‘It is the sensible route to follow. For our people’s safety and prosperity.’ She repeated the words yet again.
‘Can you not think of anything else?’ He sat up, infuriated. ‘What about our freedom. Our pride!’
‘Our future and our very existence.’ She smiled and pushed him back on the pillows. ‘That is what I think about.’ Bending over him, she pressed her lips against his. The kiss was long and deep.
Their love-making was passionate but it held an edge of anger and it was short-lived. Rolling away from her, spent, Venutios rose to don his clothes. He did not turn back to the bed with any words of endearment.
Carta stood up and pulled a bed robe around her shoulders. ‘Are you going hunting later?’
He nodded. He reached for his mantle and began to pin it at the shoulder. ‘Wait. Let me help you.’ She did not want them to part angrily again. It had become too much of a habit. She reached for the pin and took it from him. ‘This is very beautiful.’
‘It is indeed.’ He put out his hand for it.
‘It would go well with my best cloak.’ She managed a wheedling note.
He frowned. ‘You have many brooches, Carta. You do not need this one.’
‘I shall swap one of my own for it.’ She went to the coffer on the table near the door and opened it. ‘Here. This is larger; more beautiful, more befitting a warrior.’ She picked one out which was worked from solid gold. He hesitated. She was right. It was larger and contained a heavier weight of metal. Already the enamelled bird had been stowed away in her coffer. She turned with the gold brooch and pinned it on his shoulder. Then she reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. ‘There, Venutios. An exchange of gifts. An exchange of kisses. A pledge of our love.’ For a moment she paused and looked at him closely, then she turned away. Her kiss did not, he realised, contain any warmth. He shivered. His wife did not frighten him nearly as much as the thought of what Medb would say when she found her gift had been so easily spirited away.
II
Pat was waiting for her in the kitchen when Viv appeared at last. Looking remarkably cheerful in a scarlet cotton sweater and dark blue jeans she was boiling the kettle. ‘Peggy’s out and Steve’s still not back, so we’ve got to make our own breakfast!’ She reached for the coffee jar. ‘ Shall we go out again this morning?’ She was enthusiastic. Her old, bubbly self. There was no sign of Medb. ‘The re-enactors might be back. I would like to get some more of their sound effects. They were brilliant.’
Viv sat down heavily at the table. Her head was aching and she felt exhausted. It was a relief that Peggy wasn’t there. ‘Pat, when you went to the sacred well with Peggy, did she seem OK about it?’
‘Fine. Why?’ Pat sawed a couple of slices off the loaf of bread which was sitting on the table.
‘I just wondered. We talked about it last night.’ She hesitated. ‘Did you see the grotesque head in there?’
‘Grotesque?’ Pat paused for a moment and considered the word. ‘The old stone head?’
Viv nodded. ‘That is the real thing. Thousands of years old.’
‘Wow.’ Pat carried the slices over, sandwiched them in the hinged wire Aga toaster and shoved it on the hob.
‘Did it seem powerful to you?’
Pat nodded. ‘Gordon hates it, apparently. You know he threatened to fill in the well?’
‘What?’
‘That’s what the row was about before he walked out. That’s where Steve has gone. To try and find him.’
‘Why would Gordon want to fill it in?’
‘Scared of it?’ Pat shrugged. ‘It’s a bit too much of a woman thing. Goddess stuff.’ She seemed uninvolved. Distanced. She reached for some butter out of the fridge.
Viv grimaced. ‘The Goddess as such wasn’t really a Celtic thing you know; they had dozens of gods and goddesses. Carta worshipped Brigantia, the goddess of these hills. Britannia, if you like. Or Brighid. All versions of the same goddess probably, but not ‘‘The Goddess’’ of the feminists.’
‘And Vivienne.’ Pat raised an eyebrow.
Viv laughed uncomfortably.
‘I don’t see Peggy as a feminist,’ Pat went on. ‘But I do see her as a worshipper of the old gods and keeper of the shrine. I reckon she’s been following on in an ancient tradition.’
Viv nodded. ‘You’re right about that. It scares me.’
