Daughters of Fire (26 page)

Peggy stood back on the path and waved Viv past her. ‘There’s only room for one at a time in there. Be careful. The steps can be slippery.’

The well head was cold and dank and smelled of musty rock and water. The sound of the beck behind them echoed in her ears. Carefully stepping down out of the sunlight she was immediately in a different world, the liminal halfway house so beloved of the Celts, neither one thing nor the other, neither light nor dark, neither wet not dry, neither outdoors nor in, gateway to the underworld. Someone had put a small candleholder on a natural shelf in the rock and near it lay a spray of wilted flowers.

It was just possible to squat down under the low rock roof and sit on the edge of the stone basin where the water lay unreflecting in a pool of darkness. Cautiously she reached down and dipped her fingers in the pool. The smooth surface broke and moved and for a second she saw the reflection of her own face then it was gone.

It was coincidence, of course, that this should look so like Carta’s sacred spring. Probably they all looked much the same. She had seen them in Cornwall - secret, special hidden places, their presence often advertised by a nearby tree festooned with ribbons and rags. Clooties, they called them in Scotland, left by people as a plea or a promise, an offering or a thank you to whoever or whatever spirit looked after the well, be it one of the ancient Celtic gods, or a Christian saint, or the Virgin Mary herself.

She gave a wry smile, aware of an unlooked for atavistic urge within herself to leave her own gift here by the dark water.

Vivienne

The voice was little more than a whisper of the water outside. Viv shivered and climbed to her feet. It was her imagination.

Turning towards the daylight she looked up and saw Peggy seated on a rock near the entrance, her back to the well, staring down towards the gurgling water of the beck. Hesitating, she glanced back, then groped in her pocket to see if there was a coin there she would offer to the gods. What she found was a sweet smelling head of lavender she had broken from the clump near Peggy’s kitchen door. It seemed a fitting offering and she laid it near the flowers and candle and imagined for a second that its sweetness was powerful enough to fill the whole valley.

Peggy glanced up as she re-emerged and came to sit beside her. ‘Wonderful, isn’t it.’ She scanned Viv’s face with steady blue eyes which seemed to be able to read her soul.

Viv nodded. ‘Very special.’

‘I come up here sometimes on my own and light a candle.’ Peggy looked away again. ‘It’s a place of immense power and healing.’

‘Do many people know it’s here?’ Viv kicked off her sandals and let her feet rest on the soft moss on the edge of the waterfall.

‘The locals. Of course it’s not in any guidebooks as far as I know. Once these places become too popular they lose part of their specialness.’ She glanced back at Viv and once more the intensity of her gaze was almost uncomfortable. ‘Can you keep it to yourself?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s just that not everyone has the right respect these days and even those that do don’t always behave appropriately. It’s a sad fact of life.’

‘I won’t tell anyone.’ Viv was silent for a moment. ‘Why do you call it the Druid’s Well?’

Peggy shrugged. ‘It’s always been called that. The Celts honoured water just as they honoured the sun and the moon, the stars, the rocks, the trees, the soil beneath their feet; they knew it all as sacred. They must have known this place as a spring, so near the hill fort but the ordinary people would have been afraid to come here, so it must have been a Druid sanctuary.’ She laughed cheerfully. Then, sobering, she glanced sideways at Viv. ‘Did you feel anything in there? A sense of the sacred, perhaps?’

Viv nodded. She was staring down at the glittering gurgling stream pouring over the rocks at her feet. There was a strange red tinge to the water. ‘It’s odd. I feel as though -’ She shook her head. ‘I feel as though I’ve seen it before, but I suppose holy wells often look and feel the same?’ She looked up almost pleadingly.

‘I suppose they do. Or you’ve seen it through someone else’s eyes. If that’s the case, don’t let it worry you. Accept it for what it is. A gift.’ She put her hand on Viv’s shoulder for a minute. ‘The people who lived in the ancient world had a respectful attitude to life. They would have thanked a tree before cutting it down. They would have acknowledged that an animal had to die so they could eat it but thank it for that sacrifice. They had a generosity of spirit as opposed to our selfishness. It’s something I like to think still happens here.’ She fell silent. For a while they sat quietly, listening
to the sounds of the water, then at last Peggy stirred. ‘Do you want to wait here for a bit and come back to the farm later, or come back with me now? I’ve another guest coming this evening and I have to get ready for her. She’s booked a week’s painting holiday.’ She hesitated, then she stood up. ‘You wait a bit. See what happens. Who knows, perhaps the goddess will bless you.’

Viv sat there for a long time, listening to the water. The sound filled the whole valley, swirling into the silences, drowning every other sound as she gazed down into the glittering ripples. She wasn’t sure when Steve arrived, but after a while he was there, watching her, sitting on a rock a couple of yards from her. He smiled when he saw she had noticed him at last. ‘Any interesting dreams?’ He had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the water.

