Longbow Girl (8 page)

T
he next day, a thaw finished off what the snowploughs had started, allowing James to head home from Manchester.

He knew it was time to face his parents. He couldn't stay in Manchester for ever – at least, not yet.

He walked to the station, took a train, then a bus and walked again from the centre of Nanteos, up the road, across the de Courcy parkland, into the Black Castle. It would have been so much easier to have driven, he thought to himself. Illegal, but easier.

Like many children who lived on farms, James had learnt to drive way below the legal age. He considered himself a good driver. It was just the law that prevented him driving on public roads. He couldn't wait for his sixteenth birthday, in a few weeks, let alone his seventeenth. To be able to get a job,
the
job
. . . fund himself, drive, be independent. But in the meantime, he had to deal with his parents as best he could. He arrived home and headed straight for his father's muniments room, where he felt sure his father would be locked away with Parks and Philipps, deep in documents.

He paused outside when he heard the raised voices.

‘Heard that the Owens are in some kind of financial difficulty. Falling behind with mortgage payments,' his father was saying.

James froze.

‘How d'you know that?' his mother asked.

‘Bank manager tipped me off,' replied his father. ‘Said if something doesn't come up, they might have to sell.'

James recoiled in horror. The Owens losing their farm? It was unthinkable. Did Merry know? And was this because of the stallion?

‘I imagine in that case,' came Dr Philipps's voice, ‘that they would want to sell the book. I'd heard the farm has been in their hands for over seven hundred years,' he said gently, his voice laced with sympathy.

‘Yes,' replied his mother. ‘But interestingly,
not long enough
!' she declared, sounding oddly triumphant.

‘What's your point, darling?' asked his father. ‘You're up to something, aren't you?'

His mother gave a little chuckle. ‘Well, how long they've had the land is rather crucial, when you think about it. You reckon the book comes from the 1200s, Dr Philipps?'

‘That is my estimate, Lady de Courcy, but I would like to
do some more testing back in the laboratory,' replied the historian.

‘Professor Parks, do you have a view?' continued his mother.

‘I'll have more of a view after I've carried out a full excavation of the site, Lady de Courcy,' said Parks. ‘It's still covered with snow. I cannot resume until it is fully thawed.'

‘Hmm,' replied his mother. That wasn't the answer she was seeking.

James clenched his fists. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

‘Let's just go with Dr Philipps's view for the time being, shall we?' his mother went on. ‘That the book dates from the 1200s. That means that when it was placed in the burial mound that land belonged to
us
, to the de Courcys,
not
to the Owens. They did not get their mitts on the land until Crécy in 1346. So, legally, the book is ours. In which case they cannot sell it to save their farm . . . in which case
we
can buy the farm when they are forced to sell and
we
can get back our lands!' she declared triumphantly.

‘It's an interesting idea,' mused his father.

James's disbelief turned to outrage.

‘I don't think it's that simple,' came Professor Parks's voice. ‘Although the book most likely dates from the 1200s, it could have been placed within the burial mound at any time thereafter.'

‘Could doesn't mean
would
,' his mother was saying. ‘That book belongs to—'

James had heard enough. He flung open the door and stormed in. ‘Why can't you leave the Owens alone, Ma?' he demanded. ‘They have little enough, but what they do have you can't help wanting to take. Their book. Their
home
?'

His mother opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it and closed it again.

‘The prodigal son returns,' remarked his father drily, eyeing James up and down. His father was immaculate in one of his tailored tweed suits. James wore sweatpants and a Manchester United hoodie.

His mother stepped towards James, but then stopped at a look from her husband.

Professor Parks and Dr Philipps exchanged a look of their own.

‘If you'll excuse us,' said Dr Philipps. ‘Time to pack.'

The two men diplomatically excused themselves, closing the door softly behind them, leaving James alone with his parents.

‘Manchester United. The football club,
really
?' continued his father, voice laced with scorn.

‘Is that all you want to talk about when Merry and her family are facing ruin?' James demanded, emotions raging inside him.

‘You are my primary concern,' replied his father. ‘So I ask you again.
Manchester United?
'

‘Yes,' said James, struggling for calm. ‘Manchester United. The Premier League club. Most people's dream. My dream.'

‘Consorting with that feral, one-eyed girl, leaping to her
defence,' spluttered the countess. ‘It's not appropriate, James. She's a bad influence on you. She's encouraging you in this football madness, I'm sure!'

‘My friendship with Merry is none of your business,' replied James through clenched teeth. He glowered at his mother. Much as he loved her, the way she behaved towards the Owens and spoke of Merry filled him with shame, and rage.

