, Dan.’

There was another pause. She was picturing Ash, by the railings near the gate to the square. The bow. The arrogant way he had looked up at the window of her flat. The blown kiss. She tried to force the image out of her head, but it refused to go. She had danced with him. She liked him; she had encouraged him. Perhaps she had given him the wrong idea. She sighed miserably. He was a lad with so much potential, set to get top grades. If she accused him and she was wrong and it wasn’t him a police enquiry would destroy him anyway. It would never go away.

‘So, you’ve made up your mind.’ Dan gave up asking questions. ‘You are definitely going to leave?’ He was watching her so closely she felt he was reading her mind. She nodded.

He continued to look at her for several seconds in silence. ‘OK. I’ll make it right with Brian.’ He seemed to have decided not to argue with her any more. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get a brilliant reference, I’ll see to that, if that’s what you want. Looking on the bright side, you’ll probably get a fantastic position in some private girls’ school. Just right for you.’ He gave a small sharp laugh and she frowned at the sudden bitterness of his tone. ‘Take the summer off, Jess,’ he went on. ‘Forget all about whatever it was that has upset you so much and start again in the autumn!’ Leaning forward, he patted her knee again. ‘Whatever it was, Jess, get over it. Don’t think about it. Put it all behind you.’

2

Stephanie Kendal was seated at the work table, painting designs onto a tray of small ornate mugs ready for the final glaze. Glancing up at the window, she frowned. The sunlight had gone from the garden. Long shadows were advancing across the grass towards the studio where she sat listening to the radio. Leaning forward she turned it off. In the sudden silence she could hear a thrush singing in the distance through the open door. Slightly shorter, slightly plumper and slightly older than her sister, Jessica, there was a definite family likeness in the two women, inherited from their mother. From Aurelia Kendal they also took their love of literature, their artistic talent, their charm and their unconventionality. As a reaction against their mother’s decision to live as a hermit in a small cottage in the wilds of the Basses-Pyrénées when she was not bestriding the world in her capacity as travel writer and journalist, both her daughters had gravitated to inner London after graduation and teacher’s training college. Jess was still there. Steph had caved in, turned her back on the bright lights and spent her latest divorce settlement on this Welsh dream, a small mountain farmhouse not very far from the place where her mother had once lived before she had decided to swap the hills of Wales for the mountains of France.

But she wasn’t sure any more if she had done the right thing.

Setting down her brush she reached for a paint rag and wiped her fingers, frowning a little as she did so. The sound had been so small she had barely heard it over the music on the radio. A click, no more, from the far side of the studio.

She scanned the shelves of pottery, the bags of clay, the jars of glaze, the tins of paint on the table by the wall. The rough stones of the old byre were white-washed, the medieval window slits glazed, the crook beams high above her head brushed, with here and there an ornate iron hook from which were suspended the light fittings and a glass mobile which jingled faintly in the draught, a gift from one of her many admirers. There it was again. A click, followed by a rattle. A bird or an animal must have come in through the open door while she was working and be poking around on the shelves. Quietly she pushed back her tall stool and stood up.

Several minutes of careful searching produced no clue as to the source of the noise but she was feeling more and more uneasy. She could sense something or someone there. Watching her. She could feel the stare of eyes on the back of her neck.

‘Hello?’ Her voice even to herself sounded nervous.

Going to the door she stared out. The byre sat at right angles to the house with its white-washed walls and roof of old Welsh slate, joined to the kitchen by a newly built passageway. The door at which she was standing led directly outside into the L-shaped former farmyard where her car sat surrounded by terracotta pots of lavender and rosemary. She frowned. The total isolation of this old mountain farmhouse had been one of its attractions when she bought the place and mostly she adored the quietness, though admittedly the peace was often short-lived as a succession of friends came through her doors. But lately, when she was on her own, something had begun to unsettle her. This feeling that she was being watched. That someone or something was in the house with her. Not a human being. She could deal with that, she reckoned. No, it was something more subtle. More sinister. It wasn’t the noises, although she found herself listening constantly, aware of them even over the sound of the radio. No, it was something else.

She turned back into the studio and caught her breath. Just for a fraction of a second a shadow had moved near the back table. She blinked and it was gone. Or had never been there at all.

Outside she heard a crow calling as it flew across the valley, its shadow a swift flick across the warm stones of the yard. That was what she had seen. The shadow of a bird. Relieved, she turned to go back into the house just as in the kitchen the phone began to ring.

‘Steph, it’s Kim.’ The bubbly voice seemed to fill the place with sunshine. ‘Have you thought about my invitation? Come to Rome, Steph. Please. You can work here! Whatever you like. I’m rattling round in this apartment on my own. All my friends have gone away for the summer, it’s weeks before I’m leaving for the Lakes and I need you!’

Steph glanced uncomfortably over her shoulder at the door which led to the studio. When Kim had first issued her invitation she had hesitated. Rome in summer would be unbearably hot and noisy. Kim, widowed after less than ten years of marriage to her wonderful, too-good-to-be-true, adoring older man and ensconced in her beautiful flat in a palazzo, no less, and with his considerable fortune all to herself, just could not be as desolate as she made out. But then again perhaps she was and perhaps the lure of Rome was too exciting to ignore. After all, what had Steph to lose? At most a week or so’s production of her pots. Less, if she and Kim no longer got on as they had in the old days when they were all at college together. Half an hour later she had switched on her computer, booked her flight and was already rifling through her cupboard for her case.

Jess smiled ruefully as her sister’s voice rattled on until finally there was a pause.

‘Jess? Are you there? Aren’t you pleased for me? You knew Kim and I had kept in touch, didn’t you.’ Already there was a lilt of Wales in Steph’s voice.

‘That’s fantastic, Steph. Only …’ Jess grimaced. ‘Only, I was going to ask if I could come to Ty Bran to stay for a bit over the summer. I’m fed up with London and a bit desperate for a break. I want to go somewhere no one can find me. I want some peace to do some painting. Maybe rethink my lifestyle. I’m considering a career change. See if I can hack it as a painter.’ No point in telling her the real reason, spoiling Steph’s day; no point in making her feel she should cancel her holiday.

‘But that’s brilliant!’ Steph’s excitement dulled her usually perceptive reading of her sister’s moods. ‘Come here and welcome. In fact I’d be really pleased to have someone look after the place. My pot plants will need watering. If you come, that’s perfect! You can have some peace to do all the painting and thinking you want!’

Putting down the phone Jess sat for a moment staring towards the window. Was she doing the right thing? She was allowing someone to chase her out of the job she loved; out of the flat she adored, out of the city she had come to enjoy and she was allowing him to think he had got off Scot free. He had got off Scot free. There would be no police. No identification. No repercussions for him at all.

As the sunlight shone in through the window, focusing on her pale green patterned rug, illuminating in minute detail each small criss-crossed shape of the design, she heard the downstairs door bang and footsteps on the stairs. She held her breath. Slowly the steps grew closer, steady, loud, masculine. She swallowed, sweat breaking out between her shoulder blades. Had she locked her front door? Surely she had. She had become obsessive about it. She sat, unable to move, her eyes fixed on the door handle, hearing the sound reverberate round the flat. The steps reached the landing outside and she heard them stop. For a moment there was total silence, then slowly the steps began again, walking up towards the next flight. Only then did she realise that she had stopped breathing altogether. She was shaking from head to foot. Jumping to her feet, she went out into the hallway and checked the chain on the door. It was safely in place, as was the bolt and the deadlock. It was then, as usual, that her fear was replaced by anger. He had done this to her! No one … no one had the right to terrorise her like this, to make her feel vulnerable, threatened, in her own home! It was outrageous. She hated the man who had done this to her, and she hated herself for having been made a victim. She would not be a victim. Somehow she had to regain her confidence.

It was better outside. She felt safe on the bustling, noisy street and in the crowded shops and sitting over a latte at a table outside one of the little pavement cafés, watching the pigeons plodding fearlessly amongst the feet of passers by, dodging between the wheels of buggies and bicycles. The pub across the road was festooned with banners, shredded by the winter wind and still hanging there months later. Two meals for the price of one. Watch today’s match here.

Crowds of people waited in front of her to cross the road, constrained by the railing which stopped them spilling into the traffic. The lights changed, they flowed across; behind them another group built up again. Above her head, a tattered silver balloon hung like a dead bird in the branches of a tree, flapping amongst the leaves. At the end of the road the traffic whirled on an endless choreographed dance around the mini roundabout. She sipped her coffee, reluctant to move. The noise was unstoppable; deafening. Engines; music; the cooing of pigeons on the ledges of the buildings high above her head; people talking and laughing and shouting and swearing; the warning siren of a reversing lorry; mobiles ringing every few seconds, their insistent ring tones an endless selfish cacophony against escalating raucous yells.

Here, she used to feel safe; at home. Suddenly she hated it all. What she wanted was silence.

Methodically she began packing up, sorting out the paperwork, loosening her ties to school and friends. Only for the summer, she explained. Just going away to be on my own for a bit. Taking the chance to do some painting. She didn’t say where she was going. Made it sound mysterious. Fun. Lonely. It wasn’t going to be for ever. She loved the flat. She didn’t want to sell it. She just needed space. Somewhere safe. Somewhere he couldn’t find her.

When the phone rang as she came in through the front door she answered it unsuspectingly, expecting it to be the headmaster’s secretary, Jane, with yet more red tape to sort out. ‘Hello?’ She was juggling handset, handbag, shopping, unloading her stuff on the table, the front door still open behind her.

‘How are you, Jess? Recovered yet?’ The voice was muffled; deep. She didn’t recognise it.

‘Who’s that?’ Her carrier bags had fallen to the floor. Turning she walked the two strides to the door and slammed it shut, reaching for the chain to ram into its slot. ‘Will, is that you?’ He had rung two or three times and she had refused to speak to him.

There was no reply. For several seconds the line stayed open; she could sense him, whoever he was, there, listening. Then he hung up.

Her hand was slippery with sweat as she put down the receiver. She sat down at the table, her head in her hands, trying to steady her breathing. Ring the police. She should ring the police now. But how could she? She had made her decision not to tell anyone and she was going to stick with it. Abruptly she sat up and reaching for the handset again dialled 1471, her hands shaking. The caller had withheld his number.

Half an hour later the phone rang again. She stood staring down at it for several seconds before she answered.

‘Jess? I wanted to check you’d received all the bumph from the Head’s secretary.’ It was Dan. He was calling from school. When she didn’t answer immediately his voice sharpened. ‘Jess, what is it? What’s happened?’

‘I’ve been having calls, Dan. When I answer there is no one there. This time he asked how I was. Then he hung up.’

‘Did you recognise his voice?’

‘No.’

‘So it wasn’t Will?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t know. You didn’t say anything to Will about where I’m going, did you, Dan?’ Dan was the only person she had told; after all, he had known Steph as long as he had known her. They had all been at college together.

‘You made me promise not to.’

‘And I meant it.’ Jess bit her lip.

‘If it wasn’t Will,’ he said slowly, ‘it could have been Ash.’

She breathed deeply for a moment. ‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’

‘Ash is an actor. He is quite capable of disguising his voice, Jess. OK, so he shouldn’t know your phone number. Anyone could find it though. He could have looked while he was in your flat.’ There was a pause. ‘He was in your flat, wasn’t he, Jess?’ When she didn’t reply he went on. ‘Or he could have looked it up in Jane’s office here. I know the kids aren’t supposed ever to get in here, but they do.’

She nodded numbly.

‘Do you want me to come over?’

‘No. No, Dan. Don’t worry. I’m OK.’

‘Well, you know where I am if you need me. When are you going?’

‘In a day or two. As soon as I’ve sorted all the paperwork.’

‘All right, take care. I’ll ring you tomorrow, OK?’

Her case was lying open on her bed. She was folding the last of her clothes into it when the phone rang again. She paused for a moment, her heart thumping then she leaned across to her bedside table to pick it up. There was no one there.

‘Hello?’ She started to shake. ‘Who is it? You may as well tell me! Ash, is it you?’ There was no answer. ‘Hello!’ She shook the receiver. ‘Hello! Who is there?’

There was a quiet laugh the other end of the line. Male voice. Deep. Anonymous.

She dropped the receiver back on its base with a whimper of fear. The bastard was enjoying this. Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. She glanced at her watch. She could leave tonight. Now. There was nothing to keep her here a moment longer. She had even found a tenant for a few weeks to look after the flat. And if she left now she could catch up with Steph before she left for Rome. She would be safe in Wales. No one would find her there. She glanced at her mobile. He hadn’t rung her on that so far. Hopefully he didn’t know that number which was another reason to think it wasn’t Will. Will knew her mobile number; he knew Steph’s address – he had even been to Ty Bran. He knew everything there was to know about her. It couldn’t be Will who was tormenting her. If it was, she was lost. He would guess at once where she had gone.

Dan was the weak link in her plan. The only person who knew where she was really going. He answered at the third ring.

‘Dan, if anyone asks, tell them I’m going to Italy to spend the summer with Steph and Kim, OK?’

She smiled grimly as she heard Dan laugh. After all, it might even be true. If Kim didn’t mind maybe she would follow Steph there. And just in case, it would do no harm to throw her passport into her bag.

Closing her case she stood it by the front door. The contents of the fridge went into a cardboard box and a cool bag; the papers scattered across her desk into her briefcase with her laptop, and beside that her two beleaguered house plants with her artists’ materials and sketchbooks too long abandoned for lack of time, already in another cardboard box.

Cautiously she opened the door and peered out onto the landing. She had already dropped off a spare key with Mrs Lal who had promised to keep an eye on the flat for her until the tenant arrived. Her car was parked two streets away. Picking her keys up off the kitchen counter she ran down the stairs. It was early yet and the streets were still bathed in sunshine as people made their way home from work. She could hear music echoing above the sound of traffic and smell the smoky spiciness of cooking meat from the tandoori restaurant near the tube station.

Someone, probably Mrs Lal, had left the street door on the latch. She hesitated, looking left and right along the street, then pulled it to, leaving it unlocked for the old lady as she hurried round the square to find her car. It was hemmed in tightly as usual and the roof had been liberally splattered with bird droppings from the plane tree under which she had parked it. With careful manoeuvring she managed to extricate it and drive back to her flat leaving it double-parked outside. The street door was still open. Frowning, she glanced up and down the road. She couldn’t see Mrs Lal or any of the upstairs people. There was a gang of boys hanging around on the corner, some builders packing ladders and paint pots into a van; two African girls in bright dresses were giggling at them; beyond them she could see a couple of women in black headscarves. No one was near her door; no one who would have been into her house. Pushing the door open carefully, she looked into the hallway. All was quiet. She ran up, taking the stairs two at a time and stopped on the first floor landing which was in deep shadow, the lightbulb broken yet again.

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

There was no reply.

With a shaking hand she groped in her pocket for her keys. Before she tried to slot the first into the lock her door swung open. Holding her breath she looked in. Her bags and boxes were still standing in a line where she had left them. The flat was silent but something had changed. Someone had been there; she could sense it. Smell it. She sniffed. Aftershave. And sweat.

‘Will?’ It wasn’t the brand he used, but he was the only person she knew of with a key. Unless she had left the door open. But she hadn’t. She knew she hadn’t. Had she? ‘Will, are you there?’ she enquired shakily – she was poised, ready to run.

There was no reply.

Cautiously she peered into the living room. There was a large bouquet of flowers lying on the coffee table.

Her heart seemed to stop beating. Frozen, like a rabbit in the headlights, she stared round the room.

‘Will?’ Her voice was trembling.

There was no sound. Even in her panic she could feel the emptiness of the flat.

‘Will?’ Her mouth dry, she tiptoed to her bedroom door. There was no one there. The neatly made bed, the tidy surfaces, the half-drawn curtains were all as she had left them. She turned and went to glance into the kitchen and bathroom. Both were empty. No one appeared to have been in there. Her boxes by the door had not been touched as far as she could see. Whoever had been into the flat in the short time she had been away, had gone. Pushing the front door closed she took a deep breath and went back to the flowers. There was a card tucked in amongst the pink and blue petals of the shop-bought chrysanthemums in their swathes of pink Cellophane and ribbon. With shaking hands she pulled it out and opened it.

We two, that with so many thousand sighs Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves With the rude brevity and discharge of one. Injurious time now with a robber’s haste Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how. As many farewells as be stars in heaven, With distinct breath and consign’d kisses to them, He fumbles up into a loose adieu, And scants us with a single famish’d kiss, Distanced with the salt of broken tears.

Thanks for everything, cheers, Ash.

Underneath he had scrawled, Your door was open. Sorry to miss you. A x

Ash had been in her flat. Not Will. Ash, quoting from Troilus and Cressida. He must have been watching, waiting for her to go out so he could sneak in. She closed her eyes with a shudder.

It took ten minutes to load the car, racing up and down the flights of stairs with her boxes and cases, constantly scanning the pavements. At last everything was in. She went back to the flat one last time and glanced round to check she hadn’t forgotten anything. Just the flowers. With a grimace of disgust she picked them up and rammed them head first into the waste bin. She threw the card in after them, ran out of the flat, double-locked the door behind her and headed into the car.

Slamming down the door locks, she sank down behind the wheel taking deep breaths to try and calm her panic. ‘All over. He’s not here. He won’t know where I’m going. I’ll be safe.’ She was whispering the words out loud as she rammed the key into the ignition and turned it.

3

As the old Ford Ka bumped up the track towards the house Jess peered through the windscreen at her sister’s small sprawling farmstead nestling against the wooded hillside and felt a sudden wave of intense happiness and relief. The feeling wavered a little as she turned into the courtyard and switched off the engine. Where was Steph’s car? The house was empty. She was too late. Steph had already gone – why else would the front door be closed? She had never seen it closed before in all the time Steph had lived there, even in winter.

Climbing out, stiff after the long drive, she stared round. Fighting off a wave of sudden loneliness she went to look for the key. It was in its usual hiding place, cocooned in cobwebs, a sign of how seldom it had been used, under a terracotta pot in the porch. As she bent to pick it up an indignant swallow swooped out of the nest tucked into the shadows above her head, leaving a row of sullen babies, half-fledged and bursting out of the nest leaning out, glaring down at her.

She pushed the key into the lock and turning it with difficulty, opened the door and went in. The house was eerily silent.

Her sister was a sociable woman. In the past when Jess had visited, the place had always been full of people – artists and writers fleeing the town, ex boyfriends and husbands who all appeared to be on astonishingly good terms with her sister, fellow teachers from the west London art college where Steph had taught for ten years before retiring to her pottery, people she had picked up on her travels, animals who followed her home, together with waifs and strays their mother had met on her research trips and blithely redirected to her daughter in Wales. As Jess unloaded the car and cautiously began to explore the house which would be her kingdom for the summer, she was expecting at any moment to see a sleepy face peering at her from one of the bedrooms, a stray cat, a motherless lamb, a homeless artist. There was no one. The house was neat and tidy and empty. On the kitchen table there was a note with a box of nougat.

Sorry I’m not here to welcome you. Enjoy the peace. Stay as long as you like. I mean it. Wine in fridge. See you some time. S xxx

She chose the largest of the spare rooms to make her own. It had a double bed with a patchwork quilt, an antique pine chest and an old French armoire with a beautiful if threadbare Afghan rug on the polished oak boards, plenty of space for her books and its own quaint old bathroom set in what must have once been another bedroom behind the huge chimney breast. Carefully she put the smaller of her plants, an exuberant Flaming Katy in full scarlet flower, on the windowsill. The other plant, a mother-in-law’s tongue given her by Will, which had barely escaped with its life after their break up, when she had still been throwing things about, she put in the bathroom, a room large enough for an antique dressing table and an ancient creaking settle covered by an exotic crimson shawl, and yet another bookcase beside the free-standing bath.

She wandered round the rest of the house, the sitting room with its open hearth swept and filled with dried flowers, the dining room with its refectory table, so often crammed with talking, arguing, noisy people. Steph’s cooking was adventurous and not always terribly successful – she was frequently rescued from her culinary crises by more talented visitors who didn’t seem to mind standing in at the last minute as chef. Jess smiled fondly at the memory. She wandered on into the large old-fashioned kitchen which was unnaturally tidy, overlooking the courtyard, and then through the passage with its small pointed windows, built to blend with the medieval lines of the lovely old byre which Steph had converted as her studio. Standing in the doorway she looked round at the unused materials on their shelves, the newly made pots carefully packed in boxes, the craftsman pieces which Steph sold through galleries in Radnor and Hereford and Hay, the piles of broken crocks. She hated the studio like this. Empty, like the house, the kiln cold, the soul somehow gone out of the place without her sister there. She stood for several moments, listening to the distant songs of the birds and she shivered. Walking back into the passage she turned the key in the lock and leaving the studio to its own devices she went back into the kitchen.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come after all, with Steph not being here.

Why hadn’t Steph said at once, come with me. Come to Rome. Come to the sunshine. Jess glared at the plants crowded onto the windowsill behind the sink. ‘It’s all your fault,’ she said out loud. ‘I’m plant sitting and it’s not what I had in mind at all!’

She frowned. What she had in mind was to paint. To forget London and what had happened to her there. To look forward and not back. The thought cheered her. Suddenly she could hardly wait to open her sketchbook, to feel again the reassuring grip of a pen or brush in her hand. She wanted to capture everything. Trees. The silhouette of the hills. The warm soft outlines of the stone walls; the colours of the flowers, the incredible structure of the petals of the orchid on the kitchen windowsill. It was going to be OK.

That night her dream returned. She was standing outside the front door, staring across the yard towards the open gate and the wood behind it. The branches of the trees were moving uneasily and she could sense a storm drifting along the broad river valley below the fields. The voice when it came was thin and wavering.

Can we stop playing this game now. I’m frightened.

It was coming from somewhere in the wood, almost drowned out by the sound of raindrops pattering down onto the leaves.

‘Where are you?’ Jess ran towards the gate. ‘Come in. It’s going to pour. Come here, sweetheart. You’ll be safe here.’

The rain was growing heavier. She could feel it soaking into her jacket, drenching her hair. Her fingers were slippery on the top of the gate as she peered into the darkness. ‘Where are you?’

A flash of lightning lit up the track and in the distance she caught sight of the child, her pale hair hanging in ropes across her shoulders, her little face pleading as the darkness closed in once more.

‘Wait. I’m coming! Wait there.’ Jess started to run down the track, her feet slipping in the mud as the first crash of thunder echoed around the hills.

With a start her eyes opened and she lay looking up at the ceiling. For a second the dream lingered, then it was gone as she became aware of the drumming of rain on the slates above her head and on the flagstones in the courtyard outside the window. The rain was real. As was the thunder. As another rumble echoed round the house she sat up and reached for the light switch.

In the kitchen she found herself staring out of the window into the darkness. There had been a child in her dream. A lost child. She shivered. It would be awful to be outside on a night like this. She was about to reach for the kettle when she heard a crash from behind the door which led into the passage to Steph’s studio. With a shiver she hugged her bathrobe round her. She ought to go and see what it was. Perhaps a tile had been dislodged by the wind or the rain or a window had blown open. If she left it something might be damaged. Her sudden fear was irrational. That was London fear. She was safe here. There was no one threatening her in this cosy haven. There was nothing to be afraid of except possibly her sister’s wrath if some precious piece of work got broken. Making her way to the door she paused, her hand on the latch, her ear pressed to the wooden panels. The rain was rattling on the roof, splattering out of a gutter somewhere onto the stones below in the yard. Slowly she reached for the key and turned it. It was several seconds before she could make herself pull open the door. The passage was in darkness. She could feel a damp chilly draught on her face. Somewhere a window must have blown open. Taking a deep breath she ran the few steps along the passage to the studio door, unlocked it and groped for the light switches. The sudden flood of cold light from high in the old beams revealed at once a box of finished figures which had been packed ready for delivery, lying on the floor. The box had splintered and broken open and the figures inside were smashed into a thousand pieces.

‘No!’

Jess ran to them and crouching down, touched the shards of delicate broken pottery with gentle fingers. She looked up, gazing round. No windows seemed to be open. The studio was ice cold but there was no draught now, nothing which could have knocked the box off the table where it had been standing. Biting her lip sadly she stood up. Perhaps an animal had got into the studio. A cat or a bird. She stared round again, more carefully this time, listening, but the sound of the rain drowned out any other noises there might be. She could feel herself growing more and more nervous as she forced herself to walk slowly round the entire building, staring onto the shelves, peering into the shadows behind the kiln, trying the outside door into the yard to make sure it was securely bolted, standing on tiptoe to scan the higher shelves of tins and bottles, running her finger over the pale terracotta clay dust on the table. There was no one there. No sign of any intruder. Nothing else seemed to have been disturbed. Pausing at last she turned full circle, staring round one last time. Outside the windows the lightning flickered. The rain was easing off. Conscious suddenly of the absolute silence in the studio she hastened over to the door, gave one last look round, flicked off the lights and pulling the door closed behind her, locked it.

Back in the warmth of the kitchen she found she was shivering violently. Pulling down the bright flowered blinds, she blocked out the blackness of the night behind the windows. She was reaching for the kettle when a voice whispered from right behind her,

Can we stop playing now?

Jess froze. The voice from her dream was in the room with her.

It’s cold and wet out here. Let me in.

No, she wasn’t in the room. She was outside the door. Jess ran to the door into the yard and put her hand on the bolt, then she hesitated. ‘Hello?’ she called. She listened. There was no reply. ‘Are you there?’ Slowly she turned the key. There was no chain on the door like the one she had in London. Steph would have laughed at such an idea out here in her country idyll. Nerving herself with a deep breath Jess pulled the door open a crack and peered out. The night was still wet and full of wind and rain. She could hear the thrash of tree branches, the slap of leaves against a wall, the drip of water into an overflowing butt. Groping on the wall near her she reached for the switch to the outside light. The courtyard was deserted, the windscreen of her car plastered with ash leaves torn from the trees on the track, a puddle reflecting the light shattered by raindrops. A broken slate lay on the ground near the door. She looked round, scanning the darkness for several seconds. There was no one out there. How could there be? Slamming the door shut again quickly she locked it once more, hugging her robe around her against the cold. The child had been part of her dream, nothing more.

