18

Cadi had been writing obsessively all afternoon. When someone knocked on the door she stood up, her pen still in her hand, her mind still in the past with Elen.

It was Dai Prosser with a small squirming dog under hisarm.

‘Oh my God!' Cadi exclaimed. ‘Where did you find her?'

‘I've knocked on Sally's door but she's out. This is her Gemma, isn't it?' The farmer stepped into Cadi's living room and put the dog down on the carpet. He pulled off his cap, twisting it anxiously between his hands. ‘I found her in the field as I was collecting up the last of the bales. She seemed a bit disorientated and scared, but I don't think she's hurt.'

Cadi knelt down and took Gemma in her arms. ‘Where have you been?' She looked up. ‘Oh Dai, thank you. I can't tell you how happy Sal will be.' The little dog's tail was wagging so hard it was almost invisible.

It was half an hour before Sally came over in response to Cadi's urgent text.

‘Hi, Cadi, I've just got back from school. What is it?'

The sound of her voice had an electrifying effect on Gemma. With a yelp of excitement she leapt up into her mistress's arms, covering her face in licks, wriggling frantically to try to get ever closer under her chin.

‘Where did you find her?' When Sally could speak at last there were tears pouring down her face.

‘Dai Prosser found her in the meadow.'

Sally sat down on the floor, still cuddling the little dog. ‘Someone must have taken her. She's been looked after. She's not starved. She's been brushed. She's got a new collar.' Sally frowned, stroking the soft leather. ‘That's odd. This is her original tag. So if they kept it, why didn't they phone me?'

Cadi shook her head. ‘Perhaps they meant to and then they fell in love with her. That wouldn't be hard to do.' She sat down opposite Sally. ‘I can't tell you how pleased I was when Dai brought her over. He said he'd tried your house, obviously.'

Sally was still fingering the dog's collar. ‘There is another tag here. Look.' She unhooked it and scrutinised it, then she passed it across.

Cadi held it in the palm of her hand, staring down at it, and a shiver ran through her. ‘This is rough; it's handmade. Is it silver? And there's a weird symbol here. A hieroglyph of some sort, and it's cold.' Scrambling to her feet she dropped it onto the table.

‘Gemma must have been outside all night.'

‘No.' Cadi shook her head. ‘No, it was a warm night. That is oddly cold.' She leaned across and fingered Gemma's original identity tag. ‘This one isn't.' She shuddered. ‘Don't put it back, Sal. There's something odd about it.'

‘Throw it away. I don't want it. Whoever put it there had no right to. I'm taking her home.' Sally stood up, still carrying the little dog. ‘Thank you, Cadi. Did you feed her?'

Cadi shook her head. ‘I gave her a drink. She was very thirsty.'

In all the excitement she had forgotten Meryn was coming. When he appeared next morning, Cadi led him out into the garden with a tray of coffee and biscuits. Telling him the story of Gemma's reappearance, Cadi mentioned the mysterious tag.

‘Show me.'

She went indoors to fetch it. She had slipped it into an -envelope and put it on the shelf above the fireplace. Taking it, he peered inside. She saw him frown. ‘Interesting sygil.' He had not tried to remove it from the envelope she noticed, shaking it delicately so he could see both sides of the disc without touching it.

‘Do you know what it means? When I held it, it was oddly cold.' Cadi shivered at the memory.

‘You shouldn't have touched it.'

‘We had to. To take it off her collar.'

Dropping the envelope down on the table, he sat back in his chair, thinking. ‘It's some kind of spiral. It looks a bit Celtic to me. I would think it's a protective amulet. But the fact that it was cold– that is fascinating.' He glanced round the garden. The day was warming up fast. He watched the bees busy in a clump of catmint near their chairs, their hum soporific in the sunlight edging across the grass towards them, pushing away the shadows. He stared at the lawn in silence and she saw him frown.

‘Can you see it?' she whispered. ‘My corner of the palace.'

He grinned. ‘Almost. Are you going to show me your friend's map?'