‘If I were you, I'd concern yourself less with Merry and her family and the book and more with behaving in a manner befitting the lord and heir of the Black Castle,' declared his father.

‘That's the point, isn't it?' James said. ‘You're
not
me.'

He turned and made for the door.

‘We'll have a full and frank discussion about this on holiday in Bali,' called his father. ‘Don't think for a second this is over.'

James walked out before he could say anything he'd regret, hurrying through the hallways, climbing the stairs two at a time, barely glancing at where he was going, as he rushed through the home he felt sure he was going to lose. The threat had hung in the air, underneath his father's words: the estate or football. He felt an odd lightness steal over him as he made his choice. It was easy for him, he realized with a savage pang. But across the valley, Merry had no choice.

Upstairs in his room, he called her.

She picked up almost immediately.

‘Hi, what you up to?' he asked, trying to push down all his emotions.

‘Not a lot. Waiting for the snow to melt. You back home?'

He wondered if she knew about her family's predicament or was just covering it up.

‘Yep,' he said slowly, blowing out a breath. ‘I am. And deep in it.'

‘I'll bet,' said Merry darkly. ‘Listen,' she said, her voice brightening. ‘I need to hear about Man U, about your trial, about everything!'

‘I can't wait to tell you, but that's not why I'm calling.' He wouldn't tell her about what he'd heard about her home, but he had to warn her about his mother's attempts to get the book and stake another claim on the Owens's land. Selling it quickly to someone else looked like the Owens's only way out of trouble.

He paused, trying to think of the best way to say it. Merry, ever impatient, jumped in.

‘Look. I was going to call you anyway,' she said. ‘Are Dr Philipps and Professor Parks still there?'

‘Yes,' replied James. ‘They are, but they've just gone to pack.'

‘Keep them there,' said Merry urgently. ‘Tell them to stay put. I want to discuss my book with them.' She paused. ‘Will I be allowed in?'

‘Oh, you will be. Flavour of the month now, aren't you, with your book,' he managed to say. ‘Look, Merry. Er, I think you should sell Dr Philipps your book.'

‘Why?' she asked, the edge of suspicion in her voice.

‘Oh. Just because then everyone could see it, if it's in a museum,' he said, hoping he'd sounded casual enough.

There was a silence, then Merry laughed. ‘Funnily enough, I agree with you.'

James felt a flood of relief wash over him, but he couldn't help wondering: what had made her change her mind?

M
erry dug out the book from its hiding place. She sat cross-legged on the floor, holding it gently in her lap. She turned the beautiful pages carefully, gazing at the lavish images, then turning back to the riddle pool.

The dark pool reflecting clouds overhead, the sunlight arrowing through the water, the thicket of bushes, the nightingale watching from the oak . . . She didn't need the book to find the riddle pool. The image was seared into her mind. When she went to sleep at night, she saw it there . . .

She shut the book, wrapped it away safely in its swaddling, placed it inside its chest.

‘Goodbye, beautiful book,' she whispered. ‘I can't help thinking I was meant to find you, that there's something in you just for me, but I can't keep you.'

She thought of her mother, of her baby brother. They weren't safe. And, despite her exhibition with her longbow, she wasn't either. Her father would obliterate anyone who threatened any of them, but he couldn't be around 24-7.

She thought of the chieftain, hoped he'd be at peace with her decision. But really, she thought as she squeezed the chest into a plastic bag and let herself out, locking the door behind her, what choice did she have?

She set off through the thawing fields. No tunnel this time. She climbed the boundary wall, walked straight across the parkland, up to the massive stone face of the Black Castle.

James was waiting for her on the drawbridge. He looked pale, thought Merry, and she could feel a current of emotion running through him like electricity. Football, she guessed, and his parents' threats.

They smiled at each other.

‘Hi.'

‘Hi.' She punched his arm. ‘Congrats, superstar.'

‘I'm not there yet.'

‘My money's on you.'

‘Thanks,' he said softly. ‘But first things first. They're all waiting for you. It's a tad tense. Just had a bit of an argument, to put it mildly, but I interrupted Parks and Dr Philipps in their packing. They'll help keep it civilized.'

‘Don't leave me alone in there,' Merry whispered, feeling suddenly nervous. She had to pull this off, and cleverly.

James gave a grim smile that puzzled her. ‘Don't worry.
I'll be there.'

‘What did they say about you, about Manchester United?' Merry asked him as they walked across the cobbled courtyard.

‘They said we'll talk about it in Bali. Annual family holiday in the sun,' he said with unconcealed misery. He didn't mention what they'd said about Merry. That was the last thing she needed to hear, and what she hadn't heard wouldn't hurt her.

