Time's Legacy

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

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

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

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

  ‘You think he’s going to come back.’

  ‘Well, don’t you?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  She nodded once more.

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

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

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

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

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

  She nodded, trying to hold back her tears.

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

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

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

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

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

  21

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

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

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

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

  ‘Incense?’ the bishop said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘You’re insane!’

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

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

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

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

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

  She took a deep breath. ‘All right.’

  ‘Really?’

  She nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘You killed him! You know you did.’

  ‘And you can prove that, can you?’

  She hesitated.

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