It was as they sat together in a silence broken only by the cracking of twigs as the fire licked higher, that she became aware that all was not well outside. She tensed, withdrawing her concentration from the fire, letting her attention expand, listening beyond the licking flames. Someone was out there. Someone hiding. She heard the urgent warning alarm of a wren, then the sharp pinking note of a chaffinch. She glanced across at Yeshua. His eyes were closed. He was praying. Silently she rose to her feet and went over to the doorway and peered out. The area in front of the little house was a clearing in the middle of which was a ring of blackened stones, with ash lying heaped in the centre. Obviously the woodman preferred to do his cooking outside. Mora glanced round. She and Yeshua had left their walking staffs leaning against the side of the house as they ducked inside. From here she couldn’t reach them without going out. The birds were silent now, waiting. Someone was out there. Not the woodsman’s daughter. She would have come in at once and made herself known. No, this was danger. She could feel the skin on the back of her neck prickling. There was a movement behind her and she looked round hastily, putting her finger to her lips. Yeshua came over and stood behind her. ‘There is someone out there,’ she whispered. ‘Someone who means us harm.’
He frowned. Behind them the sick man stirred and groaned, his head moving from side to side in his dream. Mora glanced at Yeshua. ‘What do we do?’
He moved a couple of paces back into the hut and groped around in the wood pile. Seconds later he was back beside her, a sturdy makeshift club in his hand. ‘You wait with him. I’ll go and see,’ he whispered.
‘No!’ She caught at his sleeve. ‘It is you he wants.’
He looked at her, his brown eyes on hers. ‘You know this?’
She nodded. ‘A flash. A knowing. Don’t go out there.’
‘I have to go out there at some point, Mora,’ he said quietly. ‘Now is as good a time as any.’
Ducking out of the doorway he stood up, hefting the piece of wood in his hand. There was another moment’s silence, then a rustling from the bushes nearby. The branches parted and Flavius straightened up as he emerged into view. He was holding a drawn sword. ‘So, we meet at last.’ He took two paces towards Yeshua and stopped. ‘Our Jewish king, dressed like a peasant and covered in ash!’ He laughed grimly. Behind them Mora hid in the doorway out of sight, looking round desperately for a weapon. She glanced at the wood pile, then at the woodcutter behind the fire. He was sitting up, watching her. In the light of the flames she saw his face. He was clear-eyed and he gestured towards his pack which was lying in the darkness beyond the reach of the flames. She crept back towards him and taking hold of it pulled it towards the light. He leaned across and opened it. Inside there was a sharp bronze knife. He pulled it out and handed it to her. With a quick gesture he ran his finger across his own throat and then pointed to the doorway. Gripping the handle tightly she ran back and looked out again. Yeshua hadn’t moved. Flavius was standing about six paces from him, the short Roman sword held out in front of him. He was enjoying the moment. She could see it in his eyes. A cat with a mouse.
‘The time hasn’t come, my friend,’ Yeshua said quietly. His attention was fixed on Flavius. ‘My end has been foreseen by the prophets, and it is not now. Not here.’ His anger had gone to be replaced by calm confidence.
Flavius smiled. ‘Prophets can be wrong.’ He transferred the sword lightly from his right hand to his left and then back again. ‘Have you done your work with the sick man?’
Yeshua nodded. ‘He is healed.’
‘Pity. Then I will have to kill him as well. We want no witnesses here. It suits my purposes that you quietly disappear in the wilds of Britannia. History and your prophets will have to acknowledge that this time they got it wrong. There will be no word that you ever came to this country.’ His glance shifted past Yeshua for a moment, towards the hut. ‘Is Mora there too? It is sad but she also will have to die –’
‘No!’ There was an explosion of movement behind Flavius as Romanus hurled himself out of the bushes. ‘You can’t kill Mora. I won’t let you.’
Mora stepped outside, the knife in her hand. ‘And nor will I, Romanus!’ That one moment of distraction was all it needed.