Pat took the toaster off the hob and handed her a slice. ‘Why?’
‘It’s too powerful. Too single-minded.’
‘I wonder where she’s gone,’ Pat said thoughtfully. She reached for Peggy’s homemade marmalade.
‘So do I.’ Viv glanced at her. They were both silent for a minute or two. It was as if Peggy’s presence was suddenly in the room with them.
III
In her private chamber, Medb was staring down into the bronze bowl of vervain purified water, eyes narrowed with fury. She had seen it all. Venutios in the arms of his wife. Their sparring; their rising; their dressing. And she had seen Cartimandua standing holding the brooch in triumph as her husband walked out of the chamber, his mantle pinned with a great wheel of gold.
Cursing, she dashed the bowl to the ground and watched the water seep between the floorboards into the earth beneath. She had imbued that brooch with special powers; it held the owner in thrall to her every whim. It had been configured especially for Venutios, to keep him enslaved as long as she needed him but something had gone wrong. He had escaped its entanglement; worse, Cartimandua had tucked it away in her jewellery casket with a smile of triumph which could only mean she knew what it could do and that she had somehow found a way to use it to her own advantage.
Medb let out a scream of fury and stamped her foot. Outside two women, spinning in the sunlight, glanced at each other and shivered. They made the sign against the evil eye and of one accord stood up and moved away.
Venutios had left his wife’s presence and gone at once to the practice ground, where he found some of his warriors idly competing with their slings as to who could decapitate a straw figure set upon a wagon at the far end of the field. With a shout of greeting he took a sling from one of the men, picked up a stone and hurled it at the figure. The head spun off to a yell of triumph from the men. He grinned. He wasn’t going to tell them the name he had given his target.
Medb knew. Her eyes narrowed like a cat watching a rat in the granary. He would pay for that. And so would his wife. She would see to it that the whole of Brigantia paid for what she had suffered and history for all time would know it.
IV
‘Does Venutios not require you to drive his chariot today?’ Carta looked at Vellocatus enquiringly. ‘I don’t want you to make him angry.’
The voice came to Hugh indistinctly from the other side of the rocks, then as he began to listen more carefully, more and more clearly. It was a woman’s voice, at once familiar and at the same time alien. When at last he began to make out the words what he heard stunned him.
‘He is hunting on foot, my queen, with his brother, Brucetos and his brother’s son and a few chosen companions.’ If Vellocatus was hurt not to have been selected as one of those companions he didn’t show it. ‘I know one of your team is lame. I wondered whether you would enjoy a drive in the king’s chariot.’
Carta looked at him thoughtfully. She had a dozen charioteers and a hundred war chariots at her command. Why should this one be so special?
For an instant she looked inside, deep within her soul, to seek for an inner warning, an instruction that this might be a trap. There was none. She held his gaze and saw only an eagerness to please, to make amends for her husband’s boorishness. ‘Very well, that would indeed be a pleasure.’ She called for a cloak and watched as he harnessed two of Venutios’s best ponies, a matched team of black stallions, then allowed him to hand her up onto the driving platform beside him. She did not use Venutios’s bird brooch.
They trotted down the long trackway away from the township, then gaining the more even valley
bottom he whipped the horses into a canter and then into a gallop. Carta clutched the side rail of the chariot as it thundered over the ground, keeping her balance with difficulty as she was thrown back and forth against Vellocatus as he braced himself to hold the reins.
At last he slowed the horses, turning them off the moorland and onto a trail which led into the forest, beginning to circle round towards home. The horses were walking now, steam rising from their flanks, tossing their heads with a jangle of bits and harness.
‘Fast enough for you?’ He turned to her and grinned.
She nodded. Her hair had been whipped into tangles, her cloak almost torn from her shoulders. She was breathless. She laughed out loud. ‘Fergal takes good care of me and of the horses’ legs. He would not have dared to gallopso.’
‘Then he doesn’t understand you.’ Vellocatus was exultant.
‘No. Maybe he doesn’t.’ She eyed him. ‘I don’t require my charioteer to understand me,’ she said quietly. ‘I require him to obey me.’