She shook her head. ‘This is a fabulous place.’

He nodded. ‘Very special.’

‘Your mum is a wonderful woman.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’ He climbed to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Come on, we need to go back or you’ll miss your lunch. I’ve left Dad to it for a while.’

They walked back up the fields side by side, in companionable silence. As the farmhouse came in sight, nestling in the fold of the hillside above them Viv reached over and took his hand again. ‘I’m enjoying this so much. I wish I could stay longer.’

He grinned, squeezing her fingers back. ‘So do I. When do you have to go?’

‘After lunch tomorrow. So, I need to make the most of every second here. What do you suggest I see next?’

‘The waterfalls. We’ll go this afternoon.’

He was, she realised, still holding her hand. She pulled away gently. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

The walk was spectacular. They climbed through woodland and cliffs, alongside the river as it hurtled down from the moors above through gorges and glens towards the river valley beneath. From time to time they would come to a viewpoint where the water was particularly dramatic. She paused on one of these, staring down into the foaming pool beneath, feeling the ground tremble under her feet. Ahead of her Steve strode easily up the path beneath tangled ash and hazel and great bushes of yew. He reached a corner
where the path turned around an overhanging outcrop of rock and stopping for a moment, he looked back. Then he walked on out of sight.

The water thundered in her ears, sunlight catching the torrent, reflecting into her eyes, mesmerising, sliding in great sheets, stained reddish-brown by the minerals on the high moors, thundering past her in spate. She stood for several minutes, overwhelmed by its beauty and power before she gradually became aware of the image of a face looking at her from the mist of spray that hung in front of the fall. Not Carta. These eyes were pale, the hair the colour of moonlight, the gaze implacably hostile. Viv could feel the power of the questing mind reaching out, searching.

Medb.

Viv took a step back, feeling the spray cold on her face. The intrusion was brutal. The threat unmistakable. There was evil here. Hatred. Jealousy.

Slipping on the wet rock, she turned back towards the path, pushing past curtains of ferns and hanging mosses, her feet sliding in the puddles of spray as she hurried to catch up with Steve. Once she paused and looked back. There was nothing there but a glittering sheet of falling water. Where she had been standing two figures in red cagoules were poised photographing the water. The face had gone.

Steve was waiting for her at the next viewpoint. ‘Isn’t it awesome? We’ve had a lot of rain this year, so they’re especially good. I’ve loved this place since I was a child.’

She nodded, trying to catch her breath.

‘You can feel the power of the water making the ground shake.’ He laughed. ‘This is a sacred place! You can feel it, can’t you. Druids would have worshipped here. It’s a place to talk to the gods. I sometimes think it draws you in. You feel you could fly out into the water and soar towards the heavens all at the same moment!’ He raised his arms.

‘Be careful, Steve!’ With a cry of alarm, Viv grabbed his arm. ‘Don’t go too near the edge!’

He laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not. Do you see the rainbows in the sunlight? Castles and ramparts and figures dancing in the water. Naiads. Undines. Water sprites. Goddesses!’

But no face. Viv gazed into the spray. The pale vicious face of Medb of the White Hands had gone.

‘Please, Steve! Come away!’

He stepped back and turned towards her, still laughing and for a moment they found themselves staring at each other. She realised she still had her hand on the sleeve of his shirt. She could feel the warmth of his skin under the cotton which was damp from the spray. ‘I hate you going too near the edge. It gives me vertigo.’ Letting him go, she gave an awkward little laugh.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ His fingertips brushed against hers as he turned back to the path. It was just the lightest of touches. Almost accidental. ‘Come on, I’ll race you to the top!’

Viv arrived home the following evening after driving straight into the tail of the rush hour. Most of it was going the other way but even so she found herself crawling impatiently through the suburbs and it was after seven when at last she climbed, exhausted, up the worn stone steps towards her door, lugging her holdall after her.

She had been reluctant to leave Winter Gill Farm. It was a place of magic and warmth. A home from home. But the arrival of a stranger the night before, and the knowledge that she had so much to do in Edinburgh had helped her stick to her decision to return. Besides, it was difficult to get her head around the feelings which were flooding through her. Being there in the place where Carta had lived, in the place which featured in her dreams, was overwhelming. More so even than Traprain this was a place of Druid magic, of Celtic mysticism. A place where the past still clung to the mist-shrouded cliffs and rivers. It was all too much; too immediate; too close to Carta.

And, there were facts she wanted to check.

‘Come back and see us, as soon as your book tour is finished,’ Peggy had said as she gave her a farewell hug. ‘You’re a friend of the family now, love. I’d be very cross if you didn’t come!’ She held Viv’s gaze for a moment, then she smiled. ‘Steve will miss you too. It’s nice for him to have a bit of company. So, come back soon.’