Yeshua stepped forward, his club upraised and struck the sword from Flavius’s hand. ‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘You are not going to interfere with my destiny or with the destiny of these innocent people.’ His face was white with anger again, his careful calm gone. ‘You are an evil man with no conscience and no shame! I will not let you hurt anyone here.’ His eyes narrowed with the fury that had gripped him.
Flavius staggered back, cradling his broken hand against his stomach. It was Romanus who picked up his sword. The boy’s face was white. ‘You were going to kill Mora.’ It seemed to be the only thing that had registered.
Flavius looked down at him with an expression of complete contempt. He snatched his sword from the boy’s hand, then he turned and began to walk away. Several paces on he paused and looked back. ‘I will do my duty to my Emperor,’ he called. ‘This may not after all be the time or place, but do not think you will escape me.’
Seconds later they heard the thud of hoofbeats on the ground, rapidly receding into the distance. They looked at each other.
‘Why?’ Mora gasped. ‘Why did he try to kill you? I don’t understand!’ She was trembling violently. The knife had fallen from her hand.
‘I didn’t realise what he was going to do,’ Romanus said miserably. ‘At least, he told me, but I didn’t believe it.’ The boy’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He said you were a traitor. Then he said you were a king.’ He brushed the tears away with the back of his hand. He was looking at Yeshua with curiosity and something like awe.
‘A king? I thought you told me your father was a carpenter and a mason and an architect!’ Mora put in. Her face was white. She turned to Romanus, Yeshua’s antecedents forgotten in the wave of indignation that swept over her. ‘You told him we would be here and you brought him here. You betrayed us. Why?’
Romanus looked devastated. ‘He made me come. He makes it hard to refuse. My head was in a muddle.’
Yeshua stepped forward and put his hand on the frightened boy’s shoulder. ‘I have a feeling it would be hard for anyone to refuse Flavius. Don’t blame him, Mora. You did the right thing in the end, Romanus, when you shouted. You saved our lives.’
Mora shook her head. ‘I still don’t understand. Why would he want to kill you? He’s a stranger. I thought he was Gaius Primus’s brother.’
‘He is his brother,’ Romanus said. ‘He’s my uncle. He came here all the way from a place called Sepphoris in Galilee, specially to find Yeshua.’
‘And kill him!’ Mora was distraught. ‘Why?’
Yeshua walked over and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘It’s complicated,’ he said. ‘I will explain when we get back. For now, we came here for a purpose. Come, let’s see how our patient does. We need to find his daughter to take care of him, then Romanus can come back with us. We have a long walk ahead of us.’
‘He was completely better,’ Romanus said as they walked down the track later. ‘His leg wasn’t broken any more.’ He was staring at Yeshua with something like hero worship.
‘No, it wasn’t. It was as if it had never been broken.’ Mora too kept glancing at him. ‘That was more than just a healer’s job. That was magic. The goddess Bride could not have done better.’
‘You are right, she couldn’t.’ Yeshua smiled. He rumpled Romanus’s hair. ‘It was God’s work. All I did was line up the bones, that was all.’
‘No, it was more than that.’ Mora was still looking at him, eyes narrowed. ‘I could not have done what you did today.’ They had left the man sitting up by the fire, drinking his daughter’s hot broth. She had returned at last just after Flavius left, explaining that a message purporting to come from Mora had sent her all the way back to the island, delaying her and keeping her away from her father. She was however c
arrying a bow and two skinned hares for the pot. She too had stared at her father’s leg in something like awe.
‘But it was broken in at least three places. The bone was protruding.’ She looked from Mora to Yeshua and back.
Yeshua shook his head. ‘Maybe it was not as bad as it looked.’ He hesitated. ‘As I said, it was God’s work. I prayed and He healed him. But your father will need nursing. The shock will return tomorrow so he should rest and drink more of your broth.’
It was growing late when they at last regained the lower ground, heading south towards home. At one point Mora stumbled on the track and dropped her bag. Yeshua lifted her to her feet. ‘Take care. You are tired.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m all right. We will be at Lydia’s soon.’
‘Will Flavius be there?’ Romanus looked up anxiously. Not for the first time he seemed uncertain.
Yeshua and Mora glanced at each other. ‘It’s possible,’ Mora said eventually.