‘As I would.’ He gave a small bow. ‘As I will.’
There was a moment of silence.
She raised her hand and gently touched his cheek. ‘You are sworn to my husband, Vellocatus. You are his shield bearer; his charioteer. You carry his weapons. You fight at his right hand.’
‘And I read the message in the eyes of his wife,’ he whispered. The horses had stopped and, taking the chance, were snatching mouthfuls of the long lush grass at the trackside under the trees. ‘She feels betrayed by him. He abuses her trust and her standing as his queen. And he leaves her lonely.’ He paused.
She said nothing.
‘I am at your command, lady. Yours absolutely.’
The silence lengthened between them. One of the horses moved forward a pace to snatch another mouthful of grass and the chariot jerked slightly at the pull on the yoke, unbalancing her and nudging her towards him. He caught her and pulled her close. There was another split second’s hesitation, then he reached down to kiss her lips.
V
‘More research, Viv?’ Hugh was standing immediately behind them, leaning on his staff, within easy earshot.
Viv turned incredulously. She stared at him wide-eyed. ‘Hugh?’ Dragged suddenly out of the past, she was confused and angry. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Listening.’ He stepped closer, still leaning on the stick.
With a sigh Pat switched off the recorder. ‘Bad timing, to say the least!’ She climbed wearily to her feet. ‘But then your entrance stage left was imminent, wasn’t it. Greetings, Venutios!’
Viv spun round. ‘Pat?’ She was furious and embarrassed. How much had he heard?
Pat nodded. ‘I called him. Medb needs his services. I did warn you, Viv.’
‘How could you!’ Viv looked from one to the other in horror, finally focussing on Hugh’s face. ‘Venutios?’ she whispered.
He shook his head violently. ‘No! He’s gone. You mustn’t be frightened. I just need the brooch, then I’ll leave.’
‘He hasn’t gone!’ Pat’s eyes narrowed in the sunlight. She pushed the recorder and microphone into her bag. ‘But you are not going to get the brooch. Of that you can be certain. That’s not why I brought you here. You gave it away to Cartimandua, Venutios, after Medb had given it to you!’ She stepped towards him. ‘Didn’t you?’ she accused.
‘Pat! Stop it!’ Viv snapped.
‘Why? Does he scare you? He should!’ Pat turned back to Hugh. ‘You can’t have the brooch back! It’s mine.’ Her voice had changed. It was lighter. Harsher. ‘And I want it back. I will never let you have it. I will find it, whatever I have to do.’ She eyed him scornfully.
‘What’s the matter with this woman? What’s happening?’ Hugh backed away from her.
‘I’ll tell you what’s happening,’ Viv cried. ‘Don’t you see? Us three. We’re being forced to fight each other. We’re being forced to re-enact their drama! And we’ve colluded in their plan! Pat and I are writing a play, for Christ’s sake! And you, Hugh, are writing about Venutios! We’re just puppets and they are pulling the strings!’
For a moment all three were silent.
Hugh swallowed hard. ‘That’s an insane suggestion,’ he said at last.
‘Is it?’ Her eyes blazed. ‘Why did you come then? And why, in God’s name, Pat, did you tell him where I was?’
‘So that he can kill Cartimandua.’ Pat’s eyes were silver slits.
‘No!’ Viv grabbed Pat’s arm and shook her. ‘Don’t do this, Pat! You don’t mean it. Don’t listen to Medb!’
‘I’ll listen to whoever I please!’ Pat pulled away. She laughed. ‘I’m off. The recording is spoiled, anyway.’ She turned and swinging her bag onto her shoulder she headed off down the track.
Hugh stared after her in silence, then he turned to Viv. ‘That woman terrifies me!’
Viv bit her lip. She didn’t disagree.
‘Can we talk, Viv, please? This whole thing has to stop.’
‘I agree.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I really am.’
‘For what? Coming here? Eavesdropping? Attacking me in the press? Destroying my life or planning to kill me?’ Viv picked up her own bag. ‘If we can’t be on the same side, Hugh, there’s no point in you and I even discussing this.’