Viv didn’t bother to unpack. Throwing her bag down just inside the door she went straight to the computer.

Steve and Peggy were forgotten. Ingleborough, Dun Righ, Dinas Dwr. This was what she wanted to look up. The possible sites of
the royal family’s bases. Did they live in one place and visit the others or was the court peripatetic? Did they select one place and live there because it was convenient or they liked it, or like medieval kings move around from place to place to feed the entourage of fighting men and the household which accompanied them. In her book she had mentioned possible sites for the Brigantian capital: Stanwick St John. Barwick in Elmet. Aldbrough. Which was right? Or were they all right? How much was actually known about Ingle-borough? Now that she had been there, really been there, she needed to know at once.

As the programme loaded she glanced down at her box files. There was nothing there to help her. She was pretty sure of that. For this kind of information she needed the latest archaeological data. The results of excavations, if any, that had been conducted since her original research. Standing up she stared at the screen for a second or two then she turned and went into the kitchen, returning a moment later, a glass of apple juice in her hand to sense the impatient tension in the room. Her throat tightened with fear.

Peggy had told her to be firm. To learn to take control. Determinedly she sat down at the keyboard. At the moment she wanted archaeological facts. A hoard. The remains of a house amongst the others large enough to be the equivalent of a palace. Jewellery. A grave like those over on the eastern side of Yorkshire at Wetwang. Was Wetwang the burial ground of the Brigantian kings or just of the Parisii? Those graves, with their chariots and grave goods and horses and dogs, were of very special high-ranking people. One of them was a woman’s. Could the grave be that of Cartimandua herself? No, wrong date. She clicked the mouse impatiently. Refuse pits. Always of interest, but weren’t always refuse pits at all. Some were for storage - a safe cool place to keep things just outside the houses, often created out of the places where they dug the clay to make mud and wattle walls, though perhaps not in these mountain settlements. Others were obviously for sacrifice. But not sacrifice in the sense of killing things by chucking them down a hole. A sacred, special place to lower beloved animals and special offerings, and even the body of a baby, so that it would be nearer to the gods, a place to begin the journey to Tir n’an Og, the land of the ever young.

The computer wasn’t responding. Suddenly the screen went blank. She stared at it. Hell and damnation! What was the matter with the thing? But no amount of coaxing or swearing could bring
it back to life. Glancing round the room she felt a jolt of fear. She was there. Somewhere. Waiting in the shadows. Standing up, Viv grabbed her department keys off the shelf and headed for the door.

The streets were busy. It was a beautiful warm evening, encouraging people out to wander round the city. Walking down the High Street she could smell the various delights of the restaurants and bars. Garlic and pasta. That was obviously Italian. Stale beer - one of a dozen dark doors leading into heavy masses of humanity. Wine. Bright, trendy and no less crowded. Meat and noodles, cooking in woks. Chinese. Curry. Indian. In the distance she could hear the steady thump of music coming from an upstairs window and drifting up from Princes Street the inevitable haunting drone of the bagpipes.

The DPCHC was deserted. Inserting her key she pushed open the door and then locked it behind her. Her office smelled of stale old books. The window was closed and there was dust on the computer monitor as she sat down and switched on. In minutes she had the latest archaeological finds record and was scrolling down towards the Iron Age. There was a lot of information there. Each year it seemed to increase exponentially and it was hard to keep up with the latest discoveries. Leaning forward she scanned the screen, completely engrossed until somewhere in the depths of the building the sound of a door closing interrupted her concentration. She looked up with a frown, conscious now of how quiet it had been as she sat reading the closely spaced lines in front of her. With a sigh she rubbed her eyes wearily and glanced at her watch. It was nearly ten. Then she heard it again. A sound from outside her door, this time the creak of a floorboard. She listened intently, suddenly nervous. She was about to stand up to go to investigate when her door opened. Hugh was standing there. Dressed in an open-necked, checked shirt, and with a cluster of cardboard files under his arm he stood surveying her from beneath frowning eyebrows.

For a moment she stared at him blankly, aware only of what a strong presence he had. It filled the room, distracting her from her task. Seeing him dispassionately like that, as though he was a stranger, she realised inconsequentially what a good-looking man he was and how overwhelmingly attractive. His words brought her back to herself with a jolt. ‘What exactly are you doing here at this time of night?’

‘Working.’ She could hear the defiance in her own voice.

‘Indeed?’ He stepped into the room. ‘Am I supposed to be impressed by your keenness, Dr Lloyd Rees?’

‘On the contrary. I was trying very hard to avoid you knowing about it at all.’ Viv resisted the urge to stand up so that she could face him. Somehow she managed to relax into her chair. It was important that he didn’t see how much his unexpected appearance had rattled her. ‘And, by the way, may I ask again, why this formality,
Professor
?’ She emphasised the word. ‘I seem to remember that in the days before I wrote a book, I was Viv.’