‘Then you mustn’t come home with me.’ The boy straightened his shoulders, looking at Yeshua. ‘You must stay away from him.’ He looked at Mora pleadingly. ‘Mustn’t he?’
She nodded. ‘We have to avoid your house until we are sure that he has gone. I still can’t believe that happened today. The man is mad to think he can get away with such a wicked deed. He wouldn’t escape with his life if the people round here heard he had so flouted the laws of hospitality. Surely, he must realise,’ she added hopefully, ‘that he can never go back to his brother’s house. Mustn’t he?’ She glanced across at Yeshua.
‘I don’t think we can be sure about anything,’ Yeshua replied. ‘Supposing he has gone back. Would the boy be safe? He won’t exact revenge on him?’
Mora’s hands tightened on Romanus’s shoulders. ‘Perhaps you should come back to the island with us.’
Romanus shook his head. ‘My mother will be so worried if I don’t go home. I went without telling her this morning. Besides,’ he added bravely, ‘Uncle Flavius won’t hurt me.’
They both looked at him doubtfully. Mora shook her head. ‘That was wrong of you, to go without telling anyone. If something had happened to you, how would anyone have known where to look?’ she said gently.
He shrugged. ‘I was with Uncle Flavius.’
‘Exactly.’ She gave his shoulder a squeeze. She sighed. ‘Will you be all right if we leave you here? It is only a short step home for you and from here we can take the hidden trackway over the mere.’ She looked at him closely. ‘You haven’t told Flavius about the hidden ways through the marsh, have you?’
The boy shook his head vehemently.
‘When you brought him to see me before, you didn’t bring him that way?’
Romanus shook his head again. ‘I took him in the boat.’
She nodded in relief. ‘That was well done. We can take no chances.’ She glanced around in the dark. ‘I don’t feel him near –’
‘He isn’t,’ Yeshua said. ‘We are safe for now. May God’s blessing be on you, Romanus,’ he added quietly. He reached over and touched the boy’s head. ‘And may He keep you in His hand.’
‘Abi? Abi, are you all right?’
Abi was kneeling in the wet leaves, the crystal still between her hands. She looked up. Cal was standing a few feet away from her, holding a torch. It was dark.
But Mora was still there, standing in the shadows, looking at Abi, her hands outstretched. There was no sign now of Yeshua or Romanus.
Help us. You must help us. You have to tell the story…
‘Abi?’ Cal touched her arm. ‘Are you OK?’
Mora was still there, but she was fading. Abi reached out, grasping at the air. Already the figure had gone, fading back into the dark. In seconds the night was empty.
She looked up at Cal, her eyes blank. ‘I’m fine.’ She staggered stiffly to her feet. She was clutching the crystal, her fingers rigid with cold. ‘Let me put it back. The tree kept it safe, just as you said it would.’ She was shivering. How long had she been kneeling there as the evening drew into night? She had no idea. Behind them the house was ablaze with lights. They spilled out across the grass, drilling pools in the gathering mist. Tucking the crystal out of sight again and covering it with dry leaves, she followed Cal back inside and went upstairs to have a hot bath to soak the ache of cold out of her knees.
It was about nine o’clock when Ben rang her. ‘Justin just got back to me,’ he said. ‘He’s agreed to come tomorrow to talk to you. Can you be here about ten?’
She bit her lip. Was this what she really wanted? ‘Abi?’ Ben’s anxious voice rang in her ear. ‘Can you make it?’
‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Yes, of course.’
