Time's Legacy

  Mora looked at him thoughtfully. ‘And your uncle? Is he still there?’

  The boy nodded miserably, unable to tell a direct lie. He looked away from her. ‘He won’t be there when we get there. He said he was going out. He will be out all day. I can go ahead to make sure. Please, Mora. She was crying all night. It was awful, Mama and Sorcha took turns to sit with her, but we could all hear her.’

  Mora looked past him out of the door. The sun was shining but the wind was bringing with it a wrack of stormy cloud. She was torn between the suspicion that Flavius would be there somewhere waiting, and her desire to help Petra. That the girl was in intolerable pain she knew was true. With the wind in this direction it was always worse and she doubted if Petra would be able to bear the long winter of cold and damp. Yeshua was her only hope. And yet to visit Petra’s house would put him in immediate danger. She brought her attention back to the boy’s face. He was watching her in an agony of doubt, twisting his fingers together in the folds of his woollen tunic. She noted the serviceable knife in his belt. A man’s knife. But he was still in so many ways a boy.

  She made up her mind suddenly. ‘I will talk to Yeshua,’ she said. ‘I will see if he thinks it would be safe to come.’

  Watching him closely she saw the sudden shift of his eyes, the tightening of his knuckles. ‘Romanus,’ she said quietly, ‘I know you love Petra. I know you would do anything to help her. But to trap Yeshua would be so wrong. Petra would not want that.’

  ‘My uncle said he was going to be away today,’ he repeated stubbornly. ‘I am sure it will be safe. You – he – wouldn’t have to stay long.’

  ‘Very well. Go and wait by your canoe. I will speak to Yeshua and I will collect my medicines and bring the extra strong doses for her.’

  She had told her father and Cynan about the Roman and his ambush up in the hills and both men had frowned in consternation. ‘You must not go onto the mainland alone with Yeshua again,’ her father had said sternly. ‘Take Cynan with you and some of the young druids. I want no violence, but their presence would probably be enough to protect you. Invoke the gods to wrap you with concealing mists so the man becomes lost. If he should wander into the mere, so much the better.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Don’t be led astray by Yeshua, Mora. Strange forces surround him. His god is very strong but so are his enemies.’

  Yeshua was standing by the spring. Mora made her way along the track, feeling the wind drag at her hair, pulling the cloak back from her shoulders as she walked. The sacred yew trees were whispering to one another, the rattle and hiss of their agitated branches drowning the gentle bubbling of the waters. She stood there in silence, waiting for him to look up at her, aware of his thin shoulders in the woollen robe of a druid, his bent head, his neck so vulnerable beneath his blowing hair.

  When he spoke it was without taking his eyes from the waters in front of him. ‘We are to go and see Petra?’

  She felt herself tense. ‘You have seen it in the spring?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And do you see if we are being tricked?’

  He nodded again. ‘Don’t blame the boy. He is torn. His loyalties are pulled every way by the scheming of this man. But I want to go and see this child. It is not right that she should be left to suffer because we are afraid.’

  ‘We should take Cynan and some of the others with us,’ she said reluctantly. ‘My father is not happy for us to go across alone any more.’

  Yeshua shook his head. ‘I don’t want druids to be involved in this. Rome fears and resents them. In Gaul they are proscribed. I don’t wish to bring trouble to people who have been my hosts and my teachers and whose way is peace. Don’t worry. My father will protect us.’

  ‘Your father?’ She raised an eyebrow. Then she understood. She could never get used to the familiar way he sometimes spoke of his god. ‘Even if we go alone, it won’t do any harm for us to protect ourselves as well,’ she put in sharply. ‘At least we know what to expect.’

  He turned to face her, smiling. ‘You make a formidable bodyguard, my Mora. With you beside me, how can we fail?’

  She met his eye and for a moment they stood looking at each other. She reached out and put her hand on his chest. ‘I can’t bear it that you will be going soon.’

  Gently he put his arms round her. ‘I shall remember you always, you know that.’

  ‘Couldn’t I come with you?’ She reached up to kiss him and for a second they stayed, lost in each other’s arms.