Back upstairs in her room she climbed into bed leaving the light on, and lay miserably back on the pillows. She had never felt more alone. It seemed like hours before her eyes closed and she drifted off into an uneasy sleep. In seconds she had plunged back into the dream.

‘Hurry, children!’ Eigon, the eldest daughter of King Caradoc, could hear the panic in her mother’s voice. It terrified her. Her mother was never frightened; Cerys was a courageous, calm, beautiful woman, idolised by her husband and her three children, respected by her husband’s people, loved by her servants.

The messengers, trembling with fear and exhaustion, had scrambled up the steep side of the hill fort from the broad river valley below bringing with them the news they already dreaded. There had been a terrible defeat. The screams of battle, the shriek of horses, the gleam of fires had reached them from the distance as they had watched from the palisades and waited and prayed. Up to now she had been strong; always sure of her husband, Caradoc’s, victory. He was a warrior. He was the idol of his people.

His rise from being the younger son of the king of the Catuvellauni to that of leader of all the remaining opposition to the Roman invaders had been swift and spectacular. His prowess as a general and the death of his elder brothers had catapulted him to kingship first of his own people, then as the head of the confederation of the tribes of the west who were still holding out against the Roman yoke. Up to this moment he had seemed invincible. He was going to lead them to victory and throw the Romans out of the land. Always he had succeeded. He was the greatest king the British tribes had ever seen.

White with shock, Cerys listened to the messenger’s stammered report. The battlefield, in the gentle curve of the arm of the great River Sabrina had seen bloodshed that night on a scale never before experienced by the men under Caradoc’s command. The Romans had won the day, the king, her husband, had fled into the night and a cohort of Roman veterans had left the field of death and the stripping of the dead and turned towards the hill fort where Caradoc’s wife and children were awaiting his return.

Ordering everyone left in the fort to flee, Cerys seized Eigon’s hand and slipped between the great oak gates, followed by two of her women, Alys, the children’s nurse and Blodeyn, one of her ladies. Between them they half carried, half dragged Eigon’s younger sister, Gwladys and their baby brother, Togo. Wrapped in cloaks, with nothing but what they stood up in, the women ran down the hillside, panting, slipping and sliding in the darkness.

‘This way!’ Cerys veered sideways towards the deeper safety of the trees which covered the western flank of the hill and filled the valley at its foot. ‘They won’t find us here.’ She breathed a prayer to the goddess of these woods that it might be true.

A summer storm had blown up out of nowhere. The wind was rising. The sound was like the thunder of waves crashing on the beach as the three women and three children ran into the shifting roaring shelter of the thrashing leaves. Almost at once they had to stop, snared by brambles.

‘Which way?’ Alys was trying to see through the darkness. She glanced over her shoulder. The enemy was already at the gates of the fort. The sudden flare of flames from the burning stockade was out of sight now. Over the moaning of the trees they could no longer hear the shouts of the soldiers.

‘Mam!’ Eigon clung to her mother’s cloak.

Cerys looked down. Stooping, she dropped a kiss on her daughter’s dark head. ‘Be brave, sweetheart!’

‘Is Papa dead?’

The child felt her mother’s hand tighten for a moment on her arm as Cerys fought back her tears. ‘No, I’m sure he is alive. He has to be.’

‘But he wouldn’t run away. He wouldn’t leave us alone! So, where is he?’ Eigon clung more tightly.

‘I don’t know. He’s hiding, like us. Waiting for the Romans to go away.’ Once again Cerys glanced over her shoulder. ‘Come on. We need to go deeper into the forest.’

‘Mam?’ Togo was whimpering, near to tears. At five years old he was the youngest, named for Caradoc’s elder brother, killed two years before by the invaders. Gwladys was seven, Eigon nearly ten. Eigon and Togo had the dark hair, pale colouring and clear grey eyes of their Silurian mother; Gwladys was fair with her father’s piercing blue eyes.

‘It’s all right. Come on, children. We’ll find somewhere to hide. We’ll be fine.’ Cerys could no longer keep the fear out of her voice. Blindly she plunged on and the others followed as best they could.

They were climbing again now, up through the woodland which cloaked the steep hillside as behind them the orange glow flared gradually brighter into the sky, reflecting off the clouds. The Romans had reached the fort itself now and fired every building within the palisade. ‘Let us pray that everyone else escaped,’ murmured Cerys. ‘Those soldiers will give no quarter.’

They moved on, more slowly now, pushing their way through dense tangled undergrowth. The two younger children were crying with fear and exhaustion and Eigon was still clinging to her mother when Cerys fell with a cry of pain as her foot slipped over the edge of a foxhole in a muddy bank and her ankle turned sharply over.

‘Mam?’ Eigon tried to drag her mother to her feet in desperation. They were all glancing behind them.

‘Wait!’ Blodeyn helped the fallen woman to sit up. ‘I’ll find you a stick to lean on.’

‘I’ll manage somehow!’ Cerys was struggling to stand. ‘We can’t stay here.’ She spoke through clenched teeth. ‘We have to find somewhere to hide. But not yet. We can’t stop yet!’

They found shelter at last in a stone-built hut on the far edge of the woodland. The roof had partially collapsed and the warm darkness smelled of dry bracken and hay and sheep dung, but it was out of the roar of the wind. Exhausted, the women and children collapsed onto the ground, desperately trying to regain their breath. It was pitch dark in the hut but for the time being they felt safe.

Pushing the three children down into the comparative warmth of the hay, Alys crawled towards Cerys, feeling her way in the darkness. ‘Let me have your foot. I’ll see if it’s broken.’

Eigon heard her mother’s gasp of pain minutes later as the woman’s questing fingers probed the swollen flesh above her shoe. ‘It’s just a sprain. I’ll tear a strip from my tunic and bind it for you.’ The ripping sound as Alys wrenched at the linen hem stopped Cerys’s protest in its tracks. ‘When it’s morning, I’ll find some shepherd’s purse and dog’s mercury to make a poultice to bind round it to bring down the swelling,’ Alys went on. Her voice was strong. It comforted them all.

They fell asleep at last as rain began to seep into what remained of the rotten roof thatch, too exhausted to feel cold or hunger, the two girls huddling under their mother’s cloak, the little boy curled up in Alys’s arms.

It was Eigon who heard the horses. Her eyes flew open. She could see the torchlight, the reflection of the flames flickering on the wet wall near her. ‘Mam!’ she screamed. ‘We must run!’

Four riders had stopped in full view, some twenty paces from the hut. Cerys stared at them, appalled, then turned towards the huddled children. ‘Go! Run! Time to play hide and seek, children. Into the trees now. Don’t come out till I call you!’ She was bundling the three sleepy children towards the hole in the tumbled down back wall before Alys and Blodeyn had begun to sit up.

Two of the men were dismounting, one holding his torch high above his head so smoke and flame streamed past his face, illuminating the detail of his helmet, the cheek pieces framing the mud-stained, tanned face, the bedraggled crest of red fur. The light had not yet reached into the depths of the hut. When it did all he could see was the three frightened women as they rose to their feet, brushing straw from their clothes. The children had gone.

Eigon ran deep into the darkness, clutching her brother and sister by the hand. Her brother let out a wail of fear. She dragged his arm. ‘Be quiet! Here, Glads, hold my hand. We have to hide!’ They slid down a slope and lay panting in the muddy shelter of a sheep scrape beneath a clump of hazels. Eigon closed her eyes and waited. The rain had started again. In the distance she heard a rumble of thunder. Miserably she drew her brother and sister into her arms. ‘We’re playing hide and seek,’ she repeated more to herself than to them, ‘must wait till we’re called. We’re playing hide and seek. Must keep quiet.’

They waited for a long time. The rain was heavier now. All three children were shaking with cold. At last she could bear it no longer. She sat up. ‘Wait here,’ she told them. ‘Don’t dare to move till Mam says it’s safe to come out, do you hear me! I’m going to see what is happening.’

It was hard to retrace her steps in the dark but after several false starts and detours she recognised the darker shape of the hut against the dark hillside beyond the forest’s edge; from where she stood, hiding behind a tree, she couldn’t see any horses. Soaked to the skin and shivering violently she crept onto the track and made her way closer to the hut.

‘Mam?’

There was no reply.

‘Mam, where are you? Are we still playing the game?’ She tiptoed closer and peered in. The hut was empty. ‘Mam?’ She turned round, staring out into the darkness. ‘Mam?’ Her voice was a trembling whisper.

Somewhere close by a horse whinnied in answer and she froze. The sound came from a stand of trees behind the tumbled stone wall. She crept towards it and then she saw them. The men had thrust one of the torches into a crack in the stone. The hissing flickering light showed her mother, lying on the ground, her gown pushed up above her hips as one of the soldiers lay across her. He was holding her wrists above her head, forcing himself again and again into her unconscious body. Her face was cut, one eye swollen. Nearby Alys was kicking and screaming as two of the soldiers took turns to hold her down. Of Blodeyn, there was no sign.

‘Mam?’ Eigon’s whisper was soundless with horror. ‘Mam, are we still playing hide and seek?’ She had not seen the man behind her.

‘Well, well, what have we here? Another little Brit!’ Two hands had seized her and she was swung off her feet into the circle of the torchlight and tossed onto the ground beside her mother.

The child’s desperate endless scream woke Jess. She lay staring up at the ceiling, the sound of Eigon’s voice reverberating round and round the room. Outside it was barely light. She could hear the raw joy of the dawn chorus echoing from the woods beyond the gate below her bedroom window. She was shaking with fear and her bed sheets were soaked in sweat as she sat up.

She had been dreaming about a rape. Not hers. Someone else’s. A horrible vicious murderous rape. The rape of a child. With a sob she staggered to her feet and ran to the bathroom where she was violently sick. The outrage of what she had witnessed was everywhere. She couldn’t get it out of her head. The men’s faces. The smell of lust. The cruel jeering. The casual way one of them drew a dagger and pulled it across Alys’s neck as desperately she tried to throw herself between him and the child, leaving her slumped on the ground like a broken doll, her head half-severed from her body. And the child, the girl whose screams filled Jess’s ears. One of them had held her down, another of them hitting her mother so hard as she tried to crawl to help her daughter that the woman fell back in a huddle at the base of the wall and stopped moving. It was the third man who had viciously raped the child.

Again and again Jess splashed her face with cold water, shuddering. It was the most graphic dream she had ever had. She had been there. She had watched, unable to help, paralysed by fear, as the men tossed the child’s body aside like a rag doll, turned away to find their horses and rode off.

‘Sweetheart? Are you all right?’

Had she really spoken out loud in the dream? She wasn’t sure. Had she reached out to cradle the child in her arms? She wasn’t sure of that either.

With a groan she turned on the shower and stood under the cleansing water feeling it beating down on the top of her head until she was numb all over. Only then did she turn it off and reach for her bathrobe.

She was halfway down the stairs when the image flashed through her consciousness. A man’s arm across her body, holding her down. She was in the bedroom of her flat; she couldn’t see anything but the pillow half across her face and she could hear music. One of her own CDs. Soft. Reassuring, and then an arm, across her breasts pushing her back onto the bed.

That was all. The memory had gone as soon as it had begun to form. She stood still, clinging to the handrail. That wasn’t part of the dream about the child. That was her flat, her bed. The doctor had said her memory might start to return; she had said there might be flashbacks, nightmares, as the longterm effects of whatever drug he had used on her began to wear off.

Unsteadily Jess made her way down to the kitchen. On automatic pilot now, she plugged in the kettle and assembled mug and coffee pot. Her hand was shaking as she measured the coffee into the pot. Outside the window the yard was already bathed in sunshine. The geraniums in the tub next to the studio door were almost luminous as the light caught their petals. The rough stones of the wall threw a pattern of irregular shadows where the original byre met the more modern infill. She frowned. She could recognise the shape of the older stones. Sunlight. Torchlight. The kind of torch that trailed flames and tarry smoke. This was the scene of her dream. Slamming down the mug, she opened the door and walked out into the yard. The air was soft and fragrant, mountain air with the scents of grass and wild thyme and gorse and sheep. Walking across the still-damp flags to the wall in her bare feet she ran her hand over the sun-warmed stones. With the sun at this angle it was easy to see where the new wall had taken over the old, transforming the ruined byre into a modern studio workshop. Unlocking the door she walked in and stared round. The huge room was very silent.

‘Hello?’ Jess approached the work table. There was no one there, of course. A bumble bee flew in through the open door, did a couple of quick circuits and flew out again. ‘Hello? Are you here?’ She wasn’t sure who she was expecting to answer. The little girl of her dream, perhaps, because this building had been at some time in the past the scene of the rape she had witnessed in her sleep. Of that she was certain.

The phone rang as she walked back in through the front door.

‘Jess, you OK?’ It was Steph. ‘I got no answer from your flat so I guessed you were already at Ty Bran. Oh, Jess! I can’t tell you how wonderful it is here! I am having such a fantastic time!’

Jess turned to look out of the window at the sun-drenched yard. ‘Me too.’ She gave a wry grimace. ‘So, do I gather you’ve got some gorgeous man out there you haven’t mentioned?’

There was a snort from the other end of the line. ‘I’ve told you before, Jess, I’ve given up on men. I love them at arm’s length, but that’s all from now on. They make for far too many complications if you let them get too close.’ There was a slight pause. ‘Are you sure you’re OK? You’re not lonely? If you need anything, don’t forget you can go and ask Megan Price. She would love to see you and she’ll look after you.’

‘Steph –’

Jess always found it hard to get a word in edgeways with her sister. It was probably trying for so many years that had made her such a good teacher. Quiet persistence was the name of the game. ‘Steph, listen, I want to ask you something. Is this place haunted?’

There was a moment’s silence the other end of the line. At last she had Steph’s attention. ‘Why?’ Steph’s cautious response in Rome was almost drowned by a volley of hooting in the street outside the apartment window behind her. Jess heard it and smiled wistfully. ‘I just wondered.’

‘I –’ Steph hesitated. ‘To be honest I have suspected there might be something odd there once or twice. Just noises. The feeling sometimes that I was being watched. I haven’t seen anything.’ There was a pause. ‘You’re not scared up there on your own are you?’ She sounded worried.

Jess grimaced. ‘No, of course not. As you say, noises. It’s probably because I’m not used to rural silence after London, that’s all.’

There was a chuckle the other end of the phone. ‘My dear, if you think London is noisy, try Rome! Listen.’

Jess guessed the telephone was being held out of the open window the other end. A muffled unspecified roar punctuated by the staccato wail of a car alarm confirmed her guess.

‘Listen, Jess. Kim’s come back with our panini and the giornali. I’ve got to go.’ Steph was on the end of the line again. ‘I’ll call you again in a few days, OK?’

‘Wait, Steph!’

But it was too late. Steph had hung up. ‘Let me have your number, in case I need to get in touch …’ Jess finished the sentence softly to herself as she put down the phone. All her life Steph had been doing this to her. Talking so hard and so fast Jess had either forgotten what she was going to say or she had given up trying. She gave a wry grin. Well, at least they communicated which was more than many sisters did. And there was always Steph’s mobile.

4

The Prices were her sister’s nearest neighbours. She remembered their warmth and friendliness from her previous visits and even the thought of going to see them cheered her up enormously. She glanced round the kitchen. The house felt welcoming and warm. There was no trace of anything spooky here now.

The spookiness, she reasoned to herself firmly, was tied up with the dream and the dream was tied up to what had happened to her. Rape was not something she was going to shrug off and forget just like that. The experience had wounded her in a way she would probably never completely recover from. But she was here in the peace and quiet of this beautiful countryside to do just that, she was a strong woman. She would get over it. Dan’s words. Get over it.

The walk down the lane and up across the fields to Cwm-nant, the Prices’ farm in the next valley, was a long one but she enjoyed it. She had done it several times before with Steph. Meg and Ken Price ran a sheep farm but had still found time to help Steph when she had first moved in, to welcome her whenever she looked in and to treat her as family. Jess was pretty sure of a pot of tea and some gossip in the farmhouse kitchen. Unused to country walking, she was exhausted by the time she climbed over the last fence and dropped down into their lane, noting the fields were empty. The sheep must be up on the hills for the summer. She walked into the yard and greeted the two collies who ran up to her.

The back door of the farmhouse was opened by a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard and light blue eyes. He must have been in his early forties. Dressed in jeans and an open-necked shirt he filled the doorway with his bulk as he clicked his fingers at the dogs milling round her heels. They slunk away across the yard towards the kennel.

Jess’s heart sank at the sight of the stranger. ‘Are Meg and Ken in?’ It hadn’t occurred to her to ring first. Steph never did.

He shook his head. ‘They’re on holiday.’ His voice was deep and mellow but not particularly friendly. Her disappointment must however have been obvious for he raised an eyebrow. ‘As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m their son, Rhodri. Can I help?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really. I just thought I’d call in to say hello.’ She gave him a tentative smile.

He glanced over her shoulder towards the gate. ‘Just passing, were you?’

The lack of a car and the fact that the lane dead-ended at the farm made that unlikely. She stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Jess Kendal.’ He ignored the hand and she dropped it, suddenly embarrassed. She hadn’t even realised the Prices had a son. She didn’t think Meg or Steph had ever mentioned him. ‘My sister is a neighbour,’ she ploughed on. ‘Across the fields. Ty Bran?’ She waited for a sign of recognition as she waved an arm vaguely in the direction of the ridge above the field beyond the lane. It looked deceptively close in the warm sunshine. ‘I’m staying there for a bit while Steph is away. I just thought I would come over to say hello to Meg, that’s all. I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

‘You haven’t. Not so far.’ He frowned.

She smiled uncomfortably. This was not the man in whom to confide her fear of ghosts or her fear of anything for that matter. Nor, clearly, was he going to offer her the hoped for cup of tea. Or even a civil smile. ‘I’ll be on my way.’ She hesitated, not quite sure how to terminate the conversation. She needn’t have worried. He was already shutting the door. ‘Rude bastard!’ She addressed the dogs with feeling as they reappeared, tails wagging as soon as the door was safely closed. ‘I hope he’s feeding you properly.’

The walk back seemed endless. Far more of it was uphill on the return journey and it was strenuous. She was breathless and thirsty by the time she reached Ty Bran and was diving into the fridge for a glass of cold juice when she noticed a large black 4 x 4 turning in at the gate. It drew up beside her Ka, the door opened and Rhodri Price climbed out. She saw him stand for a minute, glancing round the yard.

‘Shit!’ He was not someone she had been expecting to see again so soon.

He approached the open door of the house with what might have been a sheepish grin as he caught sight of her watching. ‘I think I may owe you an apology.’

She stood her ground in the doorway, glass of orange still in her hand. ‘Why?’

‘I was rude.’

‘Were you? I thought that must be your normal manner.’ She could feel herself bristling.

He shrugged. ‘Touché! It probably is, if I’m honest. I’m not very keen on fans tracking me down when I’m off duty, and I assumed you were one of them. My mother says it was unforgivable of me. She rang just after you left and she put me right. Forgive me.’ He was wearing a contrite expression completely at odds with his squared shoulders and confident, upright bearing.

‘I don’t see why you should be rude to your fans, if they have taken the trouble to track you down in the middle of nowhere,’ she retorted. ‘Who are these fans? Are you a popstar or something?’

It was strangely satisfying to see him stare at her, genuinely shocked. ‘You don’t know who I am?’

‘No.’ She met his gaze and held it. ‘Should I?’ She had taken a huge dislike to this man with his smug arrogance and she was, she realised with sudden shock, feeling quite intimidated by him. Both emotions were unusual for her. Through most of her life she had found herself inclined to give people the benefit of the doubt; liking them until they gave her a good reason not to. But then he had done just that, hadn’t he! He had made her walk all the way back across the fields without her cup of tea! She took a deep breath and stood a little straighter. She was not going to make it easy for him.

‘It was nice of you to come over but there was no need, I assure you. I shouldn’t have intruded on your privacy.’ Stepping back into the stone-flagged passage, she gently pushed the door closed in his face. She listened intently, her ear to the solid oak. She could hear nothing. He didn’t move for several seconds, then he turned on his heel and walked back to his car. In a moment he had backed out of the gate and disappeared down the lane.

‘Oh God! I shouldn’t have done that!’ She bit her lip. As she walked into the kitchen she found she was giggling out loud. ‘Pompous prick! Who the hell does he think he is? How can such nice people as the Prices have such an awful son!’

The dining room was the perfect place to put all her sketchbooks and paints and set up her easel. The line of north-facing windows looked out across the valley towards the distant hillsides, on the far side of the house from the courtyard and Steph’s studio – nothing would persuade her to settle down in there. As she laid out her brushes and began to paint, the sun was setting in a haze of crimson cloud streaked with gold. Her mobile rang from her handbag as she watched, brush in hand. Reaching for it automatically she glanced down at the number. Will. She cut off the call. There were four other missed calls, she saw. All from Will. With a grimace she threw the phone back into her bag and went back to the window. She stood there for several minutes watching as the shadows lengthened across the valley filling the deep fissures in the hillside with velvet blackness. It was almost a shock to turn her back on the view at last to find the room had grown dark behind her, too dark to paint. Thoughtfully she went back into the kitchen, turning on all the lights on the way. The courtyard was lost in darkness now as well. And beyond it the woods. She needed to distract herself from those woods; she had no desire to think about her nightmare. None at all. Make soup. Cooking was something she enjoyed and while she was doing it she would listen to some music. She had spotted a pile of CDs on the dresser next to Steph’s sound system. She grinned fondly. Sound system was altogether too grand a name for this old CD player and speakers which appeared to be liberally smeared with flour and clay and paint and other nameless substances. She glanced at the CDs and her mouth fell open in astonishment. The first two sported pictures of Rhodri Price. She stood, one in each hand, staring at the handsome arrogant face, the wild hair, the dramatic stance. In one he wore evening dress, in the other an open-necked shirt. In the first he had obviously been photographed in a concert hall, in the other, the more informal, he was standing on the wild hillside. ‘Oh my God! He’s the opera singer.’ She bit her lip. Of course she had heard of him. Who hadn’t? Alone as she was, she closed her eyes in embarrassment. It was no excuse that this was not her kind of music. She was not particularly keen on opera but she loved orchestral music and instruments like the harpsichord and this man sang all kinds of music. He gave recitals. He sang at football matches, he was often on TV. He was a celebrity!

Still smiling ruefully to herself, she slid the disk into the machine and his voice filled the room, singing in Welsh, a wild wonderful folk song backed by the rippling cadences of a harp. It was spellbinding. She stood and listened for several minutes before at last turning back to her cooking. She found onions and potatoes in the boxes she had brought with her and listened as she began to dice them and threw them into a heavy iron pan. His voice soared over the sizzling of the oil and she found herself standing still again, mesmerised, a knife in one hand, onion in the other as song succeeded song, some sad, some exultant, some wistful, all lyrical. She brushed her eyes with the back of her wrist. Onions always made her cry.

Standing at her bedroom window much later she could see the moon sailing clear of the wood. It was incredibly beautiful out there; something else to try and capture on paper. She frowned. There was a figure on the track, standing motionless in a silvery patch of moonlight. She bit her lip. Was it the child? No, the child was part of her dream. Holding her breath she pushed the window open and leaned out. The figure didn’t move. It was a girl, she could see that clearly. A girl, standing with her back to the house, gazing into the trees, a girl with dark hair this time, not blonde. Eigon. Jess held her breath. The moonlight on the path cast silver-edged shadows before it; the long shadows of the trees. The figure threw no shadow. A band of cloud was racing down the valley now; she glanced up at the moon. In a second it would be obscured. She knew before it happened that when the path was again floodlit by the clear cold light the girl would have gone.

Almost as soon as her head touched the pillow Jess began to dream again. It was as though Eigon was waiting for her, a small lonely figure, her hair ebony in the moonlight, revealed in all its long tangles as the sun rose over the stone walls of the old byre where she was lying half-naked amongst the nettles.

When Eigon awoke the sky was blue and the birds were singing and she was looking up into the eyes of yet another Roman.

Only one of the men had raped the child. The others had sated their lust on the women. When finally they had ridden away just before dawn both Eigon and her mother were unconscious; Alys and Blodeyn were dead. There was no sign of Togo or Gwladys.

‘What’s happened here?’ The Roman dismounted from his horse and bent to examine the women. Eigon saw him shake his head as he glanced at Alys. No one could have survived that vicious knife slash to the throat. It had almost severed the woman’s head from her body. With a cursory glance at the naked twisted body which was Blodeyn, he laid a hand, gently, on Cerys’s forehead. She groaned. He glanced over his shoulder to the men behind him. ‘I think we’ve found the missing family. Look, this woman is no peasant. See her hands? She is either Caratacus’s wife, or one of his family.’ He used the Roman version of Eigon’s father’s name. He took Cerys’s hand in his own and held it for a few seconds, examining her nails. Her eyes flickered open for a moment, then closed again. He could see the marks where her arm rings had been wrenched from her; her necklet too had gone, leaving a telltale bruise on the side of her throat. The woman had worn jewellery; what was left of her gown had been fine linen, beautifully stitched and embroidered. He turned to Eigon. His eyes moved slowly over the child’s naked, pale body, noting the blood, the bruises, the obscenely splayed legs and his mouth tightened. ‘Bring something to cover them,’ he commanded curtly. ‘Look for the other children. There were three, I understand; bury these two women with honour, then bring these two back to the camp. Gently!’ He shouted the last word up at his second in command who nodded gravely, at last sliding down from his own horse.

‘And find out who committed this outrage,’ the officer went on, his voice deceptively quiet. ‘Whoever they were, they will pay with their lives.’

When Eigon woke she was lying on a low bed in a tent. Her mother was gently sponging her body with warm water. Behind her a lamp burned, throwing shadows round the walls. She could smell lavender.

‘Mam?’ Her eyes filled with tears.

‘Quietly, sweetheart. Everything is going to be all right.’ Cerys managed an exhausted smile. She had been given hot water and clothes and food, though she had eaten little, watching over her daughter as the child lay, a small alabaster figure on the bed, moaning now and then as slowly the shroud of dreams lifted and consciousness began to return.

A figure appeared at the door of the tent behind her. It was the officer who had brought her back. His name she now knew was Justinus. ‘Queen Cerys?’