Merry could imagine the scene. Suncream, coconuts, harsh words.

‘When are you off?' she asked.

James glanced away. ‘Tomorrow,' he mumbled. ‘As soon as Alicia's school hols start. We'll pick her up from boarding school on the way to Heathrow. But I might not go,' he said, turning back to Merry.

‘What d'you mean? You'll just refuse?'

‘Pretty much. I mean, I don't actually want to go. I don't want to have those endless discussions.'

‘What do you want, then?'

‘I want to move to Manchester. Carry on training. Try and get a contract.'

Merry blew out a breath. ‘Wow! When will you decide?'

‘Tonight. I'll make up my mind, one way or another.'

‘Ring me when you do.'

James nodded. ‘I will. Keep your phone on you, then. You're always off somewhere forgetting it.'

‘Promise,' replied Merry.

*

In the muniments room, the earl and the countess, Merry and James, Professor Parks and Dr Philipps stood in a circle, peering down at her book. Merry wasn't sure what the countess was doing there. She didn't think James's mother was remotely interested in books.

Merry turned to Dr Philipps. ‘I've been thinking, about what you said about my keeping the book, about it not being safe.'

He eyed her speculatively.

‘How about if I sell it to you?' she asked. ‘Now.'

He blinked. ‘Well . . . goodness! The Museum of Wales would absolutely love to have it. A Welsh museum is where this book belongs, if I may say so.'

Merry beamed. ‘Yes,' she only half fibbed. ‘That's what I think too.'

‘But there's a problem.'

‘What?'

‘Funds. Or rather, lack of funds. You see, if you can wait say, six months, we can launch a campaign, raise money for it, give you a fair price, but at the moment we've got very little in the kitty, I'm afraid.'

‘Are you certain it's yours to sell?' the countess asked Merry.

‘Ma!' exclaimed James, glaring at his mother.

‘It's all right,' Merry said to him. She needed to fight this battle on her own. She turned to the countess, stood straight and tall. The countess wore high heels, but Merry could still look down on her. ‘Yes, actually, I am certain,' she said, her voice level but vibrating with quiet fury inside. ‘My father and I checked and made sure that the land where we found it is on
our side of the boundary.'

‘And is it?' continued the countess. ‘I mean, you two would say that, wouldn't you?'

‘Mother, you are just—' started James.

‘And even if that were the case,' the countess continued, voice rising high. ‘What if the book were placed there while
we
owned that land? Then it would be ours,
wouldn't it
?'

‘Well, you cannot prove that! Can you?' countered Merry. ‘And we
can
prove the land is on our side. Any independent surveyor would confirm that!'

‘Miss Owen is correct, I'm afraid, Lady de Courcy,' said Professor Parks smoothly. ‘The date of the book need not by any means tally with the date it was buried. What you are suggesting is hypothesis. Not fact.'

Merry felt a surge of approval for Professor Parks, an unexpected ally.

‘Well, in that case,' replied the countess archly, ‘perhaps the Black Castle can buy the book.'

Merry gazed at the countess in amazement. The woman was determined not to let this go. This had turned into a battle, and one she clearly intended to win.

‘Sorry,' said Merry with as insincere a smile as she could muster. ‘It really
does
belong in a museum.'

The de Courcys' buying the book was the last thing she wanted. First because she felt there was something about it; it wasn't cursed exactly but freighted with bad luck. She'd felt that straight off, from the time she first unwrapped it as she sat on the chieftain's grave. She didn't want it anywhere near
James. And second, her father would detest the idea of the de Courcys bailing them out. He would never allow it.

‘A museum really would be the most appropriate home for a treasure such as this,' said Professor Parks.

‘Hmph!' declared the countess, sending Merry a poisonous look before pretending to examine her red-painted nails.

‘Well, that seems to have settled that,' Merry managed to say. She waited a few long, agonizing moments to see if there would be another challenge. But the countess, face tight with anger, said nothing, and the earl, the Stone Man, just stood there, unreadable but mercifully silent.

Merry turned back to Dr Philipps. ‘So how much do you have in the kitty?'

‘Well, I'd have to talk to the bursar, but from memory, we have only a matter of seven thousand pounds in our acquisitions budget. Like I said, we could raise more, but it would take time.'

‘I don't have time,' Merry said aloud, earning a quizzical look from James.

She needed the mortgage paid off, but even more importantly, she needed to get rid of this book and keep her family safe.

‘How about this?' she said. ‘You're leaving later today, aren't you?'

‘I am.'