  Then he pushed her away. ‘You know that’s not possible. What I have to do, I have to do alone. You have a duty here, Mora. It is your home and your destiny just as my destiny lies far away in Galilee. We have to do as God directs. Besides you have a good man here in Cynan. He loves you. He would die for you.’ For a moment he stood looking down at her, then he turned to the track. ‘Come, let us go and find young Romanus. You have your bag of herbs?’

  Blinded by sudden tears she couldn’t move for a moment. He glanced back and held out his hand. ‘Be brave, my Mora. You are a strong woman. Think now about Petra and how we can help her.’

  15

  The hotel in Sadler Street still had a vacancy and Kier found himself in the same twin bedroom, looking out towards the towers of Wells Cathedral. The room was very quiet. He looked round with satisfaction, dumping his bag down on the bed nearest the window. Perfect timing. He would go to Evensong, then have a meal in a local pub.

  The next morning he drove back to Woodley and parked several hundred yards away from the house in a lay-by on the road where it ran straight and flat across the drained fields with their deep rhynes, symmetrical ditches punctuated by pollarded willows, the route of the causeway between the Isle of Avalon and the mainland. He was heading for the hill upon which the little church was built. He had seen Abi from across the field, threading her way down through the orchard then climbing the steep track on the far side. He watched her pause in the churchyard, then let herself in, leaving the door open behind her. The bright sunlight and fresh cold wind had swirled in with her, tugging at her jacket and tangling her hair. He frowned. She seemed to wear her hair loose all the time now. It seemed too young and frivolous, to him. And wild. Not at all suitable for a woman of the cloth. She was wearing a bright skirt, too. He could see it blowing round her legs. He walked slowly towards the church, following a footpath along the field edge. When it got to the hedge around the churchyard he found a stile and climbed over. Sheltered by yews and ancient oaks the churchyard was an island in the wide flat landscape. From here he could see the other conical hills, once islands in the wetlands, rising up in the distance. Behind him the Mendips rose as a phalanx to the north-east. It was a starkly dramatic landscape.

  He walked quietly towards the church door, still uncertain what he was going to say to her and paused in the porch to listen. No sound came from inside the church. Cautiously he stepped towards the inner door and peered round it. She was sitting, staring at the altar. She looked as though she was praying. He watched her for a few moments, his eyes lingering over the beam of sunlight which illuminated her wild halo of hair and brought out the soft greens and browns of her jacket, the swirling patterns of her skirt. He could see her profile, the long straight nose, the high cheekbones and the strong, determined mouth. He smiled and stepped back, tiptoeing outside once more, unwilling to interrupt her, hearing the murmur of her voice. He paused and almost turned back, but that was wrong. If she chose to speak out loud to the Almighty then who was he to interrupt. This was why she was here. To pray and meditate. To clear her conscience with God. He stood for a few minutes in the windy churchyard, watching the four ancient yew trees sway and dance in a stately quadrille, then he turned and made his way back towards the stile. He was halfway there when he stopped and looked back.

  Then he began to retrace his steps.

  Abi could see her now. She was still hazy and somehow hesitant but the expression in her eyes was clear. It was pleading, desperate. ‘Mora, speak to me. I
can see you. What can I do to help?’ She spoke clearly but she didn’t dare move. Behind her the heavy door swung open in the wind, scraping on the ancient paving stones. She had the feeling that if she stood up or moved closer she would scare Mora away again. ‘Please, tell me what you want. I am listening to your story.’ She fell silent, trying to open herself to whatever came. The figure hadn’t moved. Shadows from the trees outside fell through the stained glass of the window and played across the altar. She frowned, afraid she would lose sight of the figure in the shifting beams of light. ‘Mora, speak to me.’

  ‘Who in the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ is Mora!’ Kier’s voice just behind her made her spin round, rigid with shock. ‘Just who are you praying to?’

  She turned back to the altar but Mora had gone. With a mixture of rage and disappointment, she fell back onto the chair. ‘Get out, Kier.’ She spoke through clenched teeth.

  ‘Not until you’ve told me. Who is Mora? Are you praying to some sort of goddess?’ He sputtered over the word as he stood over her.