There had been no point in denying who she was. Dozens of men and women from the fort had been captured together with hundreds of her husband’s warriors. Some of them would be bound to confirm her name in exchange for a promise to save their lives. The others were dead. Thousands, he had told her. Putting down the sponge she carefully pulled the sheet up round her daughter’s small body as he stood looking down at her. ‘How is she?’

Cerys stood up wearily. The child’s eyes had closed again. ‘The gods have blessed her with sleep for the time being.’

‘And she hasn’t spoken at all?’

Cerys shook her head.

‘We need to find your other children, lady. For their own safety. They are alone out there on the hills.’ Justinus glanced towards the entrance to the tent and shook his head slightly. ‘Better my men find them than …’ He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Both of them looked down at Eigon’s sleeping face. There was a short silence. ‘I have spoken to our commander, Publius Ostorius Scapula,’ he said quietly. ‘There is as yet no sign of your husband.’

She closed her eyes with a murmured prayer of gratitude to the gods. If he had escaped the battlefield he would return to rescue her.

‘He might have been slain, lady,’ he said gently. He had read her thoughts immediately. ‘There are still bodies to be recovered from the battlefield.’

‘I think his capture or his killing would have been shouted from the highest summit of the hills,’ she said sharply. She straightened her shoulders painfully. ‘My husband is a king and the saviour of his people; the greatest warrior in Britain. If he had fallen, we would know it.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You are probably right to say that.’ He sighed. ‘Scapula wishes to speak with you, lady. I told him you are injured.’ He glanced at the bruises on her face and at her throat and on her arms, and the strapping on her ankle, showing beneath the mantle and cloak in which she was huddled. ‘He has ordered me to bring you to him when you are well enough.’

‘Thank you for giving me that respite at least.’ She bowed her head. So far she had been treated with courtesy, even consideration, but that she was a prisoner was beyond doubt. Two men stood outside the entrance to the tent, their spears crossed over the doorway. They had snapped to attention as the praefectus had entered, but crossed them again behind him.

‘If there is anything you need for yourself or the child, tell one of the guards,’ he went on. Then he bowed. He left her sitting at Eigon’s bedside, her hand over the child’s pale cold fist as it lay on the bedcover.

When Eigon woke again at last the lamp had burned low; the oil was sputtering in the bowl and the tent was almost dark. She stared round. ‘Mam?’

‘Here, sweetheart.’

‘Where is Alys?’

Cerys bit her lip. ‘She isn’t here, Eigon. I’m sorry.’

‘And Togo and Glads?’ The child’s voice suddenly slid higher with anxiety.

Cerys shook her head. ‘I don’t know where they are.’ She sighed. Was the officer right? They would be better off with her? Better that than to risk being raped and murdered on the cold hillside, surely; but if they were with her they risked, what? What would the Romans do to her and her children? Imprisonment? Ransom? Death? She shook her head violently. Caradoc would rescue her. He would find a way of saving her. Her duty was to keep the children with her, safely.

‘Where were they, Eigon? You came to find us, but the children weren’t with you.’

Her daughter shook her head. ‘I told them to hide. I told them we were playing hide and seek like you said. I told them not to come out till I went back for them.’ The child’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Why did those men hurt me, Mam?’

‘They were soldiers, Eigon. Ignorant, vicious men. You must try and forget what happened. The gods will punish them for what they did.’ Cerys closed her eyes for a few seconds, unable to look at her daughter’s anguished little face. When she opened them she took a deep breath. ‘Eigon. We have to find Togo and Gwladys. Do you remember where you left them?’

The child shook her head again. ‘It was dark. The wind was roaring in the trees. I couldn’t see anything. We hid in a ditch where the wind couldn’t get to us. It was warmer there.’ Tears began to run down her cheeks. ‘Are they all right?’

‘I don’t know.’ Cerys felt the words catch in her throat.

‘It wasn’t hide and seek, was it?’

‘No, sweetheart. It wasn’t …’

Hide and seek!

The words echoed through the bedroom as Jess sat up abruptly, suddenly wide awake. The moon had moved on and the room was dark. She stared round, frightened. ‘She’s telling me her story. Eigon wants me to know what happened. She knows I understand because it happened to me.’ Climbing out of bed Jess stood for a moment in the darkness trying to steady her breathing. Padding barefoot to the window she looked out. The night was dark now. She couldn’t see anything or anyone outside.

The luminous dial on her bedside clock told her it was just after three. Switching on the light she stared down at her pillows for several seconds before turning her back on them and heading for the stairs.

In the kitchen she switched on the kettle, then she went to the door and unlocked it. Pulling it open almost defiantly she stood looking out into the courtyard. The night was balmy; a gentle breeze touched her face. It was very quiet. Even the trees were motionless. Still barefoot she stepped outside and glanced up. The sky was bright with a myriad stars. She caught her breath. One could never see the night sky in London properly. This was spectacular and she was not going to lock herself inside, frightened by a dream. She had vowed not to be a victim. She was not going to be terrorised by a ghost any more than she was going to be terrorised by the man who had raped her. To walk to the gate was the first proof that she was succeeding. The flags were warm under her feet as she walked away from the open door.

‘Eigon?’ She whispered the name out loud. ‘Eigon? Glads? Are you there?’ Her voice was louder this time. With a shriek of alarm a blackbird flew out of the bush by the gate and disappeared into the darkness. Her heart hammering, she stopped. It was only a bird. Nothing to be afraid of. In fact, if there had been anyone there lurking in the shadows the bird would have long gone. She forced herself to walk on. Two more steps. Then one. She put out her hands to the gate and grasped the top rail. ‘Eigon?’

She could just make out the line of the track outside the gate. In one direction it led towards the wood, in the other back down between high banks which eventually followed the contour of the hillside to the road in the valley bottom. Faraway in the distance she could make out two or three lights which showed a village tucked away in a fold of the hills. Nearer to her, to the east, the silhouette of the hillside blocked out the stars. She studied it. How strange that she had not realised it at once. That was the site of the fort in her dream. The fort which she had seen in flames as the women and children fled the vengeful Roman force. She could see the distinctive tiered shape of its summit now, outlined against the blazing heavens.

‘Eigon?’ she called out one last time. There was no reply and turning her back on the trees she retraced her steps towards the house. Inside she closed the door and bolted it. Only then did she acknowledge just how frightened she had been.

5

‘Hi Steph, how are you?’

Steph answered her mobile as she walked out of the palazzo next morning on her way to buy some food for Kim’s dinner party that evening. Kim was already entrenched in the kitchen, and last-minute guests had meant last-minute supplies.

‘Who is that?’ Pausing, Steph turned, pulling her dark glasses down over her eyes. The heat was like a furnace, reflecting off the pavements of the piazza, the traffic roaring noisily round the corner past her. Behind her the palazzo was a classic elegant Renaissance building, the faded terracotta façade peeling now and in places cracked and crumbling, the formal, perfectly symmetrical windows topped by swags and curls of exquisite stone carving. At the centre the huge old door was studded and barred in iron, a small pass door almost invisible in the ancient wood. Kim’s husband, Stefano, had been born and brought up in the huge high-ceilinged shabby apartment in this ancient palazzo, an apartment bought by his father specifically so his family could be a part of this Bohemian artistic quarter of the city.

Turning to face it she stared up at the walls as the voice spoke in her ear. ‘It’s Will, Steph. Please, don’t hang up. I need to talk to you.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Why?’ She began walking again, her hand tightening on the phone as she turned into a narrow alleyway. It was quieter here and she could hear him more easily.

‘I’ve been trying to contact Jess. You know she’s left school? She resigned without giving anyone a reason. She’s not answering her mobile and I’m pretty sure she’s not at the flat any more. I’m worried about her.’

‘What makes you think I would know where she was?’ Steph turned into the Via dei Capellari. She was heading towards the market in the Campo de’ Fiori.

‘That’s a stupid question. Of course you’d know. You two always tell each other everything. Is she there with you?’

‘No, she isn’t. I’m in Rome, Will. I don’t know where she is.’ She stopped again, staring sightlessly into the window of a small picture framer. It was cooler in the shade of this long narrow street. Near her two men had brought their chairs outside, slotting them between two huge terracotta pots of camellias. They were sipping iced beer, drops of condensation running down between their fingers and dripping onto their T-shirts. ‘Dan said he thought she might have come to stay with you.’ Will sighed. ‘Oh well. Do you at least know why she resigned?’

‘No.’ Steph began to walk on slowly. She had always liked Will, been sad when he and Jess split up, but if Jess was not telling anyone where she was, there had to be a reason. ‘Will, there’s no point in asking me. If Jess wants you to know where she is, she would tell you. I haven’t seen her for ages.’ That at least was true. ‘I’m here for the summer, so I don’t expect to either.’

There was a long silence. ‘Do you think she’s gone to stay with your mother in France?’ He sounded crestfallen.

Steph shrugged. She wasn’t sure if Jess had told Aurelia where she was; and she wasn’t sure her mother would keep it a secret if she had. Aurelia too had been one of Will’s greatest fans. ‘Will, are you there? I don’t think she’s in France,’ she said firmly. ‘Mummy would have said. I spoke to her only a day or so ago and she was just leaving for a trip to India.’ She crossed her fingers. Another lie, but only a small one. Aurelia had in fact just returned. As she tucked her mobile back into her bag she frowned. Why was Jess being so secretive? Something was going on. She would ring her tonight and find out exactly what it was

Dan phoned Ty Bran as Jess was eating a bowl of cereal. ‘I’m in Hay. I wondered if you would like to drive over and join me for lunch.’

She rescued the slice of toast that had leaped from the toaster, juggling it with her bowl of muesli. The door was wide open and the blackbird had forgiven her enough for her nocturnal intrusion on its sleeping place to sit on the top of the studio roof, singing gloriously into the sunshine. Her depression had gone; the peace of this place was working its magic at last. After the noise and dirt of London it was balm to her soul.

‘You’re in Hay?’ She frowned. ‘What are you doing there?’

‘Shopping for books. What else?’

‘But you never told me you were coming over this side of the country.’

‘Didn’t I?’ He laughed.

‘No, you didn’t. Are Natalie and the kids with you?’

‘Not this time. Bookshops bore them, sadly. I’m on my way to join them in Shropshire in a couple of days. They’ve gone up to stay with Nat’s parents. Oh come on, Jess. It wouldn’t take you much more than an hour to get here.’

Jess glanced over her shoulder at the open door. She was, she realised, already surprisingly reluctant to leave this peaceful place in spite of its uneasy echoes. On the other hand she needed to do some shopping and perhaps a change of scene would do no harm.

They met in the bar at The Kilvert at twelve thirty. There were no outside tables left by the time she got there so they settled for a table inside by the window.

‘So, are you feeling better about things now?’ He put a glass of wine down in front of her, sat down across the table and studied her face for a moment. ‘You look tired.’

She grimaced. ‘I’ve been having some rather spectacular nightmares.’ It was a relief to have someone to confide in but she hadn’t intended to come out with it quite so bluntly or so soon.

‘What about?’ He looked away and took a gulp from his pint.

‘A little girl.’ She paused, wondering if she should go into any detail. ‘Two little girls. Steph’s house seems to be haunted by them.’ She glanced up to gauge his reaction.

‘Haunted? Really?’ He was looking down into his glass. He seemed amused. He pushed the bar menu across the table towards her, still without meeting her gaze. ‘Would you like to choose something? So, what form does this haunting take?’

She shrugged. ‘As I said, nightmares and I think I may have seen them.’

‘Wow.’ He was still looking at the menu. ‘Has Steph seen them too?’

‘She says she suspected there was a ghost.’

‘And so what happens in your nightmare?’ His brown eyes were twinkling as he finally looked up at her.

‘One of them is raped.’

She saw the shock on his face as he put down the menu and turned to stare out of the doorway where the sunlight was beating down on the umbrellas over the crowded tables around the front door. ‘Raped?’ he echoed.

She nodded. ‘By Roman soldiers.’

‘That must be a scary dream.’ He still wasn’t looking at her.

‘It was.’ Suddenly she was regretting telling him.

There was a long silence. They both went back to perusing the menu. Abruptly Dan stood up. ‘I’d better order. Have you decided yet?’

When he returned to the table he had brought her another glass of wine. ‘Has Will been in touch?’

‘He’s phoned my mobile a few times.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing.’

There was a pause. When she didn’t elaborate he went on. ‘And Ashley? Has he phoned you too?’

She sighed. ‘Ash broke into my flat just before I left. He brought me some flowers to say thanks for teaching him.’

‘Broke in?’ Dan echoed. ‘What do you mean, broke in?’

‘I found the flowers on my coffee table. I suppose I could have left the door open but I don’t think so.’

‘You weren’t there?’

‘No.’

‘And he’d gone when you came back?’

She nodded. ‘I was only gone about ten minutes, Dan. He must have been watching for me. It scared me.’

‘But you’re safe now.’

She nodded. ‘Do you know what he is going to do this summer while he’s waiting for his results?’

He shook his head. ‘He’s convinced they will be good. He’s a cocky lad, our Ash. He thinks the drama schools will be queuing up for him.’

‘And he doesn’t even need A levels to apply for those.’

‘No.’

They both glanced up as their food arrived. ‘It would be a shame to spoil his chances. It would destroy them if he ended up with a prison record,’ Dan said quietly as he picked up his knife and fork. He looked up at her at last. ‘Don’t think about him, Jess. Or Will, for that matter. Forget about them. Enjoy your summer.’ He took a mouthful of food. ‘So, what are you planning to get up to in that old farmhouse of Steph’s?’

‘I’m painting.’ Jess was looking down at her plate.

‘On your own?’

She nodded.

‘And you’re happy with that?’

‘I’m fine with that, Dan. I like being on my own.’

‘With a ghost?’

She gave an uncomfortable smile. ‘They are not frightening ghosts. Just little girls.’

There was a pause as he picked up a bread roll and tore it into pieces. ‘I’ve had an idea, Jess. Feel free to say no, but I was going to find a B and B tonight and then go on up to Shrewsbury tomorrow. Why don’t I come back with you? It’s on my way. I passed a super-looking deli as I came here just now. We could pick up something there for supper. We could comb one or two more bookshops to feed my addiction this afternoon, then you can lead the way back to Ty Bran and introduce me to your spectral children. What do you think? There must be plenty of room.’

‘I don’t know, Dan –’

It was tempting. Much as she enjoyed her own company the thought of the dark track towards the woods once the sun had gone down, the empty rooms, the strange noises in the studio were intimidating. Besides it would seem churlish to refuse him.

It was just after six thirty when she turned into the courtyard at Ty Bran and pulled up by the studio. Dan drew in beside her and switched off his engine.

For a moment he remained still. ‘Steph was so lucky to find this place! Did you say it’s near where your mother used to live?’ He climbed out and stood looking round. ‘My God, it’s isolated, but it is so pretty.’

‘Isn’t it.’ Jess turned back to the car to haul out her purchases. Bread, cold meat, paté, cheeses and salad and an early edition of Omar Khayyám illustrated with Edmund Dulac’s magical colour plates. She went to open the door of the house as Dan unpacked his own trophies: several books, four bottles of wine, a four-pack of lager, some scrumpy and a box of very expensive chocolates. He followed her into the kitchen and dropped the heavy box of drinks onto the table with a groan.

‘There, we can see what mood takes us – or drink the lot and fall totally blotto to the floor. Oh, wow, Jess. This is so lovely.’ He wandered through the open door to the dining room and stood staring out across the garden towards the hedge and the view to the north. Then he turned and glanced down at her sketchbooks, laid out on the table. ‘Are these yours? I had no idea you were so good!’ He turned several of the pages.

‘Flattery will get you nowhere beyond the right to work the corkscrew,’ she called through the door from the hall. ‘Here. Let’s open the wine.’

She went back into the kitchen in front of him and stopped dead. The contents of her basket and two of the bottles of wine lay on the floor. The bottles had broken.

They both stood for a moment looking down at the mess.

‘Oh, Dan, no!’ she cried. ‘How did that happen?’

Dan glanced round. ‘I can’t think. I put the box on the middle of the table. They couldn’t have just fallen out. Bugger! You haven’t got a cat here, have you, by any chance?’

She shook her head. ‘Since when have cats been able to pick up bottles?’

He shrugged. ‘In which case, it wasn’t the cat! Not to worry. There are two bottles left and at least the food was wrapped up. Not too much harm done. You wait there, I’ll clear it up.’

‘No. No, I’ll do it.’ She went to the sink and fumbled under it for the brush and pan and some dishcloths. ‘What happened, Dan? I don’t understand.’ She was suddenly feeling panicky. ‘It was all there. On the table. It wasn’t on the edge or anything. Oh God!’ She was looking round in sudden panic. ‘Is there someone else here?’

‘No, there’s no one here. It’s just one of those things. Wait.’ He grabbed an intact bottle of wine and reached for the corkscrew which she had left lying on the draining board. ‘Let’s have a glass each first. Then we’ll clear up. Then we’ll be ready for something to eat. Don’t worry about it, Jess. No harm done.’

They had finished their meal and were strolling on the back lawn later, carrying their mugs of coffee when Jess heard the sound of a car engine from the courtyard. ‘Who on earth is that?’ She turned back towards the house.

Getting no reply when he knocked at the open front door, Rhodri had wandered straight in and seeing them from the window came out. He seemed taken aback to see her with Dan.

‘I’m sorry to intrude. My mother hasn’t given me a moment’s peace since she heard you were here on your own. She told me to bring you some food from the freezer.’ He was carrying a basket. ‘If I’d known you were with someone I wouldn’t have bothered you.’ There was irritation in his voice.

Jess made the introductions reluctantly. His arrival had spoiled the mood of the evening. ‘It’s very kind of your mother, Rhodri. Will you thank her.’ She took the basket from him firmly. ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’

Somewhat to her surprise he nodded. As Dan went to fetch a glass she smiled at him coldly. ‘Are these homemade things from Megan?’ she said politely. ‘That is so nice of her –’ She broke off as a crash sounded from the kitchen.

Dan appeared in the doorway, his hand wrapped in a tea towel. ‘Sorry, folks. The glass slipped. We seem to be having a bad time, don’t we!’ He handed Rhodri his drink and strolled over towards the hedge, his hand still wrapped in the towel. The others followed him. ‘Look at that view,’ he said at last. ‘It’s sensational, isn’t it.’ Beyond the hedge the ground dropped away towards the valley bottom. The sun was beginning to set now in a pearly haze which rimmed the northern hills with gold.

‘It’ll rain tomorrow.’ Rhodri was staring across the hedge. ‘You’re a painter, Mum tells me.’ He glanced down at Jess.

‘Only an amateur.’ She couldn’t keep the frostiness out of her voice. He sounded patronising and bored and even the fact that he was a head taller than her and therefore was looking down on her irritated her hugely.

‘But a damn good one,’ Dan put in amiably. ‘This place is inspirational, isn’t it. I reckon if I lived here I would finally write my novel.’

‘What novel?’ Jess said, amused. ‘Is that before or after you get your headship?’

He grinned. ‘After, probably. But before I get to be Minister of Education!’

Rhodri gave a snort of laughter. ‘Well, my friend, while you plan out your future I regret I shall have to leave you. Thank you for the drink, Jess.’

He turned and headed back towards the house. In the doorway he paused. ‘Are you sure it was only a wine glass you broke?’ he called back over his shoulder.

The floor of the dining room was covered in glass. The three of them stood gazing down at it. Dan shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. I picked it all up. That’s how I cut myself. It was in the kitchen. Oh God!’ He broke off as he caught sight of the table. ‘Oh Jess –’

Her book of drawings was covered in red liquid. The pages were crumpled and one of the pictures had been scribbled all over. Jess reached for the light switch. ‘Who would do that?’ she whispered. ‘Dan –?’

‘No! Not me. I swear it! How could you even think it?’

‘Is it wine?’ Rhodri leaned over the table and touched the picture with a fingertip. ‘It’s sticky. Oh my God, it’s blood!’ Shocked, he stood back. ‘It was you!’ he accused Dan. ‘You’re the one bleeding all over the place!’

‘I told you it wasn’t!’ Dan replied angrily. ‘I would say if it was me, for goodness’ sake! I never went near the pictures.’ He strode over to the door. ‘Someone else has been in here. Look, the front door is open.’

‘That was me,’ Rhodri said. ‘Steph always leaves it open. I’m afraid I didn’t think.’ He took several steps out into the hall, looking round. ‘But who would do such a thing?’ There was real anger in his voice. ‘And why?’ He strode out into the courtyard. ‘There’s no one out here!’

Jess shook her head miserably. ‘Well, the drawings weren’t that special, I suppose. Nothing I can’t do again.’

‘That’s hardly the point!’ Dan said sternly. ‘Should we call the police?’

‘No.’ Jess shook her head. ‘They have long gone, whoever they were. Or at least –’ She broke off, glancing back towards the staircase.

‘I’ll go.’ Rhodri strode back inside and stood with his hand on the newel post, looking up. They all listened. Taking the steps two at a time he vanished across the landing. They heard doors opening and closing and his heavy tread across the floorboards. ‘There’s no one up here.’ His voice floated down to them. Reappearing he ran down. ‘I don’t think anything’s been touched up there. You’ve left some gold bangles on your dressing table, Jess. They wouldn’t still be there if anyone had gone upstairs. I suppose it must have been some deranged kid who popped in for some quick vandalism. It sounds unlikely but can you think of anything better?’ He shrugged. ‘You sometimes get strangers walking or biking on the tracks up through the woods.’

Jess glanced at Rhodri thoughtfully. It felt oddly unsettling suddenly to think of him peering round her bedroom. She pushed the thought aside. ‘But why? Why do that? Why spoil my pictures?’ She realised she had started to shake. She turned back into the dining room and stood looking down at the table. The sky outside had blushed deep red with the sunset and filled the room with a warm glow. Only the pool of electric light on the table was harsh. Reaching out to the blood stains she dabbed them gently. The blood was already dry.

‘I really do have to go,’ Rhodri called from the hall. ‘I’m so sorry this has happened. If there is anything I can do …’

‘You’ve done enough by leaving the door open,’ Dan retorted curtly.

‘Dan!’ Jess was indignant.

‘No, he’s right. And I am sorry.’ Rhodri moved towards the front door. ‘Look, I’ll leave you now, but if you need anything from the farm you know where I am.’

Dan grimaced as the door slammed behind him. ‘Tosser!’

‘It wasn’t his fault,’ Jess retorted sternly.

Dan sighed. ‘No, it wasn’t.’ He gestured at the sketchbook. ‘What do you want to do with this, shall I chuck it out?’

‘No!’ She spread her hands over it protectively. ‘No, leave it!’

‘At least let me clear up the glass.’ He glanced up at her. ‘No? OK, I’ll tell you what. Let’s have another drink before we go to bed.’

Jess froze. She stood for a moment unable to move then at last she looked up. ‘Dan –’

He glanced up enquiringly, eyebrow raised and she looked away, embarrassed. He hadn’t meant it like that. Of course he hadn’t. She smiled uncomfortably. ‘No more for me, thanks. I think I’ll go up now. I’m a bit tired …’ Refusing to catch his eye as he moved towards her, obviously intending to give her a goodnight kiss, she stepped back sharply. ‘Goodnight, Dan. Can you turn all the lights off for me.’ In seconds she had dodged round the table towards the stairs, leaving him looking after her with a puzzled frown.

Hours later she woke with a start. The latch on the door had clicked up. She stared across the room in the dark, her heart hammering. The house was totally silent.

‘Dan?’ She whispered the name soundlessly. But there was no further noise. Quietly she slipped out of bed and tiptoed across to the door, pressing her ear against the oak panels. There was no movement from the other side as she ran her fingers gently over the small brass bolt she had found there. Without wasting time to wonder why Steph had thought fit to put bolts on her bedroom doors she had been almost ashamed to find herself drawing it closed against Dan. She did not have to ask herself why she had been overwhelmed by this sudden feeling of revulsion at the thought of anyone coming to her bedroom, or why she had even for a second suspected Dan would suddenly be interested in her that way. He was, after all, a married man she had known for years as a friend. There had never been anything between them. It was an instinct; self-preservation. An automatic response to violation and fear.

She tensed at the sound of a slight creak from the landing and almost unconsciously she ran her fingers over the bolt again, pressing it in place, reassuring herself that it held, her cheek pressed against the warm wood of the door.

She stood there for a long time, aware of the silence which had settled over the house. Outside the starlight was slowly veiled by the drifting mist. In the darkness raindrops began to fall.

Jerking awake with a start she realised she had fallen asleep on her feet, leaning against the door. The house was quiet. The drumming rain on the studio roof outside her window was a steady background to the inner silence. With a groan she stumbled away from the door towards her bed and threw herself down on it. Within seconds she was asleep again.

The woods were dark and filled with the noise of the wind. Rain drummed on the leaves and somewhere nearby a fox gave a sharp angry bark. Gwladys lay huddled against her little brother, trembling.

‘Togo?’

He didn’t reply

‘Togo? I’m scared.’

She could see nothing; the ground was cold and hard and the roots of the trees hanging round them dug into her. ‘I don’t like playing this game. I want Mam.’ She began to rock backwards and forwards, humming to herself. ‘Where’s Eigon? Why doesn’t she come? She’d sing to us.’ She was near to tears. ‘I’m hungry. Are you hungry, Togo?’

Still he didn’t answer. She put out a hand to him. He was warm and solid, fast asleep in his own little world of dreams. Suddenly making up her mind she crawled away from him and stood up. Away from the shelter of the overhanging ditch the wind was very strong. The noise it made was frightening. No one would hear her if she called. She turned round, confused. Which way should she go? Where were the others?

‘Eigon? I don’t like this game. Can we stop playing now?’ Making up her mind, she set out down the track, her back to the wind, her pale hair blowing round her head, her eyes fixed on the bushes in front of her. ‘Eigon? Mam? Where are you?’ In seconds she was completely lost.

Behind her Togo woke suddenly in the darkness. He put out his little hand for his sister and found himself alone. Frightened, he began to cry.

Jess woke up late to the sound of the steadily beating rain. Pulling on jeans and a sweater after a hasty shower she ran down to find Dan’s holdall standing by the front door. She glanced into the kitchen. There was a pot of coffee on the table and it was set for two but there was no sign of him.