He opened it on his knee and looked at it carefully, reaching after a few minutes for his own plan, carefully folded amongst Cadi's notebooks. Side by side the two diagrams were extraordinarily similar. He looked up. ‘He's good.'

‘He is, isn't he.'

He squinted at the map, studying it more closely. ‘No sign of our wormhole on here.'

‘No. He said he didn't sense it. But to be fair, he wasn't looking for it.'

‘Had he come across the concept before?'

‘I think he had heard of it.' She grinned. ‘And we think he might have actually glimpsed it.'

He nodded. ‘Not everybody's cup of tea, that sort of thing. So,' he sighed, ‘do I gather we can't go into the field anymore?'

‘We could climb over the gate. What can they do? They could shout at us, but if there's no one there, no one willsee.'

‘Excellent.' Refolding the map, he levered himself out of the chair. ‘Let's go.'

She had forgotten the barbed wire.

Someone had cut back the brambles that lined the alternative route so it was easier now than it had been the day before with Charles, to duck off the lane and thread their way up the steep scrubby path towards the hill fort. Emerging from the trees the sun hit them with its full force as they followed the track up towards the summit, the air full of the scent of baked earth and wild flowers. The shrill ceaseless song of skylarks emphasised the silence as they reached the top and turned to look down atthe meadow lying far below them, quietly hazy in the heat. In the distance the water of the Bristol Channel was an intense blue. There wasn't a breath of wind.

‘Look.' Meryn's whisper cut through her thoughts. She turned to see him pointing down at the meadow. ‘A slight shiver of the light, barely visible. It's coming and going; it's not established. I suspect it's variable at the best of times, dependent on earth energies, perhaps, maybe the weather conditions to a certain extent or the moon. I think that is where your little dog has been.' He had moved a few paces away from her and was staring down at the meadow through half-closed eyes. ‘Perhaps she was in our palace,' he said at last, ‘as that is what we're all concentrating on.' He shook his head regretfully. ‘I wish we could ask the dog. Wherever she went, they gave her a new collar, they carefully kept her dog tag, and they gave her a new one to keep her safe. You tell me she was looked after, fed and groomed. Somebody loved her. Perhaps someone is even now mourning her loss.'

‘Elen. It was Elen,' Cadi said at last. ‘I wrote it all down; I've made notes on what happened to Gemma in my story. Does that mean it's all true? It's actually happening in some other dimension.' She looked at him pleadingly. ‘Is that even possible? I thought I'd made it up.'

‘There are at least two possibilities here.' He was thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you're writing about what actually happened, or is what you're writing creating the scenario in that other dimension? And where is that other dimension?'

‘Elen lived here but she took Gemma to Segontium.'

‘And Gemma stayed away until Elen brought her back and the dog found her way home through the tunnel.'

‘But in their life months have passed, years even, and here it was only a few weeks.'

‘Isn't that what so often happens in fairy stories?' Meryn said thoughtfully. ‘Someone goes to sleep under a bush or in a cave or on the moors somewhere, and in a dream the enchanted life goes on in fairyland, so when they wake up and return to the present day sometimes days have passed, sometimes hundreds of years. Remember the story of Thomas the Rhymer? And presumably it can work in both directions.' He grinned happily. ‘It's fascinating, isn't it! This has all been documented again and again and no one believes it. Of course they don't. It's impossible.' He moved across and sat down on a boulder which was lying on the dusty earth where a round house had once stood. ‘But it's not impossible, is it. In our reductionist age we cannot bring ourselves to believe this sort of stuff, but in the old days when stories and legends and fables were part of the common discourse, people were far more observant. They saw strange things happen and, if they couldn't explain them, they had to turn them into stories. But they believed in magic. And maybe that's why our little dog had an amulet affixed to her collar to keep both her and them safe from the evil eye.' He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head sadly. ‘You can't tell Sally any of this. Better she assumes someone picked Gemma up, shoved her in their car and then had a fit of conscience and returned her.'