  She shook her head wearily. ‘No, Kier, I am not praying to a goddess.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘It is none of your business. Please go away. I thought you had gone. I thought you had realised you had made a huge mistake coming down here.’

  He shook his head wildly. ‘Please, don’t look so cross, Abi. I only want to talk to you for a few minutes, then I will go. I promise. I need to explain – ’ He paused and looked away, anguished. ‘I didn’t mean to come and hound you.’ He tried again. ‘I don’t want you to feel you’ve got to run away all the time. It’s only because I care so much that I have come here. It’s not your fault I’ve lost my job. I know that now. I went back to see the bishop. I handled everything appallingly but it will all come right. I know it will.’

  Abi put her hands in her jacket pockets and waited in silence. He glanced at her, then looked down at the floor. ‘You are a sensitive woman, Abi,’ he said at last. ‘Exceptionally so and as an ordained priest you are a prime target. You know that as well as I do.’ He paused as though expecting her to say something.

  She waited, looking at him, amazed that she could feel so much hostility towards a man who had once attracted her. ‘I don’t know how to get through to you,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t want to see you any more. I don’t want you interfering in my life.’

  ‘When I first came it was because your father asked me to,’ Kier went on. ‘He begged me to help you. He knows how dangerous that rock crystal is. He says it destroyed your mother. It has demonic powers.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Abi felt a surge of anger. ‘Look, Kier. I am trying to be reasonable. I don’t care what my father asked you to do. My father hates anything that smacks of superstition to him, and that includes the Church of England, I may say. I left home because he and I do not agree on a great many important subjects. Our relationship is none of your business. Please go now.’ She saw him hesitate. ‘Now, Kier!’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. I can’t leave you here like this. Your immortal soul is in danger – ’

  ‘No, not again!’ Suddenly she was so angry she couldn’t contain her rage. She stood up and turned on him. ‘My immortal soul is my affair, Kier. If I want to pray to the devil himself I will! Now I want you to go away and leave me alone and never, never come near me again. If you don’t I shall go to the police and charge you with harassment, do you understand me?’

  He took a step back. ‘Abi! There’s no need for that. I want to help you.’

  ‘You are not helping me.’

  ‘Then explain. Who is Mora?’

  ‘All right. I’ll tell you.’ Her eyes were blazing with rage. ‘Mora is a ghost. She was a druid priestess and she has been trying to speak to me.’ His face had gone white, his eyes narrowed with shock. She didn’t notice. ‘She is a healer. Yes, a healer, Kier. And what is more she was a friend of Jesus. She loved him. He was a student here, on the Isle of Avalon. The legends are true. He came with Joseph of Arimathaea, a trader who came to pick up cargoes of tin and lead round the coast here, and he studied with the druids and he healed the sick and I have seen him. Watched him at work. And this church is one of the most sacred places in the whole of England and you have walked in here with your petty jealousy and anger and your puritan ignorance and you have spoiled everything!’

  He was silent for a moment, staring at her. When at last he spoke it was just two words. ‘Oh, Abi.’

  ‘Yes, oh Abi!’ Ducking away from him she threw herself into the aisle near the pulpit, and turned to face him. ‘Go away, Kier.’

  ‘You poor child. You are completely deluded.’ He took a step back away from her. ‘It is far worse than I thought. Far worse.’ He paused again. ‘Have you told Ben about this delusion?’

  ‘It is not a delusion.’ She was so furious she could barely speak. ‘Yes, I’ve told Ben about Mora. She has been seen around here for hundreds of years by generations of his family. She has a story she needs to tell, about Jesus, Kier, and she has been trying to find someone who can understand her. Someone who will listen.’

  ‘And that person is you.’ His voice was flat.

  ‘Yes, that person is me.’

  ‘I see.’ He sighed. ‘OK. I can see why you were angry with me for interrupting you. I’m sorry.’ He glanced round the church with a shiver. ‘I take it she isn’t here any more.’

  ‘No, she’s gone.’

  ‘I saw the ghosts at St Hugh’s, you know.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve always seen ghosts. They terrify me. They are evil. They take you over. I wanted you to help me stop them, but you made them worse.’ His voice was shaking. ‘Can we pray together, Abi? Then I’ll go.’