‘Dan?’

‘I’m in here.’ His voice came from the dining room. ‘Come and look at this, Jess.’

Reluctantly she walked over to the doorway and glanced in. He was staring down at the table. ‘It’s gone,’ he said softly. ‘All gone.’

‘What has?’ She moved towards him.

‘The damage. The scribbles. The blood. Look.’

He stood back, gesturing at the sketchbook in front of him. His face was white.

She glanced down and gasped out loud. He was right. The sketchbook was completely undamaged. Hardly daring to touch it she reached out and turned the pages. They were all the same. Her drawings and paintings were pristine.

‘I don’t understand.’ She picked up the book and riffled through it. ‘What’s happened?’

‘You tell me.’

She turned and stared round the dining room. Nothing had been touched. Everything was as neat and tidy as it had been before Rhodri arrived.

‘We can’t have dreamed it, can we?’ She met his gaze at last.

Dan shrugged. ‘All three of us?’ He shivered. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen. I made coffee before I came in here.’

She followed him. ‘We can’t all have imagined what happened, Dan.’

‘No?’ He grabbed the coffee pot. ‘Look in the bin.’

With a quick glance at him she peered in. ‘What am I looking at?’

‘Nothing. That’s the point. Where is the broken glass?’

‘Oh Dan!’ She dropped the lid and went to sit down at the table, ramming her sleeves up to her elbows, then running her fingers through her hair. Two intact bottles of wine stood side by side on the draining board.

He pushed a mug of coffee towards her. ‘It looks as though we all suffered some kind of hallucination,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t see how or why, but there is no other explanation. If we had all eaten the same thing I could put it down to magic mushrooms or something, but Rhodri didn’t eat with us.’

‘And your hand. Where you cut it? Is the cut still there?’ She reached out and touched his wrist.

He stretched out his right hand and turned it up to face her. There was no mark.

‘Oh God!’ She gave an involuntary shudder. ‘What on earth has happened to us?’

‘I’m afraid I am not going to be able to hang around to find out.’ He glanced up at her again. ‘I have to leave pretty soon, Jess. I’ve got a long drive ahead. Shall I ring up your mate Rhodri and get him to come over? You shouldn’t be on your own to sort this out, but I don’t know how my being here can help. Whatever it was it’s over now.’ He gave a small sharp bark of laughter. ‘Next time I see you we’ll joke about this!’ Gulping back his coffee, he stood up.

For a moment she hadn’t moved. She was still staring at his hand. Then she shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about me, Dan. I’ll give Rhodri a ring later and tell him what has happened.’

She followed him out to his car and watched as he loaded his bag and his books. In minutes she was waving him out of sight as he headed down towards the lane, his car bumping over the ruts. Strangely she felt nothing but relief at his departure. Had he got up in the night and tested her door handle, she wondered? Probably not. She frowned suddenly. He hadn’t offered to kiss her goodbye.

Walking back inside she went into the kitchen and straight to the sink. Without knowing why she turned on the tap and slowly rinsed her hands and face, then she reached for a towel.

Have the nasty men gone?

The voice was very close behind her. With a cry of fright she span round.

Can we stop playing now?

‘Jesus!’ She took a deep breath. ‘Where are you?’

There was no reply.

‘Eigon? Glads? Was it one of you who did that?’ She was suddenly angry. ‘Did you scribble over my drawings?’ She scanned the room. ‘Did you break all that glass?’

Outside the blackbird began to whistle from the roof of the studio. The rain had stopped and a stray ray of sunlight reflected off the wet paving stones. ‘Did you hear me?’ Jess called out again. She was suddenly every inch the schoolmistress. ‘I want to see you. Now!’ She held her breath, looking round. There was no sound. ‘I mean it!’

Was that a gurgle of laughter? She ran to the window and stared out, scanning the courtyard. The house was full of sound. The creak of roof timbers, the rustle of leaves, the drip of rain down the gutters, birds, the baaing of sheep from the hillside on the far side of the track. ‘Eigon?’ Jess used the child’s name without thinking, just as her mother, Cerys, had used it. ‘Come here. I want to speak to you.’

But there was no response, as she had known there wouldn’t be. She shook her head. Wandering back into the dining room she looked down at the table, half afraid that the sketchbook would once more be damaged. It wasn’t. It lay there untouched.

‘Shit!’ She went to the phone, overcoming her reluctance to contact Rhodri again. After about twenty rings the answer service picked up. ‘Rhodri? I’m sorry to disturb you, but can you come back here as soon as you can, there is something I need to show you.’ She paused. ‘Dan has gone. I’m on my own.’

Pulling the car into a gateway at the bottom of the lane, Dan turned off the engine and rested his forehead against the rim of the steering wheel. He was sweating hard. Fumbling blindly for the door handle he stumbled out into the long grass and nettles, dotted with campion, which fringed the trackway into the field and stood leaning on the gate waiting for the wave of nausea to pass. Then he turned and looked at the car.

It was empty. But someone had been in there, sitting behind him. Almost as soon as he had turned into the lane and pulled away from Ty Bran he had felt it. He could sense a presence. A solid threatening presence. A man. An angry, hate-filled man.

He had slammed on the brakes, staring into the mirror. Then he had turned, scanning the back seat. Nothing. Of course there was no one there. He accelerated away again, fast, over the roughly metalled lane, bumping the car over potholes and ridges, skidding over patches of red oozing mud which had leaked onto the road from the steep banks, growing more and more afraid until he had spotted the gateway, somewhere to pull up and throw himself out of reach of the malign shadow that was sharing his car.

Slowly the palpitations slowed. He wiped his face on his sleeve and turned, leaning on the gate, to stare at the vehicle. It sat there in the sunlight, the windows bright with reflections, the door hanging open as he had left it when he jumped out. Pushing himself away from the gate he forced himself to walk over and pull open the rear door. Leaning down, he peered in. Nothing. Cautiously he reached in, clawing at the empty air over the seat with his fingers as though to prove to himself the space was unoccupied. The film of sweat was drying on his face. He shivered, suddenly chilled. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the wild yapping cry of a buzzard, then near it, aggressive and primitive, the deep throaty croak of a raven. He peered up at the sky. It was up there. He could see it. The raven, a black silhouette against the blue, had set its sights on the buzzard. It was flying fast, on the attack, harrying, bullying, its call a sinister throbbing counterpoint to the alarmed yelp of the larger bird. Both birds angled their wings and swooped away over the fields and in a second they were out of sight over the shoulder of the hill.

Dan found he was breathing fast, as though he had been running. He swallowed hard, slamming the back door shut. Imagination. That was all. That damned haunted house and Jess with all her hysterical stories. They had got to him. He moved his head uncomfortably, his neck suddenly very stiff. For a moment he felt quite dizzy. He blinked. Something on the door had caught his eye. A smear of red. He held out his right hand and stared at it. A deep scar showed across his palm where he had cut it on the glass the night before. The cut that had disappeared. It was oozing blood. He shook his head. This was not happening! He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, furious with himself and with Jess. The sooner he got out of this god-forsaken place the better.

‘So, what do you want to show me?’

Rhodri turned in at the gate just after twelve. He stood looking down at her with a quizzical expression, half irritation, half amusement as he held out a bottle of white wine. She took it with a cautious grin. ‘The wine situation is not quite so dire as it was yesterday. Come and see.’

He followed her into the dining room and stood beside her, staring down at her sketchbook. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Neither did we. None of it happened. The pictures weren’t spoiled. The glass wasn’t broken. The wine bottles are full. Dan wasn’t cut.’ She glanced at Rhodri sideways. He was frowning as he looked down at the sketchbook. Almost nervously he reached out and turned the page. ‘This is some kind of joke, yes?’

‘No!’

‘That boyfriend of yours –’

‘Not my boyfriend. A colleague.’

‘Well, your colleague. He was trying to scare you, wasn’t he? Thought if you were frightened enough you would jump into bed with him.’

‘No!’ Jess turned on him furiously. ‘That is complete crap!’

‘So, you’re telling me he doesn’t fancy you?’ He favoured her with a look which made her feel first hot then cold as her mouth dropped open with indignation.

‘No, he doesn’t. At least …’ She paused. ‘No, of course he doesn’t. He’s a married man!’

‘Since when has that stopped people? Two of you here alone, no one for miles. Pretty house, lots of wine, no one here to interrupt, till I blunder in! You both made it pretty clear you did not want company.’

‘No, Rhodri. You’ve got it all wrong.’ She stared down at the sketchbook again. ‘How could anyone fake all that?’

‘Easy. Another sketchbook – so badly damaged you couldn’t tell. Lots of glass and spilled wine which could be cleaned up in the night. No real cut on his hand, just Kensington Gore.’

‘Kensington Gore?’ Jess was staring at him, bewildered.

‘Fake blood, darling!’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘No. You’re wrong,’ she repeated angrily. ‘Quite wrong!’

‘Am I? Maybe.’ He smiled. ‘Blame my profession. I have a taste for melodrama. But I’m a damn good judge of character. I wouldn’t trust that guy further than I could throw him.’

‘He’s my friend.’ She drew herself upright. ‘You have no business to say things like that!’

‘OK!’ He raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Forget I said anything. The great thing is that no harm was done and if you gave in to his comforting advances, then I apologise.’

‘He didn’t make any advances!’ Jess broke off abruptly. Suddenly she was remembering Dan’s ambiguous goodnight, the way he had stepped forward to kiss her, the bedroom door latch, the creak on the landing. She shivered. No. That was rubbish. Dan didn’t fancy her. He never had.

Seeing Rhodri’s raised eyebrow she went on, ‘Whatever else he might have done he couldn’t have faked my sketchbook. That was ruined last night. You saw it. It was covered in blood. It’s the same book.’

He shrugged. ‘Then I can’t explain how he did it. The man’s a miracle worker!’

She glared at him, shaking her head. ‘There is another possibility,’ she said tentatively. ‘Do you know if this house is haunted?’

Rhodri roared with laughter. ‘Ah, so it was the ghost!’

‘Maybe.’

When she didn’t smile he sobered rapidly. He studied her face, his head on one side. ‘Your sister thinks it is. She told my mother about it.’

‘What did she say?’

‘There’s a child here. A naughty child. She breaks things in the studio.’

Jess felt her stomach lurch. For a moment she said nothing.

Rhodri looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I think that is a cue for a drink if ever there was one.’

Jess watched as he vanished into the kitchen and with a confidence born of long association reached down two glasses from the cupboard, found a corkscrew and set about opening his bottle. He returned and handed her a glass. ‘This whole valley is haunted. I was brought up with the legends of these hills. Down there,’ he gestured towards the window, ‘in the valley bottom where the river runs, is the site of an ancient battle, so the story goes. And up on the hill behind us, there is an Iron Age fort. The place is full of ghosts of fallen warriors and anguished gods. Stories like that are told over centuries and improve with the telling, but there must be some truth behind them. Round here they claim it is the location of the last stand of Caratacus against the Romans. He was the Welsh hero who rallied the tribes.’

‘And the child in this house was his daughter,’ Jess said, half to herself.

Rhodri looked sceptical. ‘That’s a huge deduction! But come to think of it, why not.’ He took a swig from his glass. ‘It would be surprising if there weren’t ghosts round here. The Welsh borders are full of them. A thousand battles, two thousand years of strife. Mist and magic round every corner. It is a blessed place.’ He grinned.

Jess found herself smiling back almost against her will. When he wasn’t being aggressive he had a nice face. ‘Unless you happen to be living on top of a hot spot!’

‘Nicely put. You know what this house is called. Ty Bran. That means, Ravens House. And down there they call it the Valley of Ravens. It fits the story. Ravens come to a battlefield to pick the bodies of the dead clean. The battle goddess, is a raven goddess.’

Jess shivered. ‘It’s hardly surprising memories of something like that haunt a place.’

He hesitated. ‘Well, don’t let it put you off. It’s all in the past.’

‘Is it, though?’ She smiled sadly.

‘Yes.’ He looked at her with a frown. ‘Yes, it is.’ He drained his glass and put it down. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. My agent is coming over. He won’t stay long though. He doesn’t like to be out of the metropolis after dark! The ghosts are too much for him as well. Ring me if it all gets too much for you, girl, and I’ll take you down to the pub later. Distract you with a bevvy and a meal.’ He headed for the door. ‘Believe me, you’re better on your own up here. That chap was no good for you.’

She opened her mouth to argue but he was already halfway across the yard and climbing back into his car.

‘Cheeky bastard!’ she muttered as he began to back out of the gate. But for some reason he had made her feel better.

6

That afternoon she walked up the track and into the wood, splashing through glittering puddles, listening to the chatter of the leaves in the light wind, feeling the dappled sunlight on her face. The track wound its way upwards through stands of ash and oak, every now and then coming near enough to the edge of the trees for her to be able to rest and gaze across the broad river valley towards the north. From here she could just see the river, a strip of glittering blue, fringed with willows, winding its way across the water meadows. In the distance she could hear sheep calling, and the wild yelping cry of a buzzard, soaring out across the hills. It was blessedly peaceful and very hard to imagine a battle taking place anywhere nearby.

She was out of breath by the time she reached a stand of older trees, ancient lichen-covered oaks, near the top of the hill, and beside them a venerable yew. Falling away to the south the ground was steep, almost terraced, with knotted roots and tangled brambles hugging the contours down towards a rocky stream far below. As she stood trying to regain her breath she saw a fox, trotting across a clearing only metres away from her. Intent on its own affairs it never saw her, vanishing almost at once into a thicket.

Sitting down on a mossy log at the foot of one of the trees she leaned back against the trunk, content to rest for a few minutes in the sunlight, suddenly aware that in the distance a dog was barking.

The praefectus sent ten men out to the spot where Cerys and Eigon had been found. They spent a day searching the woods for the two children without success. Dogs were brought in and the whole area combed again; then Eigon was brought with her mother to the track near the tumbled byre. The child was crying as Cerys led her forward into the trees, followed by the legionaries. The men looked grave. They knew there was nowhere else to search. Every foxhole and badger sett, with all their miles of passages, the nant flowing over its rocky bed, the ditches and hollows under the roots of the trees had been scoured now by men or dogs. There was nowhere else to look. Before them the trees thrashed in yet another storm, leaves flying in a whirl into the mud, obscuring any tracks not already overlaid by the heavy tramp of the nailed sandals of the soldiers.

‘Just try, sweetheart. Did you run up or down the hill, can you remember? Did you cross the stream?’ Cerys held her daughter’s hand tightly, trying desperately not to show her fear.

‘We played a game. Hide and seek. I told them not to come out.’

‘That was right. That was what I told you to do.’ Cerys’s voice was shaking. ‘But now we need to call them.’

Already it was growing dark again. The heavy sky hid any trace of the sunset as the rain clouds streamed in across the land from the west.

Two of the men approached their officer and saluted. ‘We’re not going to find them, sir. We’ve been over every inch of ground. They must have wandered off or someone or something must have got them.’

‘No!’ Cerys’s wail of despair echoed through the trees. Dropping Eigon’s hand she grabbed the arm of the praefectus. ‘Please, you can’t stop looking. You can’t!’

He looked down at her thoughtfully. The woman was right. It was not so much the plight of the children which motivated him, but the thought of what the commander would say if any of Caratacus’s family were mislaid. Hostages were vital at the best of times and these particular hostages, more vital than most. The bargaining power implicit in their capture was enormous. He turned to the men. ‘Widen the search. Continue through the night if necessary. Bring another fifty men.’

Justinus personally escorted Cerys and her daughter back to the encampment and left them at the entrance to their tent. As Eigon disappeared inside, her tear-streaked face wan with exhaustion, the praefectus put a restraining hand on her mother’s arm.

‘Could you identify the men who assaulted you?’ he asked.

Cerys shook her head. ‘I lost consciousness. I don’t remember –’

‘And the child?’

Cerys shook her head miserably. ‘How can I even ask her?’

‘If you want them punished you will ask her.’ He looked down at her grimly. ‘Consider, madam, whether those same men could have found your son and your other daughter.’

Cerys let out a small moan of distress. She turned back towards him but already he had saluted and turned away, tramping off through the mud into the darkness towards the long lines of tents. The guards at her own had already stepped forward, crossing their spears across the entrance to imprison her. Inside, in the gentle light of the single oil lamp on the empty clothes trunk which served as a table she could see the woman who had been assigned to wait on them gently rubbing Eigon’s hair with a towel.

‘Sweetheart!’ Waving the woman away, Cerys knelt in front of the child and took hold of her firmly by the arms. ‘I want you to tell me something. The man who hurt you so badly,’ she paused, staring into her daughter’s eyes, ‘would you know him again?’

She saw the eyes widen, the terror at the violent return of the memory, a moment of total paralysis as the fear returned and then the slow reluctant nod.

‘How would you recognise him?’

‘He had eyes like a wolf; the colour of your sunshine beads.’

Amber.

‘He had a tattoo high up on his arm. But not a beautiful pattern like our warriors. It was hard and rough. A picture of a Roman sword with writing on.’

Sinking down on her knees Cerys breathed deeply, releasing the child and clenching her fists in the folds of her skirt until her knuckles were white. ‘Would you know him if you saw him?’

The little girl nodded. ‘His face is a picture inside my head. And his arm too. I looked at it hard while he –’ there was a sudden painful pause. ‘While he was hurting me. I will never forget his arm …’

‘His arm!’ Jess’s eyes flew open. The arm, across her throat, pushing her back, holding her down on the bed, she could see it suddenly as clearly as she could see her own hand, clenched on her knees. And the arm though it was tanned, and covered in fine dark hairs, was without any doubt at all the arm of a white man. It was not Ash!

She was still leaning against the tree. The sun was still shining. Above her the buzzard was calling, a lonely wild wail high amongst the clouds, and suddenly she was shaking violently. The bastard! He was holding her down on her bed. His face was there, above her, all she had to do was open her eyes to see his face. But she couldn’t see his face. The memory had gone.

‘Shit!’ She lowered her forehead onto her knees. Will. It had to have been Will.

Raising her face to the sun, she stared out between the trees into the misty blue distances.

She couldn’t bear it to be Will.

But if not Will, who?

Dan?

It was a long time before she stood up and headed slowly back along the track towards home.

She went straight to the telephone to call Dan. She could at least ask him if he had faked the wrecking of the dining room. As a joke as Rhodri had suggested. Some joke.

The message light on the phone was flashing. It was Rhodri. ‘Jess? I’ve just noticed in the Radio Times, there is a play on Radio 4 tonight. About Cartimandua. Have you ever heard of her? Listen to it. I think it might interest you. Eight o’clock.’

‘No, I haven’t heard of her! Who the hell is Cartimandua!’ Jess murmured as she punched in Dan’s number. The phone rang and rang. Neither Dan nor his message service picked up and she hung up with a sigh.

The house was very quiet, the quietness almost eerie as though someone was there, listening. She walked over to the door and peered out into the hall, then walked slowly through the house, holding her breath. There was no one there, no sign that anyone had been in while she was out.

As the sun began to go down she bolted the front door, and removing Steph’s dried flowers, lit a fire of old apple logs in the living room. Making herself a supper of scrambled eggs on toast she sat on the floor in the long summer twilight to listen to the radio as she watched the flicker of flames on the old soot-stained stone of the fireplace.

Cartimandua was, it appeared, an Iron Age, Celtic queen, a contemporary of Caratacus and of Boudica, but in contrast to her sister queen, she was an ally of Rome. Pushing aside her plate and picking up her glass of wine Jess leaned back against the sofa and listened enthralled as the play unfolded. Caradoc. The name echoed through the room as the evening faded into darkness round her. Caradoc was the name the Celts gave him. Caratacus was the Roman version. This was the man whose army had been defeated here in the valley below her sister’s house. And now she knew what had happened to him. He had fled after the battle, having no choice but to abandon his wife and children and make his way almost alone and badly wounded, into the mountains, fleeing north and then east towards the lands of the Brigantes, the vast tribal confederation which was ruled by his kinswoman, Queen Cartimandua. There, he was sure he would find safety and help. He found neither. She took him prisoner, and feeling herself irrevocably bound by a treaty she had made with the Emperor Claudius when he had invaded the country seven years before, offered Caradoc, as a captive, back to his enemies.

‘What a cow!’ Jess threw more logs onto the fire and poured herself another glass of wine. ‘So, what happened to him after that?’

The play did not reveal the answer. It followed the course of the queen’s life and loves; once Caratacus had been dragged away in chains by his Roman escort he was not mentioned again. She wondered if Cartimandua had given him another thought.

Jess sat for a long time after the play finished, gazing into the flames, listening to the crackle of burning logs. Had Caratacus been reunited with his wife and children? Was he killed? Were they all killed? She did not know.

But she had a strong feeling that Eigon and Glads would tell her.

In her dreams, or as they rampaged round the house in their rage and fear, the ghost children who had been Caratacus’s daughters would tell her the story whether she wanted to hear it or not. Jess shivered. She had no choice. A link had been forged between her and Eigon through the experience of rape and betrayal; as long as she stayed in the house she would have to listen to Eigon’s story.

Is Papa there?

The voice was thin and reedy, terrified, echoing against the sound of the wind and rain against the window. Jess lay still, clutching the sheet to her chin, staring up at the ceiling. It was two thirty a.m. She had just checked the clock again. Closing her eyes against the bedside light she turned over, humping the sheet over her shoulder against the glare, yet not daring to turn it off.

Have we finished playing the game? Papa will know where Togo and Glads are. He knows everything.

There was a click from the door. Jess turned over, staring at it in terror. Slowly it swung open. Beyond it the landing was pitch dark.

Clutching her pillow to her breasts, she sat up. Someone was walking towards her across the room. She couldn’t see them or hear them, she just sensed it. ‘Go away!’ she cried. Her voice wavered uncertainly. ‘Please go away. I can’t help you. I don’t know where they are. I don’t know where your father is!’

The presence stopped. It was listening. Jess clenched her fists into the cotton of the pillowslip. ‘Look, I would help you if I could. Your father went to the Queen of the Brigantes for help. I know that much. He was hurt, but he wasn’t killed in the battle.’

The silence in the room grew intense. It had a thick palpable quality; it was hard to breathe. Jess could feel her lungs straining; her mouth was dry, her eyes gritty. ‘Please, Eigon. Go away. I can’t help you. I would if I could. I know how you feel –’ She paused. ‘I understand.’ The feeling of invasion, of pain, deep within her soul, the anguish of a woman who has been raped and violated and left for dead. And this child wasn’t even a woman when she had been attacked by those men; she was barely more than a baby. Of course she understood!

‘Sweetheart, I know how hard it is. But it will get better.’ She shivered. How could she say that, utter platitudes to an invisible thought form standing in the middle of her bedroom floor when she didn’t even know if the child had survived; or her father, her mother, her brother and sister. All might have been dead within days or weeks of the battle. One thing was for sure. They were all dead now.

‘I’m asleep,’ she said suddenly to herself. ‘None of this is happening. This is a dream. I am asleep and there is no one here. I am all alone. Soon it will be time to get up and have breakfast in the sunshine and I will wonder what I was worrying about. In fact, I won’t remember anything about this. Nothing at all.’

The child was gone. Staring round the room she could sense it. There was no one there. The house was empty again; in the garden the moonlight was slowly spreading through the wood. In seconds it would have reached the window of her bedroom and thrown a silver gleam across her floor and her fear would go. Leaning back she began to breathe more easily again. Within minutes she was asleep.

She was sitting in front of a cup of black coffee next morning in the kitchen, still wearing her nightshirt, her feet bare, her hair tousled, when the phone rang. It was Rhodri. ‘Are you listening to the radio? Turn it on. Now. Speak to you afterwards!’

Her head was splitting; the amnesia she had promised herself in the moonlight had not happened. With a groan she stood up and went to turn on the radio.

‘Viv Lloyd Rees and Pat Hebden’s drama documentary Queen of the North was aired last night to huge acclaim,’ the announcer’s voice floated out across the kitchen. ‘They are here in the studio with me to talk about their play and the research that went into it and to share with us the quite extraordinary experiences which they endured as they unearthed their heroine’s story.’

Jess sat down and reached for her coffee mug as the two women told their tale. Somehow, by digging into the past, they had awoken it. Even now, so it seemed, embarrassed to talk about what had happened to them, they described the terrifying events which had occurred as they probed the story of Cartimandua, events which had led eventually to disaster and even death.

Jess listened to the programme with increasing horror and fascination until the discordant eerily Celtic echoes of the closing music broke the mood. Wearily she rose and went to turn off the radio, then she picked up the phone. ‘How did you know it was coming on?’ she said as Rhodri answered.

‘They said so last night. After the play. Didn’t you hear them? What did you think?’

She could hear music playing in the background, powerful orchestral music, and she wished suddenly that she was there in the Prices’ warm kitchen. ‘I thought it was terrifying. Do you believe what they were saying? I can’t think how they could have gone on to write a play about her. I’d have been afraid I would go on raising the dead with every word I wrote.’ She paused. ‘Is that what I’ve done, Rhodri? Woken the ghosts here?’ She had forgotten her initial hostility to this man. He understood.

‘I don’t know about you particularly,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘after all Steph has noticed things too. Although you do seem to have woken them up a bit!’

Jess bit her lip. Of course. He didn’t know what it was that she and Eigon had in common; the reason the child who was the daughter of Caratacus had come to her to share her tears. And, perhaps, to ask for help. She froze. Is that what she was doing? Asking for help …

‘It’s interesting, isn’t it, perhaps you should see if they’ve got a website?’ Rhodri went on cheerfully. ‘As long as you’re not scared! What a bit of luck I spotted that entry in the Radio Times yesterday – I was looking for one of my concerts – as it happens they are putting it on tonight.’

Jess gave a wan smile. ‘I’ll listen to it –’ She broke off as she caught sight of the reflection from a car windscreen as it flashed across the wall. ‘Sorry, Rhodri. Someone has come. I’ll call you later.’