‘Were you?’

She wasn’t sure how to interpret his tone. Was he being vague or sarcastic? Either way it was, as she supposed he intended, hurtful.

‘Looking up the Iron Age, I see.’ She realised too late that he was looking past her at the screen. ‘Checking your facts? A bit late for that, I would have thought. Surely your book is finished?’

‘I am doing further research, certainly.’ She managed the retort in as casual a way as possible. ‘Unlike some, I like to be on the ball with the latest discoveries and theories.’

‘And, let’s face it, you’re not sure of your facts now they are being queried by an expert in the field.’ He gave a half-smile which broadened as he noticed the flicker of uncertainty which crossed her face.

She sighed. She didn’t need this. She was tired and now that he had interrupted her train of thought, all she wanted was to go home. On the other hand her pride dictated that she couldn’t allow him to think he had managed to chase her out. ‘It seems very late for you to be working, Hugh.’ She caught him off balance, she noticed, by the sudden use of his Christian name, the gentle tone. ‘You look very tired. You should take more care of yourself.’

‘I am very grateful for your concern.’ His voice hardened. ‘But I can assure you, I don’t need it.’ He hesitated for a fraction of a second. ‘The Cartimandua Pin is reputed to have a curse on it. Did you know?’ He held her gaze for a second.

Viv frowned. ‘I am surprised you of all people believe in curses, Hugh,’ she said. She looked up and forced a smile. ‘Not your sort of thing at all, surely.’

He seemed rooted to the spot, staring at her with uncomfortable intensity.

‘I’ll be here some time yet,’ she went on at last. ‘Perhaps I should
get on.’ She turned her back on him, deftly flicking the screen away from the website before he could scrutinise it any more closely. ‘By the way,’ she added before she could stop herself, ‘did you call the police in the end. About the brooch?’ She managed to sound casual.

She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, holding her breath as she waited for a reply. For several seconds he said nothing then he gave a quiet chuckle. ‘That, my dear Viv, remains to be seen, doesn’t it.’

For a moment he stood motionless behind her, then she heard him move away. He walked out of the room, leaving her door open and she heard the creak of the floorboards as he strode down the corridor towards his own room. She waited for a moment until she heard his door bang then she stood up and went over to close her own. She leaned against it with her eyes closed, breathing deeply. Damn. Damn. Damn! That was all she needed.

She turned back to her desk. He hadn’t spoken to the police. She was sure of it. Otherwise they would have been waiting on her doorstep. Or would they. She sat still, staring at the screen. And now she would have to outstay him as a matter of principle when all she wanted was to print up her findings to study later and go home and have a long hot bath.

He seemed to have conceded defeat however. After only ten minutes she heard his door opening again and the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. She listened for the bang of the outer door and then cautiously went over to the window and peered round the blind. She saw him stride down the road, groping in his pocket for his car keys. Then he rounded the corner and was out of sight.

When, after switching off the computer and collecting some more books, she opened her study door she found he had switched off all the lights in the building. How pathetic could you get?

Outside, she realised it had started to rain. The crowds had melted away and the streets smelled wonderfully fresh, the dust laid, the traffic less heavy, the scent of grass and leaves and flowers drifting across the streets from the gardens and squares and the dark brooding outline of Arthur’s Seat.

Swinging the heavy bag of books onto her shoulder she walked fast, pausing automatically at the traffic lights even though no cars were coming, then walking on.

Vivienne

The voice in her head was clear and slightly fretful.

Vivienne?

Viv stopped, her heart thudding. What had she been thinking about? Not Carta. Not Ingleborough.

Vivienne!

She put a hand to her forehead. This wasn’t the same as sitting at her desk and inviting the voice in. This wasn’t like sitting within the fallen ramparts of a hill fort, meditating on the past. She was walking down the street thinking about something else.

Vivienne

‘Stop it! Go away!’ She realised, shocked, that she had spoken out loud. She paused, easing the bag higher onto her shoulder, staring round, wondering if there was someone there, hiding in the shadows, playing a joke on her. No one called her Vivienne. Ever. No one except an Iron Age queen!

She took a deep breath and walked on fast, her head down against the soft mizzle of rain. Preoccupied, she barely noticed that the streets were busier here or that a crowd of youths was hanging around outside the pub. She registered that they were shouting. Someone kicked an empty beer can along the gutter. The air was heavy with the fumes of stale beer and the acrid tang of vomit. Normally she would have crossed the road and taken another turning to avoid them. She strode on and as she approached they fell silent.

‘Fucking hell!’ The comment was almost awed as they stared at her. They fell back out of her way and she passed without even appearing to notice them. ‘Did you fucking see that?’

Viv shivered. She kept on walking, aware suddenly of what had happened and wondering with a second’s blinding terror what - or who - they thought they had seen.