Merry picked up the book, thrust it at him. ‘Take it. Take it with you. Sign a piece of paper saying that I am selling it to the National Museum of Wales for a down payment of seven
thousand pounds. As soon as you get into your office, your bursar can write out a cheque and then another payment of . . .' Merry thought wildly, wondered what it would be worth, ‘. . . sixty thousand pounds.' That would pay off their mortgage with a small margin to spare and she didn't want to be greedy. ‘Which is to be paid over the next twelve months,' she finished.

Dr Philipps spluttered, but held on to the book. ‘It's a bit unorthodox.'

‘Bonkers!' was the countess's verdict. ‘What would your parents say? You can't simply go and decide this for them. You're just a schoolgirl!'

‘I can promise you,' lied Merry, ‘that my parents will have no problem with this. In fact, they agree with me! We've discussed it.'

‘That is quite true,' cut in Professor Parks. ‘We did have that exact discussion a few days ago. Caradoc Owen was quite clear. The family wants the book to go to a museum.'

The countess gave a huffy little shrug.

‘Sounds like a pretty good plan to me,' said James. He leant over his father's desk and picked up a fountain pen. ‘I can write out a contract now,' he said, glancing between Dr Philipps and Merry. ‘You, Professor Parks, can witness it, and Dr Philipps and Merry can sign it.'

‘That,' declared Merry, beaming in approval at James, ‘is the most wonderful idea!'

James smiled back at her. His parents said nothing, but Merry could feel the annoyance radiating from them. They'd been outmanoeuvred, in public.

‘Well,' declared Professor Parks, ‘it seems that this way we keep everyone happy.'

Merry nodded. Apart from James's parents. And the thief, who would find it considerably more difficult breaking into the Museum of Wales than into Nanteos Farm.

‘One more condition,' she said. Everyone looked at her expectantly. Merry the hard-driving businesswoman was not a side of her that anyone had ever seen. Least of all Merry herself.

‘And?' queried Dr Philipps.

‘You put out a press announcement.
Now
. I don't want to be named. It needs to say this: “The Lost Tale of the
Mabinogion
”,' began Merry as Dr Philipps pulled out his phone and began to tap, ‘“has been sold today, to the National Museum of Wales with immediate effect. The museum is delighted to be in possession of this beautiful and historically important book. As from—”'

‘Hold on a minute would you please, Merry? I'm not a trained stenographer.'

‘“As from today's date”,' Merry continued after a suitable pause, ‘“the book shall reside safely at the Museum of Wales.”'

Merry waited for Dr Philipps to finish inputting her words.

‘Any more?' he asked with a smile.

‘No, thank you. That covers it.'

‘Not very press-release-type language, if you'll forgive me for observing,' murmured the earl, exchanging a look with his wife, who clearly agreed.

‘Well, I'm terribly sorry,' replied Merry, ‘but I'm just a farm
girl, not a PR supremo.'

She caught James's eye. He was struggling not to laugh. At least she had improved his mood.

‘That's the way the language has to be,' said Merry, serious now. ‘Word for word.'

Dr Philipps nodded. ‘Word for word,' he agreed.

James wrote out the rest of the contract at his father's desk, conferring with Merry as he did so. ‘That do?' he asked at last.

She nodded. ‘Mhm. Very much so.'

Dr Philipps and Professor Parks read it and signed it, Parks as witness. James walked over to a large machine and made a photocopy of it.

‘Keep this safe,' he said, handing it to Merry. She wanted to hug him, to thank him for so coolly and smoothly helping her plan along, but she felt his parents' eyes boring into her the whole time. She'd only get him into trouble. All she could do was take the piece of paper and smile.

The deal was done. Dr Philipps got up to leave with the book in its chest, tucked under his arm.

‘Could you email me with the translation as you go through it, please?' Merry asked. ‘I'm still interested in the book, in what it says.'

He beamed at Merry, clearly delighted to be in possession of the book.

‘Of course,' he said. ‘Happy to.'

‘Thanks,' she replied. ‘Oh, and one more thing,' she added, putting her hand on his arm. He looked up at her in surprise. ‘Don't, for any reason, be tempted to take it home. Go straight
to the museum.'

The man looked at her for a while, deep brown eyes shifting as he seemed to be trying to figure her out.

‘That's a little melodramatic, isn't it?' intoned Professor Parks.

‘A little rude, I thought,' murmured the countess just loud enough to be heard.

‘I am happy to oblige,' replied Dr Philipps, eyes still locked on Merry. ‘It was I, after all, who warned you against keeping it at your home.'

Merry's whole body flushed. Could it have been him? Had she entrusted the book to the one person who had tried to steal it? She felt a sense of horror, but then another thought hit her. If it had been, she'd now made it much harder for him to steal it.