Will’s red MG sports car had pulled into the yard. Already he had opened the door and was climbing out, pulling off his sunglasses, looking round. ‘Jess?’ He strode towards the open front door. ‘Jess, are you there?’ Moments later he was standing in the kitchen looking at her. ‘There you are! My God you’ve become elusive, Jess.’ He stepped towards her, then registering the panic on her face as she stepped behind the kitchen table defensively, he stopped. ‘What’s wrong? Sorry. Did I give you a fright? I thought you’d seen me from the window.’ He threw his shades down on the table. ‘Is there any coffee left in that pot? It’s still a hell of a drive from London, isn’t it? Do you remember, when we used to do it together and get here at dawn, before Steph was even up?’ He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, studying her face. ‘What’s wrong, Jess? What is this all about?’

Jess bit her lip. She sat down opposite him. ‘You know what it’s about, Will. And you know I would never want to see you again. So, why come?’

‘I’ve come because you wouldn’t return my calls, Jess. I had to know why. I thought we had parted on reasonably good terms after the party; I’d thought we could be civilised. I thought we’d enjoyed dancing together. Then I find you have resigned from school and run away and no one will tell me where you’ve gone, and I was worried about you. If Dan hadn’t rung yesterday –’

‘Dan told you where I was?’

‘He’s worried, too, Jess.’

‘I’ll bet he is. Did he know you were going to jump in the car and come straight here?’ She was fighting a wave of hysteria.

‘I don’t know –’

‘Did it not occur to you to ring and see if it was convenient? To find out if I wanted to see you again?’

‘I didn’t think –’

‘No, you didn’t think!’

‘If you would let me get a word in edgeways. I didn’t think you would want to see me. That’s why I came unannounced. I thought that way at least I would be able to see you face to face! I know we are finished, Jess, but at least give me credit for wanting to know you are all right.’

‘All right! Did you really think I would be all right after what you did?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake. Haven’t we got beyond that?’

They were both shouting now, their voices harsh and angry.

Can we stop playing now?

The words echoed round the kitchen.

Jess gasped.

‘Look, Jess,’ Will continued, jumping into the moment of silence before she could reply. ‘I am sorry we split up. You will never know how sorry. And I still care about you. How can someone stop caring after all that time?’ He didn’t appear to have heard the child’s voice. ‘I wanted to make sure you were all right. Clearly you are, so I will leave.’ He stood up. Then after a moment’s hesitation he sat down again. ‘Look, please, can we start this conversation again? You and I have muddled through since we broke up. We have managed to be civil in school; I thought we might become friends again, at least. I don’t know what I have done to cause this fury suddenly. Explain it to me.’

‘You don’t know? You thought what you did was OK?’ Her voice was shaking.

‘No. It wasn’t. I behaved badly. I was an arrogant bastard. And I’m sorry. You’ll never know how sorry.’

‘So you thought you would show me how much you still love me?’ Her voice sharpened. ‘You’ve got a very strange way of showing it. Get out, Will.’ Suddenly she was near to tears.

‘Jess –’

‘Get out!’ Her voice rose to a scream.

Please. Can we stop playing now.

The little girl was close to her, whispering in her ear. Jess put her hands to her ears and shook her head. ‘Go away!’ She was speaking to the child.

‘Jess –’

‘You go too, Will! Now. I never want to see you again!’

‘But, please –’

‘Go!’ Her voice was still dangerously near to a scream. ‘Get out! I came here to get away from you. I left school to get away from you. I thought it was Ash, but it wasn’t, was it. You let me think that! You would have let him take the blame, wouldn’t you, ruined the boy’s life to save your own beastly skin! You’re a coward as well as a pervert and a vicious bastard, and you’ll never know how nearly I went to the police. I could still go, you know!’

‘Jess –’

‘Get out, Will!’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Get out now.’

He stood up and without a word went to the door. For a moment she was too paralysed to move, then running to the window she watched as he climbed into the car, revved the engine and shot backwards out of the gate. He drove off without looking back. Only when he was out of sight did she finally burst into tears.

It was a long time before she stopped crying. Only then did she go to the phone and dial Dan’s number. He picked up on the third ring.

‘Dan! How could you! Why in God’s name did you tell him where I was?’

‘Hold on.’ There was a moment’s silence. She heard muffled voices, then a door banged. Then Dan came on the line again. ‘What are you talking about, Jess?’

‘You know damn well what I’m talking about. You told Will where I was.’

‘He already knew, Jess. Well, it wasn’t hard for him to guess, was it.’

‘But you rang him. You rang him and told him.’

‘No. He rang me.’

She paused, confused. Will must have lied to her about that too. ‘Then you needn’t have confirmed it. You could have put him off. You could have told him to leave me alone.’

There was an amused chuckle at the other end of the line. ‘You credit me with more influence than I have with him, Jess. I don’t think I could have dissuaded him. He was obviously determined to find you. I take it he has spoken to you?’

‘He’s been here.’

There was a short pause. ‘I see. What happened?’

‘We had an argument. I told him to go away.’

‘And he did, presumably.’

‘Yes.’

‘So, no harm done, then.’

‘No harm done except that you betrayed me.’ She paused. ‘I’ve been trying to ring you, Dan. I’ve been thinking about what happened to my sketchbook. Was it you who messed up the house? Was that your idea of a joke? Did you break all that glass and spill the wine?’

‘Whoa! Hang on! What are we talking about now? You know I didn’t. How could I have done that? Why would I have done that? Get a grip, Jess.’

‘It was a joke, though, wasn’t it. What was it, you said? Mass hallucination? You took me for a complete fool, didn’t you! And now you compound it by sending Will here. What are you trying to do to me, Dan?’

‘I’m not trying to do anything, Jess!’ Dan was indignant. ‘Pull yourself together, love.’

‘Don’t patronise me!’

‘I’m not patronising you.’ His tone was exaggeratedly calm. ‘I’m trying to make you see sense. You seem to have lost all perspective. Why are you like this? You’ve changed into an hysterical lightweight. There could be all sorts of explanations for what happened. Have you considered for instance that perhaps a bird might have flown in and knocked over the wine bottles and the glasses. Perhaps it cut itself.’

‘And then miraculously got better?’ Her voice was icy. ‘No, Dan, it wasn’t a bird. A lot of awful things have been happening recently. Nothing to do with birds. Your hand, for instance. How did that so suddenly heal itself?’

There was another pause, then he gave another exaggerated sigh. ‘Poor old Will. Is all this because of what happened in London, Jess? For God’s sake, it wasn’t that bad; anyone would think a bit of rough sex and the odd slap was the end of the world. Talk about overreacting. You’ve cast him as the villain of the piece and he doesn’t stand a chance. No wonder he’s angry.’ There was a long moment of silence. ‘Jess, are you still there?’

‘How did you know what happened in London?’ Jess asked tautly. ‘I never told you what happened, Dan.’

‘Of course you did. Not in so many words perhaps, but it was easy to guess. You decided in your own mind that you didn’t like it; that it was rape or something and it has turned your head! You’ve become completely unstable.’

Jess could feel herself growing cold. For a moment she couldn’t even speak, then at last she found the words. ‘Who said anything about rape?’

He hesitated. ‘Well, rape may not have been mentioned, but it wasn’t very hard to work out what you thought had happened. A bit of non consensual sex! You decided to think of it as rape, didn’t you? You worked yourself up into a tizz over it because you were so drunk you couldn’t remember anything about it and then you decided to play the drama queen.’

There was a moment of total silence as once again she visualised the arm that had held her down. The tanned skin, the fine dark hairs.

It wasn’t Will. It couldn’t have been Will. Will was fair-haired.

‘It was you, wasn’t it,’ she said slowly. ‘You raped me! You’ve been so busy implicating Ash and Will that I never saw it. I never even guessed. But it was your arm that held me down. Your face in my nightmares.’ Her voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘I’ve been so stupid. I trusted you. You unutterable bastard!’

‘Don’t be so silly!’

‘No, Dan. I can remember everything suddenly. You followed Ash and me home. You sent Ash away when we got to the front door and you came up to the flat. We had some wine –’

‘No, Jess.’

‘Why? What was it you gave me? Did you come prepared? You went to a school dance with date rape drugs in your pocket!’ She paused, her hands sweating as they clutched the telephone. The receiver was slipping from her grasp. ‘Just what were you planning, Dan? Was it me you wanted, or didn’t it matter? Would anyone have done? One of the girls, perhaps? A child!’

‘Jess, you’re mad!’

‘No. I’m just beginning to see. Does Natalie know about your little hobby, Dan? I know the headmaster doesn’t. But he should, shouldn’t he!’

‘Jess, you’re insane!’

‘No. I’ve just realised what a fool I’ve been. There were signs everywhere, weren’t there. You watch the girls. You touch them. I’ve seen you!’

‘Jess, I warn you. This is slander –’ His voice was suddenly harsh with anger.

‘No, Dan. This is the truth!’

‘Jess, you’ve got this all wrong. Look, I’m coming over!’

‘Don’t bother. It’s too late.’

‘I don’t think so. I’m coming now. Look, I can explain. You don’t understand. You’ve misunderstood everything! You are so wrong!’

‘I’m not wrong, Dan. I’m going to the police.’ Suddenly she was completely calm.

When Dan spoke at last it was in a shocked whisper. ‘You go to the police, Jess, and it will destroy me. And Nat and the kids. Surely you don’t want that.’ She could hear the panic in his voice. ‘You have misunderstood the situation. I never meant to frighten you. I thought you were willing. You were willing. You should have seen yourself. You were so drunk.’ He gave a snort of derision. ‘You weren’t drugged. That’s your imagination. It was just the drink. Ash had been giving you all sorts of things. The kids had loads of booze in there. Most of them were unconscious by the end. For God’s sake, Jess. You can’t tell anyone. It would wreck my career.’ He paused. ‘No one would believe you anyway. After all you haven’t told anyone, have you.’ He gave a small harsh laugh at her silence. ‘I thought not. Look, I’m on my way. I’ll make it up to you. I can explain. Wait there!’

‘I don’t think so. I’m going to be anywhere but here when you arrive, Dan,’ she retorted. Her words reverberated into the silence. ‘Dan, are you there?’ Had he hung up? She could hear the line still open.

At the end of the field, where the phone cable ran through the corner of the wood, a tree branch had snapped. It caught on the wire, swung for a few seconds and fell. The line was severed.

‘Dan? Dan, did you hear me? Don’t you dare come here!’ Jess slammed down the phone. Her hands were shaking.

Can we stop playing now?

The voice was louder than before. It was Glads.

Jess looked round wildly. She wasn’t going to sit there and wait for Dan to arrive and try and persuade her to forget what had happened. Not when he was as angry as that. She had to go. What was there to keep her here anyway? Just her sister’s bloody plants. Well, they could look after themselves for a bit.

It took less than half an hour to pack everything into the car. How far away was Shrewsbury? How long would it take Dan to get there? She had to be away before he came. Racing round one last time she locked the house and ran out to the car.

It wouldn’t start.

‘Don’t do this to me!’ She slammed the palms of her hands against the steering wheel and tried the ignition again. Still nothing. The battery was flat. She must have left the lights on when she went out last. Shit. Shit. Shit! She tried to steady her breathing. After all, what could Dan do? He was angry and threatening. He could shout at her. Swear. What else? Supposing he got violent? He could beat the daylights out of her. Or rape her again. Or try to kill her. Her mind was racing out of control. He was right. He had so much to lose. Was that a car in the lane? Horrified she paused, listening. He couldn’t have got here already, surely. She swallowed, paralysed with fear, trying to calm herself as she realised the sound she could hear came from a tractor, somewhere in the valley bottom, the sound carrying on the still air. She pumped the clutch up and down a couple of times and tried again. Nothing. The engine was dead.

‘God, what am I going to do?’

She climbed out and ran in to the phone. It was dead and her mobile battery was flat.

Rhodri was sitting at the piano when she arrived. She could hear him singing from the gate and she paused for a moment to listen, stunned by the power and beauty of his voice. He stopped at the sound of the dogs barking and came to the door to meet her. ‘Ah, it’s you. How goes the ghost hunt?’

Making her way across the fields to find him had been her only option without a car. ‘Can I come in?’ She was half afraid she would turn and see Dan running over the field after her.

Rhodri frowned. ‘Sure.’ He stood back and ushered her into the kitchen. Through the open door into Megan’s sitting room Jess saw the grand piano, the lid raised, the notebook and pencil lying on the piano stool, the piles of music. He had been working. ‘So, what’s happened? You look upset.’

‘Upset!’ Jess realised suddenly what she must look like. Exhausted, out of breath, her hair tangled and wild, her shoes covered in mud. She struggled to compose herself, then abandoned the attempt. Her eyes were full of tears when she faced him. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt but I need your help! The phone is broken and my mobile won’t work.’

‘OK. Sit down.’ He turned away and reached for the kettle, just as his mother would have done. Behind them the two dogs were sitting in the doorway.

The few moments he took to fill the kettle were enough for her to get a grip on herself. ‘The car wouldn’t start. I had to get away. You were right about Dan. He’s not quite the friend I thought.’

‘And you’re running away from him?’ He looked incredulous.

She nodded miserably. ‘Stupidly I rang him and accused him. He said he was coming straight back. I packed the car. I planned to be gone long before he arrived then it wouldn’t start and I couldn’t contact anyone and I was –’ She paused, biting her lip, furious with herself for being so feeble.

‘You were scared?’ Rhodri raised an eyebrow. He slid the kettle onto the Raeburn, then he took the seat opposite her, clearing a gap in the piles of letters and notebooks on the table so he could lean forward on his elbows and study her face. ‘Well, he’s not going to find you if you are here, is he. So, why don’t you tell me the whole story. Why on earth are you frightened of him? You were both very close last time I saw you. This must be about more than a stupid practical joke.’

‘It is.’ She paused, fighting off the urge to confide the whole story. ‘We … we didn’t get on at the college where we teach,’ she compromised. God, she wasn’t going to forgive herself in a hurry for appearing such a weak fool in front of this man. What must he think of her! ‘That was why I resigned. I thought we were friends. But I made a mistake. I told him I knew about something he had done and he got angry. Vindictive.’ She forced a watery smile. ‘I’m sorry to involve you, it’s just that he was so furious when I said I knew it was him and he said he was coming straight over and, you’re right, I was scared. I just didn’t want to see him again.’

‘I’m not surprised.’ Rhodri levered himself to his feet and went to make the tea. ‘I’ll drive you back when we’ve had this. Sort out your car and wait for lover boy. I am bigger than him, don’t forget!’ He glanced over his shoulder with a wink.

In spite of herself, Jess laughed, suddenly very aware of his broad shoulders and muscular frame in the open-necked shirt and jeans. She looked away hurriedly. ‘You are indeed.’

‘Then I can respectfully suggest he goes away and leaves you alone.’ He pushed a mug of tea towards her. ‘Poor Jess. And you came up here to have some peace. Ghosts and arrogant opera singers and now vengeful teachers. What a combination!’

‘I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.’

‘You would have thought of something.’ He grinned. ‘I’m just off to sing in a charity gala in Milan so you were lucky I was still here at all.’

She took a sip from the mug, astonished at how disappointed she felt that he was leaving. ‘I am sorry to involve you in all this.’

‘No sweat.’ He noticed the dogs suddenly and clicked his fingers at them. They slunk away into the yard. ‘Pity I can’t lend you those two to look after you. That would scare the bugger off. But they wouldn’t stay. Their job is here.’

‘And they do it very well.’

‘Working dogs, see. That’s why they can’t come in. Not that there are any sheep around at the moment. That’s why Mum and Dad can get away for a few days. Dave, our shepherd, is keeping an eye on them on the hill. He’ll be in charge once I’ve gone.’

Jess smiled. ‘The dogs come in when your mum is here. I’ve seen her let them in.’

Rhodri snorted. ‘I bet Dad doesn’t know that.’ He stood up. ‘OK. Are you ready?’

As the big 4 x 4 bucked and strained up the steep pot-holed lane to the house, Jess found she was clenching her fists apprehensively, but there was no sign of Dan’s car when they arrived. Rhodri pulled in and they climbed out. ‘Right, let’s have a look. Keys?’ He put out his hand.

Looking nervously over her shoulder Jess handed him the car keys and waited while he unlocked it and levered himself into the driver’s seat. She couldn’t believe she had done this. She had run away to find a man to save her, she had picked the most arrogant man she could find, arrogant even by his own admission, and now she was letting him sort everything out. Her credentials as an independent woman were completely shot.

The car started first go.

She stared at it uncomprehending. ‘But it was dead. The battery was flat. I’m sure it was.’

Rhodri touched his foot to the accelerator. ‘Sounds like she’s fine. Nice little car.’ He glanced up at her, his eyes twinkling. ‘Perhaps you flooded the engine.’

‘It was dead. Completely dead. Not even a light when I turned the key!’ Jess said furiously. ‘No, this is not a stupid woman driver. I know how to start a car!’ Her panic had turned to fury.

Rhodri climbed out, leaving the engine running. ‘Let her run for a bit in case the battery was a bit flat. I never said you were a stupid woman driver, did I?’

‘No, but you thought it!’

‘No. I didn’t.’ He strode towards the house. ‘Now, let’s have a look inside and make sure everything is OK, then we’ll sit and wait for your friendly colleague to show up.’

Two hours passed and there was still no sign of him. Rhodri made them an omelette and they drank a glass of wine, but Jess could barely manage a mouthful. She was becoming more and more uncomfortable and embarrassed.

‘I doubt if he’s coming after all,’ Rhodri said eventually. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I do have to go,’ he grinned affably, ‘I’ve things to do before I leave.’

‘Of course. I’m so sorry.’ Jess leaped to her feet. ‘And I am so grateful for you coming to sort me out. I’m an idiot!’

He gave a tolerant grin. ‘Not totally. You had got yourself in a bit of a state. Never mind. I suggest you lock yourself in and get a good night’s sleep, then tomorrow you can make some calm decisions about what to do. Don’t let him chase you out of this house, Jess. It’s too nice a place. Just remember to lock that front door. Don’t leave it open for all and sundry to walk in.’ He leaned across before she could dodge back and kissed her on the cheek. ‘My parents will be back in a couple of days. You’ll have a bit more support then. OK? And for goodness’ sake remember to charge up your mobile and report that phone out of order!’ He strode towards the front door.

Jess watched as he backed his car out of the yard. She stood for several minutes after he had disappeared down the lane, listening to the chorus of birds from the wood, then she stepped back inside and firmly closed the door. She wasn’t going to stay and lock herself in. She was leaving now.

7

Steph put the phone down and turned back into the kitchen where Kim was frying onions and tomatoes. She was frowning. ‘I’ve been trying all evening but there is still no reply from either phone.’

‘Perhaps she’s gone out.’ Kim threw some sliced zucchini into the heavy pan and added more oil. With her dark hair and eyes and her plump figure – a testament to her fondness for her own cooking – Kim looked every inch the Italian mamma in the making for all she had been born in Romford and attended the same college as Jess and Steph. ‘And she’s forgotten to take her mobile.’

‘That’s probably it. I’ve reported the line at Ty Bran. They checked. It is broken.’

‘Well, presumably someone will go and mend it.’ Kim reached for her wine glass and took a sip before turning her attention back to the sauce. ‘So, you can stop worrying, Steph. Jess is a big girl. She doesn’t need you checking up on her all the time. In fact you never have before, so why now?’

Steph shook her head wearily. ‘I don’t know. I’ve got a strange feeling, that’s all.’

‘What sort of strange feeling?’ Wooden spoon in hand, Kim paused in her stirring to gaze at her friend’s face. ‘You two aren’t twins, are you?’

‘You know we’re not!’

‘Then stop worrying. Go and see to our guests. Make sure everyone has got a drink. If you really want to know what is happening with Jess ask Carmella. She reads the cards. You’ll find a deck in Stefano’s old bureau.’

Steph wandered through the apartment towards the front door. From the grand reception room she could hear the sound of voices. Kim’s penchant for cooking frequently led to these impromptu parties where her guests marvelled at the talent of their English hostess who could cook Italian food better than any of them.

Steph resisted the urge to mention the cards, but as they sat in the salotto later savouring their dolci and coffee Kim brought the subject up again.

‘Steph needs some info about her sister, Carmella. Would you read the cards for her? Tell us what is happening over there in Wales?’ She levered herself out of the deep sofa and went to the bureau, rummaging around in the drawers.

There was a general murmur of interest from the other guests at the suggestion as she drew out the small box she had been looking for.

Carmella, a tall, elegant woman in her forties, held out her hand languidly and took the box. ‘I haven’t seen these since Stefano died. Do you remember how often we would read them?’ She smiled at Kim, raising one of her startlingly black, fly away eyebrows.

Kim nodded, suddenly wistful. ‘He loved to watch you do it, but he would never let you do a reading for him. Perhaps if you had –’

‘No!’ Carmella started shuffling the deck. ‘No, don’t think of that. What was to be, was to be.’ She flicked her dark hair out of her eyes and leaned forward to take a puff from the cigarette lying in the onyx ashtray near her coffee cup. ‘Now, let me see what the cards have to say. This is about your sister, Steph?’

Steph nodded.

‘Tell me her name.’

‘Jess.’

‘And do you have anything of hers with you? Perhaps a letter? A piece of jewellery to make the connection.’

Steph thought for a moment. ‘I have a scarf of hers. I liked it so much she gave it to me.’

‘That is good. Get it.’

Steph watched amused as Carmella cut the pack and then laid out the cards on the coffee table. It was years since she had seen anyone read the tarot. Probably not since she had been a student and done it herself. Carmella did it with superb style, she had to give her that. She lay back in her chair and sipped her coffee, watching as Carmella turned up the first card, Jess’s scarf lying on her knee, a splash of emerald against the black of the woman’s skirt.

‘Ah, il fante di denari. The page of coins; pentacles you call them, si? This is Jess. A page can represent a woman, you know that?’ She glanced round. Turning back to the table she ran her finger thoughtfully over the card. The eyes of every person in the room were fixed on her hands as she turned up the next and sat staring down at the layout in front of her. She was frowning. ‘Non capisco,’ she murmured to herself. ‘This is very strange. There are two different people here. We have two women. You see? Il fante di bastoni, the page of wands. But this one represents una ragazza. A much younger woman. Very important in the reading. They are linked in some way.’ She turned a third card. ‘And here with them we have il re di coppe al negativo.’ She paused, shaking her head. ‘Here is violence, scandal, treachery. A bad man in the lives of these two women.’ She glanced up, concerned. ‘And here. Il matto, the fool. He heralds a journey for all these people. I think not literally – maybe a step into the unknown. No, also a journey in reality.’ She turned up three more cards in quick succession. ‘There is so much here.’ She spread her hands over the cards. ‘They are on a quest. Your sister, Steph, has set out on a journey she cannot escape. She travels with another woman, maybe a child, and behind them follows this man. The cards never tell a lie, but this and this –’ Her hand strayed over the cards, stroking them, reading them almost like Braille. ‘This is too strange. There is love here; new love. Strong love, but also danger. And fear. And threats.’

‘Oh God!’ Steph whispered under her breath. She and Kim exchanged glances.

‘Perhaps,’ Kim said suddenly, clearing her throat, ‘this is not a good idea. Why don’t we have another drink and forget it.’

‘No.’ Carmella raised a commanding hand. ‘Aspetta! No, this is important. It is telling me something very important about your sister. She needs to be warned that she is in danger.’

‘Oh God!’ Steph repeated. She stood up as a murmur of concern ran round the room. Everyone was looking at her. No one seemed to doubt Carmella. No one was looking superior and cynical and scoffing as they would at a dinner party in London. They were all hanging on every word.

‘Carmella, stop it!’ Kim said. ‘That’s enough. You are frightening her!’

‘So, you don’t want to know? You don’t want to save her?’

‘Yes, of course I want to know.’ Steph sat down again. She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Go on.’

Carmella looked up at her for a moment, then she glanced back at the cards. ‘There is another man here.’ Her finger paused over the king of swords. She frowned. ‘Your sister’s father? He is wounded.’

‘Our father is dead,’ Steph put in sharply.

Carmella shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. This is definitely someone’s father. The other girl, perhaps. Do you know who she is?’ She looked up. ‘And there are soldiers here.’ She leaned closer to the cards for a minute. ‘And here, I see danger again.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘Here it is clear. There are two lives here and this,’ she tapped a card, ‘is your sister and someone wants to kill her!’ She sat back and stared at Steph, her eyes wide. ‘Dio mio, we are told never to forecast a death. Never! This is awful!’

‘And it’s tosh, Carmella!’ Kim looked really angry. ‘This was supposed to comfort her, not make things worse.’ She stood up. ‘Enough! Let’s have some Limoncello, then you should all go home!’

‘I’m going to ring the police!’ Steph hadn’t moved. She was sitting staring at the cards.

‘Don’t be an idiot! You can’t ring the police because of a tarot reading!’ Kim bent forward and swept all the cards into a heap. ‘That’s it. Finished. I am going to put them away.’

‘I’ll ring the Prices. Meg and Ken won’t mind going over to Ty Bran and seeing if she is all right.’ Steph stood up. ‘Don’t be angry with Carmella. I knew there was something wrong.’ She headed for the telephone, in the hallway, leaving the others all staring at each other.

The phone at Cwm-nant rang and rang. There was no reply. Steph slammed down the phone. Picking it up again she tried Ty Bran’s number. The line was still dead. Then she tried Jess’s mobile. It was still switched off.

‘Leave it, Steph.’ Kim appeared behind her. She had brought a bottle from the fridge in the kitchen and a tray of liqueur glasses. Pouring one out she put it down on the hall stand beside the telephone. ‘Get that down you. I’m so sorry. It was a stupid, stupid idea doing the tarot. I should have remembered how melodramatic Carmella can be.’

Steph picked up the glass and sipped it. The strong cold shot of lemon revived her a bit. ‘I don’t know who to ring, Kim. Jess is all alone up there. There is no one there I know well enough to ask them to drive up into the hills in the middle of the night to see if my sister is OK.’

‘I bet you she’s fine.’ Kim guided her back towards the kitchen and onto a stool by the table. ‘I tell you what. Tomorrow, if you can’t contact her by then, we’ll ring the police and you can explain how worried you are, OK? Honestly. I don’t think you can ring them tonight. Not on the strength of a card reading. They would think you were nuts. And they wouldn’t go. You know that as well as I do. There is no point in even trying.’