‘And in the meantime, is it up to me to write the story down?'

‘What else?'

She shook her head slowly. ‘Of course, your other theory could be the real one. Someone found her and took her home with them.'

‘And that is what we will all believe. At least as far as others are concerned. It seems more likely anyway.' He was still beaming. ‘Let's wait and see how the story pans out as you write it down.'

‘I wrote about something else that would intrigue you.' She turned to him as they walked back. ‘Have you heard of something called Caledfwlch?'

‘The Welsh Excalibur?'

Of course he had heard of it. She grinned. ‘The king of the Ordovices gave it to Elen. He told her it had been held in trust until one of her children or their descendants needed it to save the land. He told her the metal fell from the stars and the gems set in the hilt came from Eryri.'

‘Oh wow.' He stopped and stared at her. ‘Fantastic. And, believe it or not, one version of the legend I've read said that Magnus Maximus, of all people, brought the sword back to Britain. I can't remember off hand where he found it. I always thought that was probably rubbish; other countries trying to claim the sword's origin. But maybe there is a hint of truth there, if it surfaced during the time of Macsen. And falling from the stars makes more sense: tradition has the blade made froma meteorite.'

‘And it was forged on Ynys Enlli.'

He nodded. ‘That makes sense too. Bardsey Island. The Island of Twenty Thousand Saints. The burial place of Merlin. Perhaps the original Avalon. So, what did she do with the sword?'

‘She gave it back to him to keep hidden. They talked about the destiny of the sword. How it would one day belong to a great king. King Arthur, presumably.'

‘King Arthur who some think was descended if not from Elen herself, then from one of her stepchildren.'

‘And therefore from Macsen.' She was silent for a moment, then she started walking again. ‘Of course some people think King Arthur didn't exist, or that he was just some sort of war lord. I can't get my head round all this.'

‘You don't have to, Cadi. Just wait and see what happens in the story.' He smiled. ‘That's the wonderful part about all this. You are an amanuensis, a story spinner, dictated to by history itself as it happens.' He put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Why don't we go and visit your lovely mill for lunch. I'm hungry.'

The café wasn't so full this time and to her relief Cadi didn't recognise anyone amongst the other customers. Chris came to join them briefly. ‘Dai told me he found Sally's dog. I am so pleased. She's all right, is she?'

‘She seems fine.' Cadi nodded.

‘And no sign of the invasion of the house builders yet?'

‘Not since they were all here with the ground radar stuff going on. Apart from the barbed wire of course. Someone must have done that when we weren't looking.'

Chris nodded. ‘I'm looking for someone who does drone photography who could take pictures of the meadow for us. Apparently if we get a bit of drought later in the month and the topsoil dries out more, that's when the outlines of buildings show up much more clearly.'

‘That's a good ally you've got there,' Meryn said as he and Cadi walked back through the village later. ‘Useful.'

‘We don't need drones.'

‘No, but it's always nice to have things confirmed so that one can convince the greater public.'

‘It must be awful having people constantly looking at you sideways and raising their eyebrows at everything you say.'

‘I've got used to it.'

‘And they never make you doubt yourself?'

‘No.' He laughed. ‘No, I suffer from utter conviction that what I see is there. I realise most people don't have that gift and I never thrust it in their faces if I can help it, but I do object when they persist in shouting me down, which I fear is about to happen. Do you see who is walking towards us?'

Arwel stopped several feet away. ‘Still looking for a hidden city?' He didn't bother to try to hide his disdain.

Cadi tried for a disarming smile. ‘Still looking.'

Meryn stayed silent.

‘Are you on your way to the mill? We've just had a very nice lunch there,' Cadi went on. She started walking, trying to pass him but he moved to intercept her.

‘I've heard the outline planning application is about to go through.'

‘Really?' She failed to keep the shock out of her voice. ‘Surely not. Not already.'

‘The planning department feels there was no reason for delay. It is a popular plan with local support.'