‘We are on the same side.’
She shook her head. ‘No. It’s too late, Hugh. I’m going.’
Hugh stood watching as she set off after Pat, then sitting down on an outcrop of rock he put his head in his hands.
The air was clear and hot. The stones in the wall near him were almost too hot to touch in the sun. It was hazy now in the distance and he could smell newly cut hay and sweet herbs. In the west the clouds seemed to be banking upon the horizon. He was stupid to have come. The best thing would be to go home. To leave them alone. To hell with the brooch. And Viv’s book. And their play. And that mad woman. He shuddered. Wearily he stood up again and turned back towards the track. Before he reached the first rampart, Venutios was back.
‘Where is the brooch? I have to have the brooch!’ He dragged Mairghread by the arm into Carta’s sleeping chamber and threw her against the wall. ‘She put it in one of her coffers. Find it. Quickly.’
‘I don’t know where it is, King Venutios. I swear by all the gods!’ Mairghread was terrified. ‘Look, lord. Look!’ One by one she pulled open the lids.
He tipped the contents of the smaller boxes onto the bed. The jewelled crane was not there.
‘Was she wearing it?’ he growled. ‘By the great god, Lugh, tell me!’
‘I did not see it, lord.’ Mairghread stepped away from him. Somehow she managed to recover some of her dignity. ‘She was wearing silver pins on her gown this morning; she didn’t have it with her.’
She did not tell him that Carta had shown her the brooch and that both women had shuddered. They could sense the evil coming from it.
‘Is it cursed?’ Mairghread had whispered as she had stretched out her hand and then withdrawn it again without touching it.
Carta had nodded. ‘Oh yes, it is cursed. I have done him a service, taking it from him. And I will dispose of it for him.’ She had smiled grimly. She could feel the impotent rage of the woman who had pinned the brooch on her husband.
VI
Hugh found the cottage empty when he got back at last. He walked back outside and climbed straight into his car.
‘I want to apologise.’ He shrugged. ‘Please don’t throw me out. We have to talk.’ Viv had shown him into the visitors’ sitting room at the farm, tight-lipped. To his intense relief there was no sign of Pat. ‘I truly didn’t know you were up there,’ he went on. ‘Not this afternoon.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Why do I find that hard to believe?’
‘Nevertheless, it is true. And I didn’t realise you were recording your play. I really thought for a moment -’ He paused. ‘I don’t quite know what I thought. It all seemed very realistic.’ He shivered.
/> She said nothing.
‘Listen.’ He sat down, leaning forward earnestly as he looked up at her. ‘This has all got out of hand. You’re right. I’ve been unfair.’
‘That’s an understatement!’ She spoke at last. ‘You’ve tried to ruin me, Hugh.’ She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.
He looked down at his feet. ‘I hated to see you making claims you couldn’t justify. You were - are - such a good scholar.’
‘Thanks!’ Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.
‘You were improvising up there, weren’t you,’ he went on quietly. ‘Making it up as you went along? You didn’t have a script.’
Viv closed her eyes briefly. ‘We were performing a play, Hugh. We make no claims for accuracy. We are making it up.’
‘But there was no script.’
‘No, there was no script at that stage. We have used scripts for most of it. It will be edited later.’
‘I see.’ He looked uncomfortable.
‘Pat is a professional actress.’
‘Right.’ He nodded. He was still uncertain. ‘And you made all that stuff up? Guessed it ? Dreamed it?’ Watching her face, he saw something like panic in her eyes. ‘That’s it, isn’t it. You dreamed your book.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Your source - your impeccable, unimpeachable source is a dream!’ He stood up. ‘Your dream? Or that actress woman’s dream? That’s why you’re so protective. It seems real to you, doesn’t it. It seems so bloody real you’re prepared to put your reputation on the line. Jesus Christ! I just can’t believe it. I can’t!’ He paused.
‘A dream like yours, Hugh,’ she said slowly. ‘I dream of Cartimandua and you dream of Venutios. We are part of the same dream. Perhaps we are part of theirs.’
He blanched. ‘What have we got ourselves into?’