‘And what if someone is trying to kill her?’ Steph took another swig from the Limoncello.

‘Why on earth should someone try and kill Jess?’ Kim grabbed Steph by the shoulders. ‘Think about it, you idiot! What could Jess have possibly done that would warrant that!’

‘Will was trying to find her. He rang –’

‘Oh yes! And Will is trying to kill her? I thought you said he was still desperately in love with her.’

Steph shook her head. ‘I’m being stupid, aren’t I. I know I am. Sorry.’

‘At last! Sense. There was love in those cards as well, remember? Right, I’m going to send the others home. Go to bed, Steph. Sleep well. It will all be all right in the morning, you’ll see. The phone will be mended and you will find that Jess has been there all the time.’

For the second time Jess had locked the house and eased herself into the driver’s seat. Terrified that she would meet Dan’s car in the narrow lane she groped for the key and turned it in the ignition. The engine caught. With a little prayer of gratitude she eased up the clutch but as she began to turn the wheel to manoeuvre out of the yard the car engine coughed and died. ‘No! Please God, no!’ Leaning forward, her hands shaking, she turned the key again.

It was ten minutes before she gave up.

Nothing would persuade her to ring Rhodri again. She had her pride!

All she could do was take his advice after all, lock herself in and wait out the night. Perhaps Rhodri was right and Dan wasn’t coming.

The doors were locked and bolted for good measure, the windows closed, the curtains drawn, when Jess finally went to bed. Lying back on the pillows she stared at the window, not even bothering to open the book which rested on her knees. There was nothing to be afraid of. What could Dan do, even if he did come? She glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. Outside in the wood she could hear two tawny owls exchanging calls, the low hoots of the female echoing round the hillside, the sharp response of the male so loud he might have been sitting in the courtyard. She shivered and slid further down in the bed.

Publius Ostorius Scapula stood in his tent looking down at the woman who had been brought before him. She was dark-haired, slim, beautiful and very pale, the bruises on her face and throat still visible. One of his spies had given him some background on this woman. The eldest daughter of the last king of the Silures, the local and oh-so-troublesome tribe of these accursed southern Cambrian hills, she was Caratacus’s second wife. The first had died in childbirth so he understood. This second he had chosen with great acumen from the tribe in whose lands he had settled to spearhead his opposition to Rome. And she had done him proud, giving him three children, two girls and a boy and, so he had heard, her unswerving loyalty and love. She had great dignity and courage, this Celtic queen, in spite of her position as his captive.

‘I have news for you, lady,’ he said at last. ‘Your husband has been found.’ He saw the flash of hope in those beautiful grey eyes. ‘He was severely wounded but is, I understand, on the way to recovery.’

‘Where is he?’ The question came out as a whisper. She looked at him nervously, trying to be brave, meeting him eye to eye.

‘He fled north,’ he said slowly. ‘To the land of the Brigantes, assuming he would find succour there.’ His voice gave no clue to his feelings. ‘He threw himself on the mercy of Queen Cartimandua, who is, I understand, a kinswoman of his.’ She was smiling now. He moved across to the table, covered in maps and rolls of parchment and sat down, looking up at her thoughtfully. ‘You do not, perhaps, realise, that the queen is a client of Rome, sworn to the Emperor as our ally and friend.’

Cerys went white.

‘She has done her duty to Rome and informed us that Caratacus is now her captive. When he is well enough he will be transferred to my custody. I shall have him taken to Camulodunum to await word of the Emperor’s pleasure regarding his fate.’

To do her justice she did not flinch. Her shoulders remained straight, her face after that initial pallor without expression.

‘I shall send you there as well, with your daughter. I understand she was attacked by one of my men?’

Cerys looked him in the eye. ‘We were both raped by your men, General.’

‘As soon as they are identified they will be punished. You have my word on that, lady. As to your other children,’ his voice softened slightly. ‘I understand every effort has been made to locate them.’

This time she could not hide the pain in her eyes.

‘Has everything been done?’ He raised his gaze to that of the praefectus, Justinus, who stood at her side.

He stood to attention and saluted. ‘Sir. If they were there to be found, we would have found them. The search has been extended over a huge area. Either they have been found by local tribesmen and spirited away into the mountains, or –’ He paused, with a glance at his commander. ‘They are not there any more, sir.’ Wolves. The word hovered between them. Out of pity for the woman’s anguish neither man said it out loud.

Scapula was impressed by her dignity and courage. He sighed. He was as certain as maybe that the woman would never see her two younger children again. And he was prepared to waste no more of his soldiers’ time on looking for them. Her capture and that of her daughter was enough to give him leverage over Caratacus, if any were needed. Now he was sure of the man’s capture he had no real need of her at all, but no doubt parading them both before the people of Camulodunum, once the capital of this man’s father, would add to the impact of the defeat.

Back in the tent where her daughter waited for her, Cerys sat down next to the child and put her arm around her shoulders. ‘Your papa has been found alive, sweetheart. He is wounded but not too badly.’ No point in saying he was a prisoner. No point in saying that the Queen of the Brigantes had betrayed them, betrayed her blood, her kin, her oath to her gods and to her people. She clenched her teeth desperately. They would never see Togo and Glads again. That had been made clear by the Romans. They were not unsympathetic; she had read that much in Scapula’s eyes, but there was nothing more to be done. And never, never, she vowed as she cuddled her daughter to her, would she say anything that would cause Eigon to blame herself.

It was a game! Can we finish playing the game?

The voice echoed through Jess’s head as she slept.

Please, can we stop playing now?

The words came not from Eigon but from a smaller child, her sister.

Restlessly Jess turned over and punched the pillow. ‘She’s alive! She’s still alive! Glads is alive. Oh please, someone, go and look for her!’ She called out the words in her head but no one heard them.

The lamps were burning low; no one had come to replenish the oil and the tent was full of shadows. Cerys could see the silhouettes of the two guards beyond the leather flap of the doorway, their profiles black against the firelight. She could see their spears as a cross, black against the flames.

And again the thin little voice echoed round Ty Bran:

Eigon, where are you? Can I tell Togo to come out now?

In her sleep Jess gave a little moan.

Outside the house a figure crept across the yard and stood for a moment at the front door. It was just growing light.

Dan reached out and pushed the door experimentally, soundlessly rattling the handle, then he turned and tiptoed along the front of the house, pausing as he reached the corner. In the holly bush the blackbird fluttered up to its look-out post, shrieking a warning into the cold morning and upstairs Jess jerked awake suddenly, startled by the noise. The dream fled as she sat up.

She listened nervously. Something was wrong. Throwing back her bedcovers she eased herself out of bed and moving silently towards the window she peered down. The courtyard was empty, lost in colourless pre-dawn mist. Soundlessly she pushed the window open and leaned out. There was a car parked in the lane. She could see the dull gleam of the bonnet beyond the stone wall. She couldn’t distinguish the colour but she knew who it was. Closing the window silently she hurriedly threw on her clothes and tiptoed to her bedroom door, listening. She had locked all the downstairs doors and windows the night before; she remembered clearly touring the house one last time before she climbed the stairs to bed. He couldn’t get in. Not without breaking a window. Almost as the thought occurred to her she heard the sound of breaking glass from somewhere downstairs. Bolting the door, she flew to the phone beside the bed and lifted the receiver. It wasn’t until she had dialled 999 and waited, breathlessly, for an answer that she realised the line was still dead.

Oh please God, no. She shook the phone, tried again. Silence.

‘Jess?’

Dan’s voice was right outside her door. She saw the latch lift and heard the creak of the hinges as he tried to open it.

‘Jess, come on. Open the door. I’m not going to hurt you. But we do have to talk, don’t we.’

‘What the hell are you doing here, Dan? You can’t just break in! Go away. Now. I’ve called the police.’ Her voice came over as remarkably strong. ‘Don’t be a fool. You are going to make things worse than they are already.’

There was a moment’s silence. She thought she heard a chuckle. ‘No, Jess. You haven’t called the police. Your phone is dead, I tried it. I have your bag, and your mobile is here, in my hand.’

She spun round staring wildly about the room. She had left her phone downstairs, plugged in to charge. The thought that he had found it and that he had rifled through her bag as he was prowling through the house at five o’clock in the morning sickened her.

She tiptoed towards the window and peered out. Could she climb down? She doubted it. Anyway he would hear her.

‘Go away, Dan. Please. I’m not coming out so unless you’ve got all day, in fact all week, you may as well give up now. Threatening me is not going to make things any better. Go and we can talk on the phone.’ She clenched her teeth.

‘Come on, Jess. You must realise I can’t allow you to put everything I hold dear in jeopardy. I need you to make me some promises.’

‘I’ll promise nothing, Dan. Go away.’

There was a short pause. ‘Open the door and we’ll talk about it.’

‘You know I’m not going to do that.’

‘So you don’t trust me, but I am expected to trust you?’

‘There is a reason for that as you must realise.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’ve never lied to you, Dan.’

‘Yes you have. You just told me that you had called the police. That was a lie, wasn’t it.’ His voice was silky.

She closed her eyes. ‘I may not have called the police, but I’ve told someone what happened to me,’ she said defiantly. ‘And I have told him it was you. If anything happens to me he will go to the police for me and the truth will come out.’

‘That was a mistake, Jess. We could have talked about this. I could have explained.’ There was a long pause. ‘Did he believe you, this person you talked to?’

‘Of course he did!’

‘You amaze me. No one else will, once the facts come out.’ He laughed. There was a long silence. ‘Really, Jess. There’s no need for all this. We can talk it through.’ There was another pause. ‘We don’t have to have a great confrontation. If I misunderstood what you wanted, I apologise. I thought you wanted it as much as I did. You did. How can you say you didn’t? After all you can’t remember anything about it, can you. So, you do need to take my word for this.’ She heard his footsteps as he paced up and down the landing, then he was back outside her door again. ‘No one needs to know anything about it. Come on. Open the door. We need to talk. You’ve been depressed, Jess. Things get out of all proportion when one is depressed. That is why you’ve been behaving so oddly; your friend Rhodri will confirm that.’ There was another pause. ‘Of course, it was Rhodri you talked to.’ Another pause. ‘It was, wasn’t it? Large, extrovert, noisy Rhodri! Well, you didn’t have to tell him how you were paranoid about ghosts in this house, how you hallucinated about people smashing up your paintings, how you broke bottles of wine and accused me of doing it. He knows. He saw it all.’ She heard his footsteps again, heavy, angry, turning sharply at the end of the landing and returning to stop outside her door again. ‘You realise I could break this door down,’ he went on at last. ‘You can’t avoid me, Jess. Much better to talk about this. You don’t want to make me angry. After all, if something happened to you, who would ever suspect me? I would tell them how depressed you were when me met in Hay. Rhodri would confirm that, I expect! So, if you were found to have killed yourself, Jess, I doubt anyone would query your suicide. Look how strangely you’ve been behaving, even at school. Resigning. Not giving them notice. Refusing to go in even to collect your stuff. Oh Jess, no one would be surprised if it came to that. But we don’t want it to happen, do we. Come on. I’ve got all the time in the world. I could just wait here!’

She had broken out into a sweat. He was threatening to kill her. She took a deep breath. ‘You could never break this door down, Dan. It’s solid oak.’ She paused. ‘OK. We’ll wait then.’ She kept her voice as light as possible. ‘After all it won’t be long. Rhodri will be here after breakfast. I’ll just read till he comes, and you can wait there, on the landing.’ She padded barefoot across the room and sat down on the bed. Turning on the lamp, she reached for her book.

In seconds she had put it down again. She listened hard. There was no sound from the door. Outside the blackbird had started whistling, its song beautiful as the sun rose in a blaze of stormy red.

Have the nasty men come back?

The voice was clearly audible in the room suddenly. Jess looked round, her heart thudding. ‘Yes, they have.’ She spoke out loud. ‘Where are you, sweetheart?’

‘What did you say?’ Dan’s voice was slightly muffled. He had obviously moved away from the door.

‘I wasn’t talking to you.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ She gave a grim smile. She turned and addressed the empty space between the bed and the window. ‘Can you fetch help, Glads?’ Was it the younger child again? She thought so. The voice was lighter, more tentative. ‘Can we find someone to make the nasty man go away?’ She spoke softly, knowing he wouldn’t be able to make out her words.

‘Who are you talking to?’ For a moment he sounded suspicious. Then he laughed. ‘OK. You had me fooled for a second there, but only a second! I can wait all day, Jess.’

‘Just till Rhodri comes!’ She turned back towards the window. ‘Are you still there, Glads?’

There was no reply. She sighed. It was insane to think there would be. For twenty minutes neither she nor Dan spoke, then at last she heard him walking across the landing. She didn’t hear him come back. Had he moved away then? Exploring the house perhaps? She tiptoed towards the door. ‘Dan? Tell me the truth. You might as well. Was it you who pretended to wreck my pictures? Was it some sort of practical joke?’

‘And how exactly do you suppose I set up this joke?’ His voice was very close to the door after all. Perhaps he was leaning against it. ‘I brought glass and blood and a duplicate sketchbook with me, did I?’

‘Doesn’t sound very likely, does it!’ she admitted ruefully. ‘So,’ she went on, ‘where does Natalie think you are this morning?’

‘London. So you don’t have to worry about her expecting me back any time soon, Jess.’ His voice had a mocking ring to it.

She retreated to the bed and sat down. What were the chances of someone coming to call? None at all. Unless Rhodri took it into his head to come over again before he went away. He might phone and find the line dead and worry about her. Was that likely? She bit her lip. It was as she could see her only hope.

Half an hour later Dan’s voice woke her from a semi-doze. He sounded as though he was eating. ‘I’ve helped myself to some breakfast, Jess. I hope you don’t mind. Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Toast? You must be feeling hungry by now.’

She grimaced. ‘Thank you, Dan. I’m fine!’

‘What time did you say Rhodri was coming?’ He sounded amused.

‘Soon.’

‘I’ll be waiting for him if he does.’

Shit! What was she going to do now?

There was water to drink in the bathroom, and she could go without food for the time being, surely. She wasn’t hungry anyway, she was too scared. She could wait him out.

She tried to read but she couldn’t concentrate. She did some sketching, thankful for the small sketchpad she had left on her bedside table and after a while she dozed. When she woke two hours had passed. Levering herself to her feet she went to the door. ‘Dan? Are you still there?’

‘Oh yes, sweetheart, I’m still here.’

‘Just checking!’ She forced herself to laugh.

It was almost dark when she finally heard his footsteps outside in the courtyard. She ran to the window, dizzy with hunger and exhaustion, dodging just in time behind the curtain as he turned and looked back at the house. He obviously hadn’t seen her and in seconds he was once more heading towards the gate. Where was he going? Why had he given up? She didn’t give herself time to think about it. Pulling a sweater on over her shirt and jeans and ramming her feet into her shoes she ran to the door and flung back the bolt. In seconds she was down the stairs and in the kitchen, unlocking the side door with shaking hands. Moments later she had ducked behind the studio out of sight of the front of the house and was running across the lawn towards the hedge.

Forcing herself through a gap laced with sheep wool, she was through, bleeding with scratches from the hawthorn and brambles and out into the field. Running as fast as she could she doubled back out of sight of the house and in moments she was in the shelter of the trees, gasping for breath. Desperately she tried to control her gulps for air as she listened for the sound of Dan’s footsteps. Had he seen her? Why had he left unless it was to lure her out of her bedroom? All she could hear was the wind rustling in the treetops and the sudden sharp call of the owl. Below her in the valley it was already dark.

It seemed an age before she dared to move. Beyond the trees the sky was flooding with a colour wash of crimson and scarlet shot with green, silhouetting the distant hills. Cautiously she moved forward through the trees towards the house again, her eyes straining into the shadows until with a gasp of fear she saw his car below her, looming out of the darkness of the lane. She was far too close, coming out above the lane, much nearer to the house than she had expected and Dan was obviously still there. Somewhere. Her hope that he might have given up and driven away was a vain one. As silently as she could she melted back into the shelter of the trees and found her way back to the track. What now? There was only one option. To try and find her way across the fields to the Prices and pray that Rhodri was still there.

She glanced up at the sky between the branches of the trees. There was still a glimmer of light in the north west but down here amongst the trees it was growing pitch black as the sun slid behind the rim of the hill leaving nothing but a red glow on the highest branches of the summit trees. She glanced behind her. Was Dan following her or had he gone back into the house to wait for her? She didn’t have the courage to retrace her steps to try and find out.

All day she had kept the idea of Rhodri, with his broad shoulders and his deep strong voice in her mind, hoping against hope that just by conjuring him in her imagination she could bring him physically back to Ty Bran. It hadn’t happened, but he would protect her if she asked. Just by being there he would protect her from the madman in her house.

With a shiver she knew she dared not wait any longer. Carefully she began her descent of the steep escarpment, sliding through the soft leaf mould, clinging to the branches, feeling her way between tree trunks rough with lichen, protecting her eyes with the crook of her arm against sharp twigs and whipping saplings.

At last she reached the fence that bordered the wood. She felt along the barbed wire cautiously looking for the wooden footrail of the stile and finding it at last, climbed over, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. The clouds had rolled back and the night was bright with stars. On the horizon there was still a bright green line of reflected light, the last trace of the dying sun. Far behind her a pheasant launched itself suddenly out of the treetops with a deafening squawk of alarm. She held her breath. Something up there in the wood had scared it. She listened, her fingers still clutching the top rail of the stile.

Togo? We’ve stopped playing now. Where are you?

The voice echoed softly through the trees, barely a breath in the wind.

The moss under Jess’s fingers was damp. She could feel the moist warm velvet oozing under her nails. For a moment she clung tightly to the rail, paralysed with fear, then with a deep breath to strengthen her resolve she released it and set off across the field. It was rough under her feet, strewn with stones, uneven tussocks of grass and mudslips with here and there a patch of rushes catching at her ankles as she slid down into deeper puddles.

She felt horribly exposed as she crossed the field, but at least she could see in the starlight. As she reached the far side she found herself once again in the dark under the branches of a stand of ash trees as she made her way cautiously towards the gate.

She didn’t know how long it was before she finally found her way to Cwm-nant. Almost weeping with exhaustion, she pushed open the heavy gate and let herself into the farmyard. The farm was in darkness. As she hammered on the back door she realised suddenly that the dogs were not there. Nor was Rhodri’s car.

‘Oh no!’ She knocked again, beating on the door panels with her fists. ‘Please, please be here!’

She already knew he wasn’t. She was too late. He had gone. Too tired to do anything else she sank down into a huddle there in the porch, with tears of despair and exhaustion rolling down her cheeks.

Eventually she pulled herself together enough to climb to her feet and circle the house checking for open doors or windows. Rhodri had done a good job locking up and the dogs had gone. Feeling her way through the darkness into an outbuilding on the far side of the farmyard, she found some old sacks in which she could huddle as exhaustion finally overcame her. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that at least here Dan would not find her.

8

In Rome the morning was bright and already very hot. Steph stood for a moment at her open window, staring down at the street below, then with a sigh she reached out and closed the shutters against the heat. Still wearing her white cotton nightdress she padded barefoot down the corridor. ‘I’ve tried to phone again. The line is still dead.’ She found Kim in the kitchen. ‘I’m going to phone the police.’

‘I still think that is over-reacting. Call one of your neighbours. They won’t mind now it’s daytime, surely.’ Kim poured a second cup of coffee for herself and then as an afterthought one for Steph as well. She pushed her tousled hair back off her face. ‘You’re fussing too much, Steph. She’s a grown woman, for God’s sake!’

Reaching wearily for the coffee, Steph sat down at the table opposite her. ‘I know. And she’ll be furious. It’s just – I’ve got this feeling. And after last night –’

‘Did you call the Prices?’

Steph nodded. ‘No reply. Which is weird. How can a farm be empty? There has to be someone there for the animals.’

‘Don’t you know anyone else round there, Steph?’

Steph laughed. ‘Of course.’

‘Then ring them. Then you can relax.’

It was an hour and a half later that Sally Lomax rang Steph back from her car outside Ty Bran. ‘Just to let you know that all is well. I have just talked to a nice chap who said he was called Will who is staying here with Jess. They know the phone is out of order and it has been reported. I didn’t see Jess myself, but her car is here and he said he would get her to ring you this evening. Hope that puts your mind at rest.’

‘There!’ Kim grinned at Steph triumphantly when the message was relayed back to her. ‘What did I tell you? And she’s back with Will! That is fantastic news!’

* * *

Asleep in the outhouse Jess moved uncomfortably on her makeshift bed of sacks. Her eyes were flicking back and forth under her eyelids. They were leaving the lost and frightened children behind. This couldn’t be. They had to look again.

But once the decision had been made there was no delay. A wagon was provided for Cerys and her daughter with an escort of fifty men. Many of the captives from the battle had already left on their way east; the remainder were being marshalled in chains to follow them, defeated, wounded, some half dead from illness and near starvation. Scapula watched as the woman and child were brought out of their tent and steered towards the vehicle. Cerys walked with stately dignity. Only her fists, clutched into the folds of the Roman tunic and mantle in which she was dressed betrayed her tension. Drawing opposite her captor she stood still. ‘Promise me you will continue to search for my children.’ Her voice trembled slightly as she held his gaze.

He nodded. ‘We will continue to search.’ They both knew he was staying to consolidate his victory and take the battle deeper into the mountains. There would be no time to search for children.

‘Thank you.’ The single austere phrase was all she said. She turned to the wagon, allowing one of the soldiers to take her arm and help her up the step. Eigon followed her, her face white and tear-stained. ‘Mam, what about Togo and Glads?’ She clung to her mother’s skirt.

‘The soldiers will look for them, child.’ Cerys sat down on the bench which ran lengthways down the side of the wagon beneath the leather hood. She put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. ‘We must pray to the goddess to take care of them.’ Her voice faded to a whisper as she fought back her own tears. As the wagon lurched into motion they both looked through the double line of marching men as it fell in behind them, back towards the golden line of the hills, the broad river plain, the neat lines of Roman tents behind their fortifications slowly growing smaller as they lurched down the track. They were following the winding line of the great river towards the legionary fortress of Viroconium from where they were to start their journey east towards Camulodunum.

At Viroconium they were lodged in the house of the wife of one of the senior officers. She was kind and treated them with dignity. They were served with carefully prepared food at the family’s table, but neither Cerys nor her daughter ate much, both locked in their own misery. It was the same wherever they stopped. At each day’s end the procession halted at one of the forts, scattered a day’s ride apart along the road, and at each one they were given hot food and beds. Several times the escort acceded to Cerys’s demands that they be allowed to ride. Abandoning the imprisonment of the wagon with little regret they made better time, the legionaries watching the straight backs and easy riding style of the captive queen and her daughter with grudging approval. Even surrounded by the guards of her enemy with a lead rein from her horse’s bit to the hand of a trooper Cerys felt better. At first she felt her spirits lift at the exercise but as the distance grew between them and the lands of the Silures and their northern neighbours the Ordovices she spoke to Eigon less and less, her heart torn with anguish for her two lost children. Eigon watched her miserably, huddling deeper and deeper into her cloak, her own guilt and loneliness growing greater with each step of her shaggy pony.

The countryside changed. Leaving the mountains of Wales faraway in the west they followed a route which became flatter with every day’s journey. Eventually even the lower hills were gone and they plodded on across the flat midland plain through endless forests, areas of scrub, areas of burned cleared woodland, past small reclaimed areas of cultivated land, and larger fields, past small villages where the occupants cowered at the sight of the Roman soldiers and shook their fists at their backs as they rode by, always, endlessly heading towards the rising sun.

At Verulamium the party stopped for two days.

It was there, watching other children playing, that Eigon heard Glads’s voice calling her.

Where are you? You told us to stay in the wood. Eigon? I can’t find Togo. Can we stop playing now. I’m lonely!

The voice was hysterical, broken with sobs, echoing across the broad streets, threading over the sound of other children’s laughter.

‘Mam!’ Eigon pulled at her mother’s hand. ‘I can hear Glads calling.’

Cerys looked down at her and her eyes were like flint. ‘Don’t mention your sister’s name!’

‘But Mam! Please! She’s calling. She’s lost and frightened!’

Cerys pulled her hand away sharply. ‘You’re lying!’ She turned away to hide her tears. ‘Don’t think about them. They’ve gone.’

‘But Mam, Glads is still there. She is waiting for us. She’s lost Togo.’

Cerys let out a wail of anguish and violently pushed Eigon away. The child didn’t try and tell her any more about what she had heard. Instead, quietly in her bed at night, she prayed, pouring out her heart to the goddess Bride, begging her to look after her brother and sister.

The goddess did not reply.

When Jess woke it was full daylight and she was so stiff she could hardly move. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, then wearily she sat up and peered round, her dream receding, memories of the events of the day before flooding back. Hungry, thirsty and frightened she climbed to her feet and tiptoed to the door. The yard was deserted.

A second circuit of the farmhouse and its outbuildings confirmed the fact that the place was empty. Driven by hunger, she opened one of the old freezers which sat in a shed behind the barn and was confronted by a frozen mountain of various cuts of lamb. With a shudder she closed it. Megan’s kitchen garden was much more help. Late raspberries and strawberries, blackcurrants, peas and a carrot or two brushed free of mud, restored her strength and confidence and by the time she had eaten her fill she had worked out a plan. She would go home, retracing her steps until she could look down at Ty Bran from the woods on the hillside above. If Dan was still there she would bypass the house, make her way down towards the road and the distant village.

Perched on the hillside above the house she had a good view of the courtyard and the lane outside the house. There was no sign of Dan’s car. Cautiously she made her way down towards the gate and paused, scanning every corner of the yard, every tree and bush, every angle of the house. The place felt empty. The lean-to garage was empty. Her own car still stood uselessly in the middle of the courtyard. There was nowhere else his car could be. No space round the back; no hidden places up on the track. He had gone. She was sure of it. The blackbird was on his favourite perch on the roof of the studio. She smiled. If anyone had been here in the last few minutes the bird would have flown away, surely. As quietly as possible she pushed open the gate and tiptoed around the courtyard. The front door was closed. Silently, flattened against the wall, she edged towards the kitchen window and after a moment’s hesitation, peered in. The room was empty. Ducking under the window she made her way round the side of the house. To her surprise the back door was ajar. She shrank back, frightened, and waited, holding her breath. Was he still there after all? It was a long time before she crept forward again and cautiously pushed the door open as far as it would go. There was no sound from inside. It took a lot of courage to go in; more to search the house. He had gone. There was no sign of him anywhere save the broken window in the dining room where he had forced his way in.