Athena was sitting on the sofa in her living room, once more attired in her red dragon dressing gown, her bare feet tucked up under her. She was reading one of the books on crystals from her shop. She leaned forward and took another sip from the whisky glass on the table, hearing the ice cubes chink companionably as she set it down again. Outside she could hear voices and laughter from the courtyard below. Someone let out a shout and she heard a glass breaking on the paving stones. She sighed and picked up the book again. Did she believe in ghosts? Did she believe in the goddess? Did she believe in Atlantis? If she did, she read, it was possible that the priestesses of Atlantis used crystals as repositories of their wisdom. Sort of primitive tape-recorders. No, not primitive. Up to the mark. The latest thing. Crystal technology. Was that it? Was that what Abi’s crystal was? A record of past events, events so momentous that someone had felt they should be dictated into the rock and kept forever. She thumbed through the pages. There were dozens of photographs of all the different crystals and their structures. Complicated, intricate, multi-formed. Then came the instructions on how to decode them. Ah, that was the rub, of course. How to decode the secrets. Something Abi seemed to have stumbled on by accident, and now seemed to have lost. Perhaps she had just switched off the machine. Reaching for the glass she took another sip. Tim had always hated her drinking whisky. It was man’s drink, he used to say. She gave a rueful smile and raised the glass in a toast to the dear departed. ‘My drink still, my dear, and I’m all the better for it,’ she said out loud. ‘Unlike you, it seems.’ She let the book drop on her lap. ‘Bloody crystals.’
Abi woke to find the eastern sky flooded with crimson. She lay in bed staring towards the window, still lost in her dream, but already it was going. ‘Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning,’ the words ran through her head like a mantra as she recalled the vision of the sacred spring on the hillside beneath the ancient yews. And this had been a dream, she was sure of it. And yet.
Mora and Yeshua had been standing at the foot of a processional way. Abi could see it stretching through an avenue of yew trees winding through the ancient orchards up towards the Tor. There was a mist hanging over the fenland, shrouding the reedy waters. Mora glanced at Yeshua and smiled as she recognised the distant look in his eyes. So much about him was familiar to her now, the mysticism, the tendency to dream, the profound inner life, the constant need to pray and then the sudden mood swings when anger and frustration bubbled up in the face of the injustices and pain they saw around them.
‘It’s time to go,’ she said gently. She walked up to him and, facing him, took his hands in hers. ‘Yeshua?’
He was far away. He didn’t seem to realise she was there. With a fond smile she raised the hands to her lips and dropped a gentle kiss on them. Then she gasped. His hands were sticky with blood. There were gaping wounds in his wrists, blood was pouring down his palms. ‘Yeshua!’ She couldn’t hold back her cry of distress.
He blinked and looked down at her, focusing on her face, seeing her dismay. Slowly pulling his hands out of her grip he reached up and touched her face. ‘Mora?’ The blood had vanished. ‘What is it?’
She shook her head, too upset to speak, turning her head away. Out there on the waters of the mere a stray beam of sunlight pierced the mist, highlighting the ripples t
o a glittering carpet. ‘You saw something?’
‘Nothing. I saw nothing.’ She blinked away the tears.
He moved round slightly so he was facing her again and she felt his gaze on her face. She refused to meet his eyes and after a moment he sighed. She felt his finger touch her cheek, stroking away a tear. ‘The time has come for me to go home, Mora,’ he said after another moment’s silence. ‘Joseph will soon be arriving in Axiom. I have to go and speak to your father and tell him.’
Somehow she forced a smile. ‘He is going to miss you. He looks forward to your talks together, your exchange of stories.
He nodded. ‘The way of your people, to instruct with stories and poems. Never to write the important things down. It intrigues me. There are clear messages there in the stories for everyone and yet only the initiates understand the hidden meanings. We write down our laws and our histories, the rules of our religion. You remember yours.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes by writing things down they are cast in stone. That is not always good either.’
She nodded. She lifted her hand and put it over his, where it lay on her shoulder. She felt the muscles and bones, the strong sinews under her fingers, warm and vibrant, without scars, and she quickly brushed away another tear.
Abi slipped out of bed and went to kneel by the window, watching the crimson light flood across the sky. Through Mora’s eyes she had seen a vision of Jesus’ wounds. Out there, on the hillside above the Chalice Well, a druid priestess had touched the hands of Jesus and traced the wounds of the Crucifixion with her finger; felt his blood warm on her hands. Awed, she closed her eyes and began to pray.
It was half an hour later that she was interrupted by a quiet tap on the door. It was Cal. ‘I don’t know if you want to have breakfast before the B & B guests appear? Up to you.’