  She hesitated, her anger short-circuited by his sudden capitulation. What harm could it do to pray? With a nod of her head she relaxed visibly. ‘All right.’

  He walked past her to the altar step and turning beckoned her to come and stand beside him. He gave her a brief smile, then he turned to face the window, staring up at the crucified Christ. The sun was shining directly in, highlighting the colours. The face of the man on the cross was inscrutable. ‘Dear Lord,’ he murmured. ‘Bless us and hold us in your hand. Especially look with mercy on your servant, Abi, and cast from her the devil, Mora, and all her illusions – ’

  ‘No!’ Abi turned on him once more. ‘How dare you!’

  Kier was ready for her. He grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her. ‘I’m sorry, Abi, I truly am. But I have to do this. Kneel down.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes!’ He was forcing her to her knees on the step. With her arm held so painfully behind her back, Abi gave in and subsided. He could hold her easily now with one hand. She couldn’t move. She watched in real fear as he groped in his pocket and produced a small bottle. ‘This is holy water, Abi. It will remove her. Don’t be afraid, my dear. In a moment it will all be over.’ He looked up at the window again, addressing the man on the cross. ‘Lord, be with us here in this place and help me reclaim it for you. Begone from this place, every evil haunting and phantasm; depart for ever, every unclean spirit – ’

  ‘No! Kier, stop! You don’t know what you are doing. Don’t be so stupid!’ Abi’s protest was cut short as he gave a small vicious jerk on her wrist, forcing it up between her shoulder blades. Her shoulder was agony.

  Flipping the stopper out of the bottle with his thumb he held it over her head. ‘Almighty God, your nature is always to have mercy and to forgive: loose this your servant from every bond of evil and free her from all her sins. I ask this though Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.’ He was sprinkling the water over her hair, she could feel it, warm from his pocket. Splashes of it fell on the step where she was kneeling. The sun had gone in and the window in front of them had lost its colour. He waited for a full minute, as though expecting something to happen, then he released her arm. She fell forward, trying not to sob out loud as she cradled her shoulder in her other hand. Kier was watching her closely.

  ?
??There,’ he said at last. ‘Now you will be safe. Pray, Abi. Ask for God’s forgiveness and protection.’ He turned away and walked back down the aisle. Near the door he stopped and pulled out his mobile phone. As Abi staggered to her feet and turned to look after him she heard him speaking urgently. ‘Ben? It’s Kier Scott. Can you come at once? I’m in St Mary’s Church. Abi is here. I’ve prayed with her and cast out this demon who has been possessing her, but it would be good to have you here for back up.’ He flipped the phone shut and put it back in his pocket. Then he went to sit down at the back of the church.

  Abi sank onto the altar step. She had begun to tremble all over.

  Lugging her suitcase up the steps after her, Athena inserted her key in the door and pushed it open. She was exhausted. The last couple of days had been hell. Funerals were never good, but this one had been particularly bad. The service, if that was the word, had been held at the West London Crematorium. It had been arranged by Tim’s sisters. She had never got on with them or they with her. They had shaken hands with her, tight-lipped, when she arrived and then turned away to go into the chapel which was fairly full. Apart from them, every person there was a stranger. How could she have so completely lost touch with him? Their parting had not been acrimonious. Sad, yes. Regretful, even cross. But the anger had been fleeting and directed at circumstances and belief systems, not at one another. She turned into a row at the back and sat down. The order of service was bleak. Two hymns. A prayer. An address. The man who gave the address did not seem to have known him at all. He certainly hadn’t known the Tim she remembered from the past. The funny, energetic, artistic, musical man who had wooed her and lured her away. She expected to hear some wonderful music blasting round the chapel. Some of Tim’s own recordings; harpsichord music, a symphony, piano. Anything. All they got was a recorded placebo on an organ. She wanted to leap up and tell them what kind of man he had been but she didn’t. She sat quietly and looked at the pine coffin with its wreath of chrysanthemums and wished she had thought to bring some flowers herself. Her own farewell would have to be private, somewhere only Tim could hear her.