Her heart thudding with fear she stood in the kitchen again, trying to decide what to do. She couldn’t stay here now. She was too much of a threat to him. She frowned. Where had he gone? Why had he left? Had Nat phoned him and demanded he go back? Perhaps his alibi had run out. She gave a grim smile at the thought, but she wasn’t going to stay and wait for him to come back. He must realise she would tell someone about his threats. Or was he going to bluff it out; tell the world she was deluded. After all, he was right, there was no proof of what had happened, either yesterday or back in London. No proof at all. She had told no one. There was no evidence, she had seen to that. Miserably she paced up and down the floor, aware in some part of her that the blackbird was still singing outside from the studio roof, his reassurance her only comfort.

Where are you?

The words floated through the window suddenly, a child’s voice from far away.

Jess shivered.

Where are you? Don’t leave me!

‘Oh God! I can’t stand this any more!’ Her mind made up, Jess turned towards the door.

Her handbag, the bag that Dan had presumably rifled through, was sitting on the kitchen table. She glanced through it. Her mobile was in there. He had put it back in the bag. And her passport, tucked into a side pocket. He had moved nothing. She found the name of a builder on Steph’s list of emergency phone numbers and picked up the phone to get him to come and fix the window. The phone was still dead. Her mobile battery was still flat. Dan had unplugged it from the charger. Swearing, she tore off the piece of paper and put it in her pocket. She glanced round the house one last time to make sure she had forgotten nothing, as an afterthought scooped up Rhodri’s CDs and tucked them into her bag, then she went outside, banging the door behind her. Unlocking the car she pulled one of her cases towards her. She needed a few things. She would put them in a carrier and lug them down to the village where she would find someone who would let her borrow their phone. It hardly seemed worthwhile to try to start the car again but she did it anyway.

It started first go. With a sob of hope she slammed the door and began to ease the car out of the yard. Pulling out onto the track she put her foot down and headed downhill. If Dan was still lurking in the lane and about to accost her as she drove past she intended to be travelling so fast he couldn’t catch her. The car bucked and groaned as it lurched through the potholes but the engine seemed fine. She glanced in the mirror back towards the trees. The sun was glinting on the puddles, slanting through the branches throwing a network of shadows across the deep ruts.

‘Goodbye, Eigon, Glads, Togo,’ she whispered.

There was no reply.

She didn’t stop until she reached the garage in the next town where an obliging mechanic found the loose connection within minutes. Within half an hour she had filled up with petrol, bought some sandwiches and called the builder to go up to the house and fix the window. She plugged her phone in to charge, then she leaned forward to select a CD.

The first that came to hand was Elgar’s cantata Caractacus with Rhodri in the title role. She looked down at it thoughtfully, then pulled out the booklet tucked into the front of the case. Yes, Caractacus was the man she knew as Caratacus and his daughter was here too. Eigen, she was called. Jess frowned, looking down the cast list. Orbin. Who was Orbin? She read on swiftly. He was, apparently, Eigen’s lover. Jess shook her head. No, that wasn’t right. Eigon was a little girl. There was an Arch Druid in the cast, and of course the Emperor Claudius. She read on thoughtfully. The scene had been set by Elgar in his beloved Malvern Hills. She slid the first disk from its case, slipped it into the player and as she pulled out of the garage forecourt she turned up the volume. Behind her, in the distance, the true site of Caratacus’s defeat lay in the summer sunlight, gentle now beneath the distant escarpment of the hills, sleeping in the arm of the river, the site chosen with such care for his great confrontation with the forces of Rome and which had in the event served him so badly in the face of the greatest fighting force the country had yet seen.

The last leg of their journey took them from Verulamium to Camulodunum. Altogether, they had been some fourteen days on the road. This town had been the centre of the confederation of the two great tribes of the Catuvellauni and the Trinovantes. Cunobelinus, the father of Caratacus, Cerys’s Caradoc, had been king here before the Romans came. Now it was the centre and the military base of the new province of Britannia. It was here, while she was lodged with her daughter in the legionary fortress, that Cerys learned their fate. As soon as her husband was brought south to join them all the captives were to be taken to Rome to be paraded as vanquished enemies before the people of Rome and before the Emperor in person and then consigned to their doom. Cerys did not need to read the expression in the eyes of the commander of the legion to know that he expected that they would be sentenced to a horrible death before the baying crowds, or that while waiting for her husband to be brought south from his incarceration by the queen of the Brigantes she and Eigon would be kept in close imprisonment. Their time as honoured captives was over, their new lives as prisoners and probably slaves about to begin.

She stared at the letter in his hand as though willing it to disappear; as though praying he would reread it, say he had made a mistake, but his eyes pitilessly confirmed what he had just read out loud. Already he had beckoned the guard forward. Already she was being led from the room, Eigon at her heels.

‘Mam? Mam, where are we going? What is happening?’ The child caught at the skirt of her tunic. Cerys ignored her. She clenched her fists in the folds of her cloak and straightened her shoulders. She would not show fear. She would not show grief. She would not betray the honour of her tribe or the royal bravery of her husband before these men. And nor would her daughter.

‘Be silent, Eigon,’ she snapped. ‘Remember you are a princess. Do not show them you are afraid!’

Eigon shrank back. Bewildered, she bit back her tears. One of the legionaries of their escort noticed the exchange. He glanced at his officer, noted he was looking the other way and smiling down at the little girl in an attempt at reassurance he winked. ‘Courage!’ he whispered.

The last chorus of the first CD came to an end with a flourish. With a start Jess realised she had driven miles without being aware of where she was, buoyed up by the passion of the music. She glanced round, looking for a signpost. She was still on track heading down towards the motorway and London. While Eigon’s life had been unfolding inside her head some other part of her consciousness had been steering the car, turning corners, negotiating roundabouts and villages, heading away from Wales.

Pulling in at last at Warwick Services on the M40 she took stock of the situation as she queued up for coffee and a toasted sandwich, forcing herself to put Eigon and her family out of her mind and bring herself back to the present. She couldn’t go back to her flat; her tenant wouldn’t appreciate her sudden return and it would anyway be the first place Dan would look. She shivered, glancing in spite of herself at the crowds of people around her. No, she would stick to her plan. She had her passport, her credit cards, all she needed in the car with her. She would follow Steph – and Eigon – to Rome.

9

The gods were with her. She managed to get a flight that same evening. Leaving most of her belongings locked in the car in the long term car park at Heathrow, she settled into her seat with a huge sigh of relief as the plane took off and angled sharply over London.

She arrived at last at the palazzo in the early hours of the morning. When she climbed out of the taxi, paid the driver and dragged her case to the door the street was, she noticed wearily, as busy as it would be at midday at home. She had no time for any other observations. In seconds she was being enveloped in hugs and escorted up the great marble staircase which led to Kim’s front door on the first floor. Minutes after that she was seated in front of a crisp glass of Frascati and a bowl of pasta in the echoing old-fashioned kitchen.

‘So?’ Steph sat down opposite her and leaned forward on her elbows. ‘What happened?’

‘What do you mean?’ Jess took a mouthful of the fettuccine alla marinara, savouring the flavours with delight. She had not eaten since her motorway stop, so long ago it seemed like another era. A warm fuzzy sense of security was beginning to drift over her.

Kim spooned the last of the sauce onto Jess’s plate. She glanced at Steph. ‘No questions now, Steph,’ she said sternly. ‘Jess is exhausted. We’ll catch up on all her news in the morning.’

In less than an hour Jess had taken a long relaxing bath and fallen into bed. Almost before her head touched the pillow she was asleep. But her sleep was restless and it wasn’t long before she woke suddenly and lay staring into the dark. Her head had been full of music. Elgar. The voice of Rhodri Price, filling the dark spaces of her brain. Except it wasn’t Rhodri Price, it was Caratacus.

* * *

Tall, his strong weather-beaten features drawn with pain, his hair threaded now with silver amongst the thick auburn locks, he was standing in the doorway, his shoulder and upper arm still bandaged from his battle wound, his wrists shackled with heavy iron manacles, staring in towards his wife and daughter. ‘Where is he?’ he asked. ‘Where is my son?’

Cerys clasped her hands in anguish as he stepped into the room. Behind him the guard slammed the door and they heard the bolt slide across.

‘We searched. We searched everywhere. The Romans searched. They put the whole legion to the search –’ Her voice rose in anguish. ‘Eigon hid them in the wood above the battlefield. To keep them safe. But when we looked they had gone.’

Eigon had started to tremble. She stared at her father in terror, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I told them to hide. I told them not to come out.’

For a brief second his face was consumed with anger; with an enormous effort he controlled it. ‘They told me. Can we hope our own people found them? Can they be keeping them safe?’

‘That is my prayer,’ Cerys said softly. ‘I pray every day to the goddess Bride to keep them safe. You must not blame Eigon. She did what she thought was right.’ Her voice was softened by a smile as she turned towards her daughter but there was a hard edge of pain to it that Eigon heard with a small whimper of unhappiness.

Caradoc studied his wife’s face. ‘I had no intention of blaming her. Come here, child.’ He held out his arms, awkward because of the chains and Eigon ran to him, leaning against his knees, worming her way into his embrace. ‘You did what you thought was right, sweetheart, and you were very brave.’ He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘And who knows,’ he glanced up at his wife, his face strained. ‘It may be that Togo and Glads are the ones who will survive to fight another day.’

The music faded and Jess slept again. Next time she woke she went and stood by the window looking out into the darkness, listening to the noises of the night. Her window faced away from the noisy street outside. From somewhere she could hear a tinkling of water, but behind it there was still a distant subdued hum of traffic. She smiled to herself. The Eternal City. She remembered how excited they had all been when Kim had announced her engagement to her Roman aristocrat. They had all vowed to keep in touch for ever, vowed with her, to learn Italian. Jess grimaced at the memory. Kim had become fluent over the years, of course she had. Her own and Steph’s attempts at the language had flagged almost at once. Her promises to herself that she would one day read La Commedia Divina in the original had been ignominiously shunted aside, along with her recognition that her mastery of the language would probably be limited to a few useful phrases mostly involving food.

When she woke again it was late and she lay staring with delight round the large room to which she had been shown the night before. Too tired to take much notice of the room lit only by a shaded bedside light, she had taken in very little of its detail beyond the fact that it was comfortable and had its own en suite bathroom. Now she found she was lying in a baroque four-poster bed, its curtains open, tied back against the posts with brocade swags; at the windows the threadbare damask curtains were only half-drawn and sunlight poured through onto exotic old rugs filling the room with rich warm light. Climbing to her feet she went over to look out and found she was staring down into a courtyard garden somewhere in the quiet inner heart of the palazzo. The tantalising sound of water she had heard in the night, came, she discovered, from an ornate fountain at the centre of an intricate pattern of formal beds and gravelled paths.

‘Are you awake?’ Steph appeared in the doorway behind her. She was carrying two cups of coffee.

Jess turned away from the window and faced her, pushing her hair back from her face with both hands. ‘This is heaven! I hope Kim really doesn’t mind me turning up at such short notice.’ She realised that for the first time in ages she felt completely safe.

‘Kim is delighted. She rattles round in this apartment.’ For a second Steph frowned. ‘I think she is genuinely lonely, you know. It was fabulous when Stefano was alive but now I suspect she only has a few real friends here and most of them bugger off in the summer to go somewhere cooler. I met some of them the other night but most of them were about to leave Rome for the holidays.’ Cradling her own cup she sat down on the bed, swinging her legs. Her feet were bare. ‘I am so pleased you decided to come, Jessie. We’re going to have such fun.’

Jess eyed her sister speculatively knowing it was only a matter of time before the cross questioning started. Ruefully she was remembering her recent enthusiasm for Wales, her pleas to go to Ty Bran, her longing to paint, knowing how illogical her sudden arrival in the middle of the night must seem. One thing was certain. She was not going to tell Steph and Kim the true reason.

‘So, what changed your mind? Why did you decide to leave?’ Steph had leaned back on her elbow amongst the pillows as she sipped her coffee, noting how pale and strained her sister looked.

Jess set her own cup down on a console table by the window. She rubbed her face with her hands. The music from her dream, from the long car journey was still there, at the back of her brain. She was not going to mention Dan, but she could tell them about Eigon. ‘Did you ever hear a child’s voice at Ty Bran, Steph? Eigon’s voice.’

Steph sat up again. ‘A voice?’

‘Eigon. The daughter of Caratacus!’

Steph looked confused.

‘The ghost! The little girl who haunts your studio.’

‘Ah.’ Steph stood up. She paced slowly over to the window and stood looking out. ‘Is this why you changed your mind about staying up there alone? You got spooked.’ Her voice was casual but Jess heard the tension there.

‘I suppose I was,’ she acknowledged cautiously. Better by far for Steph to think she had been chased out by ghosts than to know the real reason.

Steph retraced her steps to the bed and climbed onto it once more, sitting cross-legged against the pillows. ‘Ty Bran is haunted. There’s no doubt about it. I’ve often heard things, sensed things. Not really seen anything.’ She picked idly at the silvery embroidery on the pillow case. ‘But it’s never frightened me. If it had, I would have warned you. I don’t mind at all being up there alone. At least –’

‘She didn’t frighten me.’ Jess sat down on the bed next to her. ‘Not once I got used to her. But she made me sad. She is so lonely, so needy. Do you know the story? Eigon was captured by the Romans with her father and mother. And brought here. To Rome. They were prisoners in chains. But her baby brother and sister were lost in the woods at Ty Bran.’

‘Lost?’

Jess nodded. ‘They were hiding from the soldiers. They captured Eigon, but they never found the other two. At least, I don’t think they did.’

‘And you think she is still looking for them?’ Steph shook her head. ‘God that sounds awful. How do you know all this?’

‘Rhodri Price.’ Jess grimaced.

‘Rhodri?’ Steph stared at her incredulously.

Jess slipped off the bed again and went to rummage in her bag. She pulled out a CD.

‘Elgar’s Caractacus.’ Steph read the label. ‘That’s mine!’ She looked up.

‘You might have warned me about him,’ Jess said. ‘I put my foot in it at once by not having a clue who he was!’

Steph chuckled. ‘Oh dear. Sorry. That would really have upset him. He’s a prickly so and so – much too big for his boots!’

‘Isn’t he just!’ Jess grinned. ‘I remembered you didn’t like him much! I think I can see why.’

Steph dropped the CD on the bed. ‘I’m surprised he was there. He doesn’t stay at the farm much any more. He’s based in London nowadays and he’s always on tour somewhere or another. So, you’ve come to hear him sing? Megan told me he was due to appear at La Scala. But that’s not in Rome …’

‘No, I haven’t come to hear him sing! Come off it. It’s not my kind of music for a start.’ The music which was nevertheless swirling and raging in her head; the music which wouldn’t go away. ‘And I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him think I was even remotely interested in hearing him. My God, he might think I was a fan! No, I’ve come to do some research.’ Suddenly she realised that was at least partly true. She wanted to get as faraway from Dan as possible, yes, but she needed to know what happened to Eigon as well. She wanted to find out about the children. ‘I know what happened to Caratacus when he got to Rome, it’s part of history, but I want to know what happened to her. It was Rhodri who told me who she was. He told me about the battle when Caratacus was defeated. After all, he has sung about it, their farm is part of the battlefield. He knows the story. And he got me to listen to a programme on the radio about it all.’

She repeated the whole story to Kim and Steph as the three women sat over a late lunch at a trattoria near the palazzo. Kim stared at her. ‘Well, of all the reasons for anyone to come to Rome, that was the last thing that would have occurred to me.’

Steph grinned. ‘I think it’s wonderful. A quest!’

‘But how does the dangerous man fit into all this, I wonder,’ Kim went on thoughtfully. ‘Did you tell her, Steph, about Carmella’s warning?’

‘What warning? What dangerous man?’ Jess put down her fork.

‘My friend Carmella read the cards for you and she said that you were in danger. Your sister here almost had the police out to you when she couldn’t get you on the phone.’

‘Really?’ Jess met Steph’s gaze thoughtfully.

‘Really.’

‘And now here you are with this strange mission,’ Kim went on, her eyes sparkling suddenly. ‘So, who is Caractacus? I know he was a king. I know that much from Rolf Harris! But I didn’t know he was real. I didn’t know he was dangerous. Caractacus I mean, Not Rolf.’ She gave a gurgle of mirth.

‘His real name was Caratacus, without the extra c. In Wales he’s called Caradoc,’ Jess said thoughtfully. ‘The Romans defeated him in a battle in the valley below Ty Bran. He was the Welsh leader, a national hero. He was captured with his wife and daughter by the Romans and the Emperor Claudius ordered that they be brought to Rome in chains.’

‘Bummer!’ Kim reached out for the wine bottle. ‘And what has this to do with your ghost?’ She topped up Jess’s glass.

‘The ghosts at Ty Bran are his daughters.’

‘Ghosts?’ Steph put in. ‘Are there more than one?’

Jess nodded. ‘Eigon and her little sister, Glads. I’ve seen them both.’

‘And they died at Ty Bran?’

Jess shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think so. That is what I want to find out. According to this –’ she fished in her bag and produced the CD – ‘Eigon came to Rome with her parents. In this opera, she is a grown woman. A powerful busty soprano! For me she is a little girl. Unhappy and lost.’

‘Your first conundrum!’ Kim pushed her plate aside and stood up. ‘OK. I have to love you and leave you. I have a hair appointment. You two continue your sisterly reunion and I will see you later. Ciao, girls!’

‘Right,’ Steph said as they watched Kim duck out from under the pavement umbrellas and thread her way down the street. ‘And what happened to the other sister?’

Jess shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

Steph raised an eyebrow. ‘No, Jess, intriguing as all this seems I don’t think I’m altogether buying this story. You’re not a historian. Come on, I want the truth.’

Jess glanced at Steph, her eyes hidden behind her dark glasses from the blistering Roman sunshine then she looked down at the table and shrugged evasively. ‘I’ve told you the truth. Now, what is this about reading my cards?’ Firmly she changed the subject.

Steph shrugged. ‘It was a silly game. One of Kim’s friends does it as a party piece. Reading the tarocchi. She said you were in danger.’ She looked surreptitiously at her sister. ‘She talked about a man trying to kill you.’

Jess stared at her.

‘I told them all that was nonsense, but I did worry a bit. Of course I did. That was why I tried to ring you.’

Jess tucked the CD back into her bag and reached for her purse. ‘Can we go for a walk?’ She found she was shivering in spite of the heat. ‘Let me pay for this, then I would love to stroll for a bit.’ Thoughtfully she pulled out a handful of euros. ‘Why on earth should someone be trying kill me? Did she say?’ She beckoned the waiter.

‘No she didn’t.’ Steph hesitated. ‘She also said something about love.’

Jess grinned distractedly. ‘What tarot reader doesn’t.’

‘Good point. The thing is, you are still together, aren’t you, you and Will?’

‘No way!’

Steph glanced up as the young man appeared at their table. ‘Il conto, grazie.’ Suddenly she was looking worried. ‘He still loves you, you know.’ She turned back to Jess.

‘Not any more.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because I was horrible to him. Because I thought he had done something.’ She paused. ‘It doesn’t matter why, Steph. Just take my word for it.’

‘Do you still like him at all, Jess?’

They stood up, leaving the tip on the table. The hovering waiter scooped it into the pocket of his long black apron with a wink. Strolling slowly towards the Corso Vittorio Emanuele Steph glanced sideways at her sister. ‘You didn’t answer,’ she persisted. ‘Do you still like him?’

Jess shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think we could ever be an item again, if that’s what you mean. Too much water under the bridge.’

Steph swung her tote bag over her shoulder. The sun was reflecting off the pavement in a dazzling glare of pale stone. Car fumes hung in a haze over the crossroads ahead. The roar of traffic made it almost impossible to make themselves heard. Instinctively they crossed over to the shady side of the street and turned off the main road up a narrow alley, strolling more slowly still towards the Piazza Navona.

‘But you wouldn’t mind if you saw him again?’ Steph went on doggedly.

‘I suppose not.’ Jess paused. ‘Though I doubt if he would want to see me.’ She pulled off her dark glasses, narrowing her eyes. ‘Why are you asking me all this, Steph?’

‘Because he’s on his way. I’m sorry. I should have asked you first. I’m an idiot. But last time I spoke to him he told me how much he still loved you. Well, almost. And I thought … Well, he was up at Ty Bran, wasn’t he and after you rang to say you were on your way, I rang him.’ Steph heaved a great shrug. ‘I should have told you last night. It was sort of Kim’s idea too. She has so much room and we thought it would be fun, and Carmella said you had found love again –’

‘Carmella!’ Jess turned to face her angrily. ‘Who is this woman who seems to have such an influence over you? She doesn’t know anything about me! I don’t want Will here! I came here for some peace!’

‘I’m so sorry.’

Jess exhaled hard through her teeth. ‘OK. I suppose it’s not the end of the world. But I am not back with him. I am not wanting to be back with him, and that must be made clear. By you, Steph! I don’t want to be put in the embarrassing position of him arriving and thinking I am going to fall at his feet. Or into his bed. Or have his bags delivered to my bedroom for God’s sake!’ She rammed her sunglasses back on. ‘I have come here to do some research. I shall be out most of the time.’

‘Sorry.’ Steph shook her head again. ‘So sorry.’ There was a moment’s silence. They had drifted to a standstill as they reached the piazza and around them people divided and passed them by on the busy pavement. They were surrounded by the smell of food from the restaurants all round them; the sound of water from the three great fountains filled the air.

‘When is he coming?’ Jess said, after a pause.

‘Today.’

‘Today?’

Steph nodded. ‘Otherwise I could have rung him and told him not to come. He was very keen. He said you and he had had words and he was really sorry and he wanted to make up. Sorry.’

‘Stop saying sorry!’ Jess suddenly felt like crying. All the complications were coming back. Those wonderful moments of peace and happiness in her bedroom as she woke to a feeling of complete safety were gone. The wave of betrayal and devastation was swiftly replaced by anger. ‘As I said, I shan’t be there much.’

‘How are you going to do all this research, Jess?’ Steph said softly. ‘When you don’t speak Italian.’

Jess glared at her. ‘I’ll find a way. There are lots of websites. Besides, I shan’t need Italian to walk around the ruins.’

Will arrived at about six p.m. He dropped his bags on the floor of the hallway and greeted Kim and Steph with a kiss on the cheek. Then he turned to Jess. He smiled.

‘How are you?’ He sounded wary.

‘Better than last time we met. I’m sorry if I was rude.’

‘Why don’t you go into the salotto, you two.’ Kim, forewarned by Steph that Jess wasn’t quite as pleased by the arrival of the new guest as they had expected, ushered them into the large cool reception room off the entrance hall. ‘Clear the air, then come and have a drink. We’ll be in the kitchen.’

Will closed the door behind them and stood, his back to it, looking at Jess. He waited unsmiling for her to speak first.

‘I’m sorry. I know I was awful to you.’ Jess shrugged. ‘I understand if you never want to speak to me again. Steph and Kim didn’t realise. There was a reason I behaved the way I did.’ She saw the sceptically raised eyebrow and plunged on. ‘Can I explain?’

‘I think you’d better.’ He still hadn’t smiled at her, she realised. He had made no move in her direction at all.

‘When you came to see me in Wales I thought you had –’ She floundered to a standstill.

‘When I came to Wales you said all sorts of crazy things to me, Jess; you treated me as though I was a serial killer!’ he filled in for her.

Shaking her head sadly she hesitated before going on. ‘Almost. As you know, I thought,’ she paused again. ‘I thought you had done something. Broken into my flat.’ She struggled to meet his eye. ‘I know I was wrong. I want to apologise. I want to make it all right again.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that.’ She bit her lip.

‘And did you find out who had broken into your flat?’ He held her gaze.

She shook her head.

‘Did they take anything?’

Only my self-respect. My peace of mind. Maybe a bit of my sanity. She didn’t say it.

‘Why did you think it was me?’

‘Because –’ She sighed. ‘Because someone told me it was you and like a fool I believed them.’

‘Dan?’

She was startled. ‘How did you know that?’

‘He’s been saying some odd things lately. Tell me, if he thought I had broken into your flat, why did he suggest I come and see you in Wales?’

Jess shrugged miserably. ‘He was setting you up. He knew you hadn’t done it.’

His eyes narrowed angrily. ‘He must have known you would throw me out.’

Dear God! She couldn’t tell him the truth. If she did he would probably kill Dan. Everyone would find out what had happened. She would never be free of the horror and the scandal. ‘He was protecting someone else. Look, Will, it doesn’t matter why –’

‘It most certainly does!’ He strode away from the door towards the large circular table that stood in the middle of the floor. He ran a finger across the intricate marquetry. The room was dim, lit by the faint lines of sunlight which strayed in around the closed shutters. It smelled of beeswax polish and dust. ‘Who was he protecting?’

She could feel the anger coming off him and it scared her. ‘It was Ash,’ she said hurriedly. ‘He thought Ash had done it. He didn’t,’ she added quickly as Will’s lips tightened. ‘It was all a silly misunderstanding. That’s why I wanted to explain to you why I had been so horrid.’ She floundered to a halt miserably.

‘A misunderstanding! And why did he think it was Ash who had done it? Because the boy’s black, so he must be a thief?’ Will’s anger seemed to condense in the air around them.

‘No! No, of course not. Dan saw Ash walking home with me after the school disco and assumed –’ She faltered. ‘Look, it wasn’t Ash. And it wasn’t you. And I’m so, so sorry for thinking that it was!’

‘And you arranged to have me come all this way so you could apologise to me? May I ask why you didn’t just telephone?’ he asked acidly.

‘I didn’t know Kim and Steph had asked you. I didn’t know you were coming till this afternoon.’ She walked over and stood beside him. ‘But I’m glad you have. It’s given me the chance to explain. To apologise.’

‘Well, I suppose I should be relieved all that venom wasn’t for me after all,’ he said with a sigh. There was a pause. ‘What the hell are you doing in Rome anyway? I thought you were going to spend the summer painting in Wales.’

She forced a smile. ‘I am researching a ghost, if you really want to know.’ She gave him what she hoped was a disarming grin. How could she ever tell him the truth?

I’m here because I am scared Dan wants to kill me.

I am on the run.

I am not sure what I am going to do or how long I’m going to stay here or what is going to happen next.

At the moment I am not sure I shall ever dare go back to England!

No, she was hardly going to say all that.

He turned to face her. ‘You know, I don’t understand you any more at all! A ghost! What else? Why didn’t I think of that!’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead before she could step back. ‘Friends, but that’s all, right? Do I read the message correctly now?’

She bit her lip and nodded.

‘Fair enough.’ He turned away. ‘Where are the others? In the kitchen?’ He strode away from her towards the door. Then as he reached for the ornate gilt handle he swung back. ‘And you really don’t know who broke into your flat?’

She shook her head.

‘Did you call the police?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘It was too late. No evidence.’

‘And they didn’t take anything?’

She shook her head. Nothing tangible.

He shrugged and pulling open the door, disappeared into the corridor.

Jess didn’t move.

10

Someone had mended the broken window. Dan stood on the terrace looking at the clean pane of glass glittering in the afternoon sun. There was a small smear of putty in one corner. He scratched at it thoughtfully with a fingernail then turned to stare out across the garden. A slow tour of the entire property made it clear that she had gone. There was no sign of the car and his careful scrutiny of the rooms through the windows showed the house tidy; empty. He could sense the emptiness all around him.

He retraced his steps grimly to the front door and felt in his pocket for the keys; the spare set of keys he had found hanging on the hook in the kitchen before he left to face the wrath of his wife.

‘For God’s sake, you might have told me you were going to be away all night!’ Natalie’s voice replayed in his head yet again and he frowned in irritation. ‘I was imagining all sorts of things. You might have been in an accident!’ Then she had paused. Her eyes had narrowed. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you were book shopping again. But you weren’t, were you! You spent the night with her, didn’t you! You bastard! I might have known. You weren’t book shopping, you were shagging the English teacher!’

He had denied it of course, again and again and eventually, he thought, she had believed him. But he had to make sure Jess didn’t rock the boat. A bead of sweat appeared on his upper lip. He could not afford to wreck his marriage. Not now, not with his career poised to take off. Not ever.

Standing at the foot of the stairs he glanced up towards the landing. A stray beam of sunlight illuminated the ceiling, and spotlit the painting on the wall, an ink and wash scene of jumbled stones and yew trees not unlike the scene he could see from the window as he walked slowly upstairs.

The bedroom door was open. He walked across and stared in. She had left no personal belongings there. The cupboards and drawers were empty, the chest of drawers had no clutter to show where her combs and cosmetics had lain. He went over to the bed, neatly made with an immaculately smooth patchwork quilt and with a sudden rush of anger bent to tear off the covers. He fell to his knees and pressed his face into the sheets, inhaling the faint scent of her body, almost masked by the odour of whatever laundry rinse had been used in Steph’s washing machine. Digging his clawed fingers into the pillows he groaned. The silence of the room seemed to thicken as he knelt there and he shivered. And after a moment or two he looked up.

Where are you? Can we come out now?

The child’s voice was very faint.

He clenched his fists into the sheets.

Where are you?

‘No!’ His face a rictus of fear and anger, he staggered to his feet. Hurling the pillow across the room, he threw himself at the door and out onto the landing.

In the kitchen he paused, trying to calm himself. Imagination. That’s all. Stupid imagination. A reaction to Jess’s insane behaviour. For a moment he had felt as though some alien force had gripped him. An anger like nothing he had ever experienced. He walked over to the sink and bent over it, splashing some cold water onto his face. He had to get out of there. Fast. And get back to Shrewsbury before Natalie became suspicious again.

As he headed for the door his fingers brushed against the bunch of keys in his pocket and he drew them out. Jess had gone for good. That much was obvious. He was not going to need them again. Better to hang them back where they were on the hook. Leave no sign that he had been here. He walked over to the notice-board and stood staring at it. Someone had left a note there he hadn’t noticed before. KIM ‘S NUMBER, it said. Followed by a string of figures. Kim. He smiled grimly. Was that where Jess had gone? It was obvious when he thought about it. She thought she could run away from him. Hide. Tell her sister a pack of lies about him. She had forgotten he had known Kim almost as long as she had; that Kim had even fancied him once, long ago, when they were all at college together. He scowled and reaching for the phone put it to his ear. The dialling tone confirmed that it had been reconnected. Only one way to tell where Jess was now and how much she had told them. Slowly he began to punch in the numbers. If she could get an invitation to Rome, so perhaps could he. He looked down at the keys, still in his hand. Perhaps he would keep them after all. Who knew when he might need them again.

‘So, where do you suggest I start my research?’ Jess directed her question at Kim as the four of them sat down to eat that evening. She helped herself to a chunk of focaccia from the bread basket.

Kim shrugged. ‘How on earth would I know? Have you looked on the net? Libraries? Museums? Roman remains?’ She reached into the oven with her padded gloves and produced a bubbling dish of cheesy pasta. ‘We do all those in spades in Rome.’ She slid the dish onto the table and chucked the gloves onto the worktop behind her. ‘OK. Eat, bambini!’

‘Have you heard your ghostly voice since you’ve been here?’ Will asked thoughtfully.

Jess glanced at him suspiciously. ‘No. Or, only in a dream.’

‘So, she hasn’t followed you.’

Jess shook her head. ‘Ghosts don’t do that, do they? Aren’t they tied to specific places?’

They all shrugged.

‘We need an expert on ghosts,’ Steph said with a smile.

‘Carmella!’ Kim exclaimed. ‘She knows all about this sort of thing. We could have a séance. Ask your little girl what she would like you to do.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Jess shook her head. ‘Aren’t séances supposed to be dangerous?’

‘It might be fun,’ Will put in. He grinned. ‘You must have done table turning and stuff when you were students. “Is there anybody there?” sort of thing. We scared ourselves witless a few times if I remember.’

‘We don’t want to scare ourselves witless, Will,’ Steph retorted. She was watching Jess’s face. ‘This is serious. And rather tragic. And I suspect it could be dangerous, yes. The little girl who haunts my studio is not above breaking a few things from time to time.’

Jess dropped her fork. She stared at her sister, stunned. ‘So you do know more about her than you let on! It has happened to you! I thought I was going mad! She broke some figures in your studio and I blamed myself. I blamed a bird or a draught or something. Then she came into the house after me. She tore up my paintings and smashed a bottle of wine.’

‘You’re kidding!’ Kim stared at her. ‘No wonder you didn’t want to stay there on your own.’

‘I thought you said she didn’t frighten you,’ Steph put in quietly. ‘That all sounds a bit frightening to me.’

Jess shrugged. ‘It was frightening. I thought maybe someone else, I mean someone real, had come in and done it. It didn’t occur to me that it was her to start with.’

‘And someone real would be better than a ghost? Who on earth would do that?’ Steph stared at her, shocked. ‘Jess!’

Jess shrugged again. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. But what was I supposed to believe? A burglar in the middle of nowhere? Or the resident ghost. Either way I was beginning to feel freaked out!’

She was aware of Will’s eyes fixed on her face. She stared down at her plate, refusing to meet his gaze.

Kim stood up. ‘Let’s ring Carmella!’

‘What? Now?’ Steph shook her head dismayed.

‘Why not? If she can summon your wayward child we can sort all this out and find out what is bugging her.’

‘I don’t know, Kim.’ Jess looked from her sister to Will for support. ‘This isn’t a game. She is unhappy. Angry. Lost.’

‘And we can help her. Find out what happened in Rome. Oh, come on! It will be fascinating.’ Kim picked up the phone.

Steph leaned back in her chair and shrugged her shoulders at Jess. ‘You are not going to stop her, I’m afraid.’

‘And I doubt if anything will happen,’ Will added. ‘I don’t see our Italian signora finding it easy to contact a two-thousand-year-old child from some weird British tribe!’

They fell silent as Kim’s voice rose behind them in a torrent of excited Italian.

‘Steph’s right, you’re not going to stop her now,’ Will said quietly, with a rueful smile at Jess. ‘I suspect we have to give in gracefully!’

The conversation on the phone had concluded with a fervent ‘Ciao, a presto!’ and Kim turned to them flushed with triumph. ‘She’ll be here in half an hour. Just time to finish supper. Eat up, bambini. It’s going to be a long night!’

* * *

‘First, I read the cards.’

They were seated round a low coffee table in Kim’s cosy sitting room, Steph and Will on the sofa, Jess and Kim on cushions, Carmella on a low chair at the head of the table. Behind her a cluster of candles flickered on the bookcase, otherwise there was no light in the room. The windows stood open onto the dark courtyard below with its gently trickling fountain. Theirs was the only one showing any light. Most of the occupants of the other apartments in the palazzo had left Rome for their summer residences in the hills or on the coast. Jess gave an involuntary shiver.

‘OK. I start.’ Carmella smiled at them. Her dark hair was tied back with a bright red scarf; the style emphasised her vivacious dark eyes.

This time she had her own deck of cards with her. She brought them out of her bag. They were wrapped in a length of black silk and reverently she unwound it and began a slow shuffling of the pack.

Carmella glanced up at Jess. ‘Do you have something belonging to this child?’ she asked.

Jess shook her head. ‘She lived nearly two thousand years ago!’

‘Ah.’ Carmella was seemingly unfazed. ‘No matter. Let me be silent for a few moments.’

She closed her eyes. The quiet of the room was broken by the faint sound of a police siren echoing from some distant street.

‘Va bene. Let’s start.’ Carmella reached down and setting the cards on the table, cut the pack. Will looked up and caught Jess’s eye. He gave a small grimace and she smiled. This wasn’t going to work, but if it amused the others, then she was content to watch. She firmly pushed away the worm of unease which was beginning to rise deep in her stomach and reached over for her glass of wine, sipping it quietly as she studied the layout of cards which Carmella was setting out on the table. The warm polished surface of the old wood reflected the candlelight steadily. No breath of wind strayed in through the window. The night was hot and very still.

‘OK. Now I start with the card of the child.’ Carmella reached seemingly at random and turned over one of the cards. ‘Il fante di bastoni. So here she is again.’

Jess caught her breath. None of them said anything.

Slowly and methodically Carmella turned over the remaining cards in the spread. The silence in the room grew heavy. Will and Steph exchanged glances as Carmella sat staring at the cards. She leaned forward, tapping the table with a scarlet fingernail. Then at last she looked up. ‘This young lady, she is in danger. Someone from her past is trying to find her. Hunting her down the centuries.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t understand. This is complicated. Molto pericoloso. I have never read such a spread before. And you want me to try to speak to her?’ She glanced doubtfully from Kim to Jess.

‘Did she grow up to be a woman?’ Jess whispered. ‘Or did she die as a child? Can you tell from the cards?’

Carmella stared back down at the pattern on the table before her. ‘She speaks from two worlds.’ She trailed her fingers across the centre of the spread. ‘She lived two thousand years ago, you said. So obviously she is in spirit now.’

‘Yes, but did she live to grow up?’ Jess leaned forward. ‘Can you see her family? She lost a brother and sister. Are they there?’

‘The cards speak of torment and fear. They speak of resolutions.’ Carmella tapped her finger again. ‘They speak of loss and of anger and sorrow. And they speak of love. At the end of her life, she found love, but for how long and with whom I cannot say.’ She frowned. ‘Perhaps it was at the moment of death.’ Shaking her head she swept all the cards into a heap and leaned away from the table. ‘I am not sure we should try and call her.’

‘What!’ Kim stared at her. ‘Of course we should. How else will Jess know what happened to her? Jess has been talking to this girl. So has Steph. They know her already. She has been communicating with them in Wales. What we want is for her to speak to us here in Rome. Can you do that?’

Carmella shrugged. She half-turned on her seat and reached for her glass from the bookshelf behind them and turning back to the centre, sipped thoughtfully. ‘To those in spirit all places and times are one. It does not matter where you are.’

‘Unless she is anchored to the house in Wales. Doesn’t that happen? A ghost hangs around in a spot where something special happened,’ Will put in. He raised an eyebrow.

Carmella caught the quizzical smile. ‘You do not believe. That does not matter. If she wants to speak, she will. Come.’ She put down her glass of wine and sat forward on the edge of the chair. ‘We hold hands like this.’ She spread her arms and reached for Kim’s hand. On the other side she beckoned Will to take her fingers. After a second’s hesitation he did so, then he in turn reached out to Jess.

They sat in silence for a full minute, then Carmella spoke. Her voice was low and husky. ‘Tell me her name again, this child from Wales.’

‘Eigon,’ Jess whispered.

Carmella nodded. ‘OK. Now, sit quietly. Close your eyes. I will call her.’

Jess held her breath. Beside her Will was sitting, eyes closed as instructed, a slight smile on his lips. His hand was warm and firm in hers. On her other side Steph’s palm was slightly damp. Jess opened one eye and peeped at her. Steph looked pale in the candlelight. Her face was composed; as still as marble.

‘Eigon. We wish to speak to you. Show yourself here before us and perhaps we can help you in your unhappiness.’ Carmella’s throaty Italian accent rang out in the shadows. ‘Eigon, I am asking you to appear before us here. Steph and Jess you know. You have asked their help before. Now we are here to try and answer your pleas.’

Carmella paused. The candles behind her guttered as a slight draught permeated the warm night air. There was someone else out there in the ether, listening, tuning in. She frowned. ‘Please come to us, Eigon. We are here for you.’ Her voice lifted as it grew stronger. She was no longer pleading. It was a command. ‘Come and tell us your story, Eigon from Wales!’

‘Wales didn’t exist then,’ Jess murmured. Her eyes were tightly closed.

Carmella shrugged. ‘So. Eigon, of the tribes, can you hear me? The cards speak of love and sorrow and fear. Tell us your story. We are listening.’

The distant sound of a siren, faraway towards the centre of the city only accentuated the silence of the room as the candles flickered again. One of the flames faded and with a slight hiss it went out. Jess’s mouth had gone dry. She was, she realised, clutching Will and Steph’s hands as tightly as she could.

‘Bene. She comes,’ Carmella breathed. Her eyes were closed, her face still. ‘Can you sense her in the room?’

The sudden jangle of the doorbell through the apartment jerked them out of the silence with frightening violence.

‘Dio!’ Carmella opened her eyes angrily. ‘That is so dangerous! What fool rings the doorbell at mezzanotte?’ She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘It is so late!’ They were all staring at each other, their link with one another broken.

Kim scrambled to her feet. She went to the door and flicked on the lights. ‘Oh God, I am so sorry. I don’t know who could be here so late. I’ll send them away, then we can go on.’

‘Too late! She is gone!’ Carmella reached for her glass and angrily downed the last of her wine. ‘The spell is broken. She will not come now.’

‘She will.’ Jess hadn’t moved. She was still staring down at the table, her eyes fixed on the discarded heap of cards. ‘I can feel her. She is still here.’

In the doorway Kim hesitated. ‘I’ll get rid of them, whoever they are. I am sure she will come back, Carmella. She wants to talk to Jess.’

The doorbell rang again. Kim disappeared into the hall. Will stood up and went over to the side table. He picked up the bottle of wine and brought it back to top up their glasses. ‘You really think she was about to appear?’ he asked softly.

Jess nodded. ‘I could feel her in the room.’

Carmella glanced at her over her glass. ‘Why do you need me? You can do this on your own. You ask. She comes.’

Jess bit her lip. ‘It can’t be that easy.’

‘Why not? The dead are always with us. Did not one of your English poets say that? You are an English teacher, you should know.’

‘The past. The past is always with us,’ Jess said. She smiled. ‘LP Hartley.’

‘Is that not the same?’

‘No. Not really.’

‘All right. Then what about, Il n’y a pas de morts. That was Maeterlinck, I think.’

Jess smiled. ‘“There are no dead”. That sounds a bit more like it. Did you see her, Carmella?’

Carmella shook her head. ‘I could sense her. Hovering. In the shadows.’

‘Does she really want to make contact –’ Jess broke off as Kim appeared in the doorway.

‘Guess who’s here! It makes our old teachers’ reunion complete!’ Kim stepped aside.

Dan was standing in the doorway.

Jess felt a lurch of blind fear as he smiled round at them. ‘I gather Kim forgot to tell you I rang. What a surprise to find you were all out here!’ He was carrying a smart leather haversack. Dropping it in the doorway he walked into the room. ‘Jess! How are you?’ Before she could move he stooped and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Steph. Will. A reunion indeed! And this must be – ?’ He paused with a small bow in front of Carmella. She was staring at him, a small frown on her face.

‘My friend, Carmella Bianchi,’ Kim said. ‘I am sorry. I didn’t expect you quite so soon, Dan.’ She glanced at Jess apologetically. ‘We were having a séance. But I am sure we can stop for a bit to offer you some food after your journey.’

‘No need,’ Dan shook his head. ‘I ate something on the plane. Please don’t stop because of me. I’d hate to interrupt. And this sounds exciting.’ He sat down on the sofa arm, between Jess and Steph. ‘Go on, please.’

‘No!’ Carmella stood up. ‘No, the time is not right now. We will do it another day. The energies have changed. The child has gone.’

‘The child?’ Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘Let me guess. The child from Ty Bran?’

‘You’ve seen her?’ Carmella stared at him.

‘Indeed. When I was staying with Jess.’ Dan looked at Jess and smiled. His brown eyes were bright with malice; their colour seemed to have changed subtly. Now they seemed amber in the flickering candlelight. ‘Didn’t she tell you I was up there?’ He reached across and rested his hand lightly on her arm.

‘Yes,’ Jess said coldly. ‘I mentioned it.’ She was aware of Steph and Will watching her. Standing up she moved away from the table. ‘If Carmella is going, I think I might go to bed. I am very tired.’ She paused and glanced back at Carmella. ‘Can we try again some time?’

‘You do not need me,’ Carmella said softly. She went over to Jess and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Dorma bene, Jess. Stammi bene, OK.’ She glanced over Jess’s shoulder towards Dan. ‘The cards I read for you,’ she whispered. ‘Before. I saw him. Do not be alone, eh?’

Jess stared at her.

Carmella shrugged her shoulders and bent to pick up her bag off the floor. Gathering her cards and wrapping them in their silk scarf, she pushed them into a pocket in the bag and zipped it up. ‘Ciao! See you soon!’

Kim frowned as the door closed behind her. ‘I am sorry, Jess. That was so close! It was just getting exciting!’

‘Did I mess things up?’ Dan was contrite. ‘I should have rung from the airport, I managed to get a flight sooner than I expected, but I wanted to surprise you all.’ His glance brushed across Jess and went back to their hostess. ‘I come bearing gifts, Kim. Does that make it better? Outside, in my case. Whisky. Shortbread. Pretty things.’

‘So, where is Natalie?’ Jess’s question cut across the room.

He stopped in his tracks. ‘In Shrewsbury with the children.’ His voice was cold. ‘We agreed that Rome in summer was not the ideal place for kids. Not when they have the chance to spend fun time with the grandparents.’

‘And what was it that you had to do so urgently in Rome?’ Jess asked harshly. Will and Steph were eyeing her speculatively.

He smiled. ‘Don’t you remember, Jess? I thought I told you exactly what I need to do. I told Nat I’ve come to attend an educational conference.’

‘I didn’t know there was one.’ She managed to keep her voice steady as she walked towards the door. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Jess,’ Will replied softly.

She flashed him a smile. For a moment she had forgotten he was there.

In the hall she stood for a second trying to gather her thoughts. Behind her she heard a burst of laughter from inside the room. What in God’s name was she going to do now?

Pulling her bedroom door closed after her, she discovered a huge ornate key in the lock. It turned easily and she paused with it in her hand, trying to calm herself. She was safe for now. Never in a million years could he break down this huge heavy door. What was he going to do here anyway with three other people in the apartment?

Walking over to the window she pulled open the casements and stood looking out. The other three sides of the palazzo were all in darkness. The central courtyard below, with its formal pots and statues and its fountain were invisible. Only the sound of the water floated through the night on the hot city air. Leaving the windows open, she turned towards her bed.

A figure was standing about ten feet from her on the faded Aubusson carpet.

‘Eigon?’ she whispered. Her whole body went cold.

There was no mistaking her. The child was small, delicate, her wild dark hair tied into a bundle at the nape of her neck. She was wearing some sort of pale long tunic. There were silver bangles at her wrists. Jess stared at her. ‘You came. You heard Carmella –’ But the figure was fading before her eyes. She could see the carpet through the fine gauze of the dress, then the bed. Then she had gone.

‘Eigon?’ Jess called sharply. ‘Wait! I want to help you!’

She sat down on the low velvet chair beside the window and suddenly she was shaking. She had seen the child; made eye contact. Eigon had come to find her.

Jess eyed the door. She wanted Steph. She needed to talk to Steph, but to do that she would have to unlock the door.

Getting up she tiptoed across to it and put her ear to the heavy panelling. What the fuck was Dan doing, following her here? A wave of anger shot through her fear. Did he intend to try and intimidate her into silence? Or did he still intend to kill her?

She paced away from the door, shaking her head. That was idiotic. Of course he didn’t. He never had. That was sheer melodramatic nonsense. He had managed to scare her and she had overreacted. All she had to do was reassure him that she wasn’t going to tell anyone what he had done. After all, she wasn’t. Was she? She shivered suddenly. A cold breeze strayed in through the windows, stirring the heavy curtains.

There was a creak on the landing on the far side of the door. She froze. There was someone out there. Pressing her ear closer to the wood she listened intently. Silence. She sensed someone had paused outside the door. ‘Dan?’ She mouthed the word soundlessly. Slowly the handle began to turn. The door creaked slightly as it was pushed from the outside. The lock held firm and she heard a quiet chuckle. A man’s voice. Dan or Will? Did she even need to ask?

She hurried to the window and looked out. As she had thought, there was no way up to her room that way. The wall was high and there were no creepers or drainpipes on the outside. The lower part of the casement had an ornate wrought iron grille across it, more of a container for pots than a protection. There was no way anyone could get in from there. And no way of escape either.

11

Miserably Eigon hugged the pillow to her, muffling the sound of her tears. Outside she could hear the sounds of the big city all around her. The rattle of wagon wheels in the early morning light, the shouts of street vendors and in the distance the deeper throaty sound of a huge crowd gathering. It was a day of festival and triumph. The Emperor was to process through the streets of Rome to celebrate his successes. Behind him would follow symbols of his glorious victories, treasures of gold and jewellery, richly caparisoned horses, ornately collared hunting dogs, weapons and above all, his captives from Gaul and from Britannia, and most important of those was the captive king, her father, with his wife and daughter. The outer door of the prison clanged open and she heard the shouts of the men outside with a shudder. They were coming for them. Bringing chains to hammer onto their wrists and ankles. And after the procession, they would be dragged out into the sandy arena and killed. Her mother and father had tried to prevent her hearing their fate, but she had listened. She had crept closer and strained her ears to hear their whispered conversations. She had heard the guards talking, heard their cruel chuckles, seen their lascivious glances as they discussed how long it would take the beautiful wife of the British leader to die.

‘We are proud and we are royal,’ her father had told her again the night before. ‘We will go to our deaths, if that is what the gods have ordained, with dignity and courage. Think of your next life, my child. This is just one of many. Our pain will be quickly over and there will be many lifetimes for you again. He had pulled her close to him and kissed her on the top of her head. ‘I shall be proud of you tomorrow, Eigon. You will hold your head high and you will show the people of Rome that we are not ignorant peasants as they believe. We are noble and educated and as good as they are. Better. They have lost touch with the gods of the land in their quest for conquest. This city may be vast, there may be hundreds of thousands of people here, but if their spirits languish and their souls are lost then they are nothing compared to us. Remember that, my daughter.’ He had glanced over her head at Cerys and smiled with sad resignation.

The sound of marching men rang through the stone walls and Eigon shrank further under her blanket. She heard the sharp bark of a command and the men came to a halt, the nails of their boots as they stamped to attention a crisp double report on the roadway somewhere nearby.

A shadow fell across the bed. ‘Eigon. It is time to get up.’ It was her mother. Cerys was pale, but resolute as she waited for Eigon to scramble miserably out of the bed. They had been brought fresh clothes. Cerys gave a wry smile. ‘The more glorious we look, the better it reflects upon the Emperor that he has defeated us,’ she said bitterly. ‘See, they have given us beautiful tunics and mantles and even bangles of gold. They are calling your father king.’

‘I don’t know how brave I can be, Mam,’ Eigon whispered as she pulled the tunic over her head. ‘I am trying very hard.’ She pulled the plaited girdle tight around her middle and held out her arms for her mantle. It was a smaller copy of her mother’s.

‘I know you are, sweetheart.’ Cerys pulled her close. ‘You will be a credit to us. Your father is certain of it.’ There was a shout outside. Somewhere a door banged. Eigon shrank closer to her mother. ‘Will it hurt? Being killed?’

Cerys shook her head firmly. ‘No. The gods will bring you strength and comfort.’

They brought the chains at the last moment. Manacles and neck rings like those of slaves. Then they were ushered outside to their places in the procession which was forming on the barracks parade ground. Eigon caught her breath and gripped her mother’s hand tightly. There was no sign of her father. There were hundreds of captives being ushered from the prison cells barefoot, emaciated, stinking from the filth of their imprisonment. Warriors. Farmers. Peasants who somehow had avoided being slaughtered, formed into ranks between the Roman guards who marshalled them into groups with swords and whips. There were noblemen from the tribes there too. Some smartly dressed like Eigon and Cerys. Others crippled with wounds or disease. All in chains. Somewhere at the front of the procession there were trumpeters, dignitaries in chariots, wagonloads of captured treasure, and interspersed with the prisoners were groups of horsemen and everywhere legionaries and auxiliaries of the Roman army. They heard the triumphant summons of the trumpet and knew the front of the long parade had started. It was a long time before it was their turn, walking hand in hand in their places as the procession wound its way through the baying crowds, towards the centre of Rome.

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