‘But what about the survey? The chap picked up the outline of a building. We were there. We saw it.'

‘An old barn.' Arwel couldn't keep the glee out of his voice. ‘Dai Prosser told me he remembers it. Sorry to disappoint.' He stood aside at last and with a mock bow in Meryn's direction headed on up the road.

Cadi was speechless. Neither of them moved, until Meryn shook his head and said briskly, ‘Come on. Let's go home.'

‘Surely it can't be true?' She followed him in through her gate, fumbling in her pocket for her key.

‘No, I don't think it is. For one thing it has happened too quickly. I don't think councils move at that speed, even if, as he implied, pressure is being brought to bear. I'm sure your friend Chris will be on the phone immediately. I take it Arwel is on his way up to the mill to tell him the glad tidings. There are always rumours flying round in these sorts of situations, Cadi. Don't worry about it.'

‘Can't you ask your pendulum? Won't it know if he's speaking the truth?' They walked into the cool shade of the living room.

‘It might, but again my own feelings might influence it. It might start spinning round my head in ever decreasing circles which usually means "Unacceptable fury. Recalibrate."' He laughed out loud. ‘Sorry, I know that will go a long way to destroying my credibility.'

She shook her head. ‘No, it sounds honest.' She dropped onto the sofa. ‘So what can we do?'

‘We could go outside and dowse in your garden over your own piece of the palace and maybe, carefully, lift some of your grass, and maybe, carefully take a trowel and gently begin to scrape back the soil, but only'– he raised his hand as she leapt to her feet– ‘if my pendulum responds to my enquiry as to how deep below ground level the site may be found. That is a question one can usually answer with the pendulum. If it is too far down, we will have to leave it, at least for now. Agreed?'

* * *

What they found was a fragment of stone wall.

‘Right.' Meryn was stern. ‘At this point we backfill loosely and replace the turf so there is nothing to see. We don't want anyone else interfering, either for or against the dig, and we don't want to do any damage. I can see enough to give me a theory about what happened to the palace or villa or whatever it was. Look, the sunlight is lighting the stones so we can see them clearly.'

‘Black? Fire?'

He nodded. ‘It's a possibility. I'll ask my trusty friend.' He had slipped the pendulum into the pocket of his shirt.

She sat under the apple tree with a glass of lemonade while he knelt above their hole, the weight on the end of its chain dangling from his fingers. She had given him a notepad and every so often he scribbled something down. It was ten minutes before with a groan he levered himself to his feet and, brushing the loose earth from his knees, wandered towards her.

‘Right. I have answers. I must emphasise, Cadi, that this is not an exact science. It relies on asking the right questions, and I may have rather anticipated what I suspect happened.'

She poured him a glass of juice and sat back in her chair. ‘Go on. Tell me.'

‘The villa was burned down and, for whatever reason, it was not worth rebuilding. Perhaps in the time-honoured way, the locals, whoever they were, looted the stones to build their own cottages and houses, probably yours included, so in the fullness of time there was nothing left to see, the grass grew over the site and for the next thousand years or so the ground level gradually rose enough to hide what was left. Perhaps there was just enough of an outline left, a few stones, or even the foundations, for some enterprising ancestor of your husband's to build a barn there. But that too has gone.'

There was a long silence.

‘So, there's nothing left to stop them getting planning permission,' she said at last.

‘Except the mosaics.'

‘What mosaics?'

Meryn grinned. ‘I just happened to ask and it said yes. Two particularly beautiful ones.'

‘Here? In my garden?'

‘Alas not. Out there in the field.' He took a sip from his glass. ‘I fear none of this would be enough to stop the developers, but it would delay them. And they will be found if they dig trenches before they give planning permission, which they will if they adhere to the rules. They would have to excavate and document the site and even if they moved the mosaics somewhere else, at least they would have been saved. I don't believe a word Arwel said. If he had heard anything it was gossip.'

‘You know, I think someone mentioned mosaics when I was in the post office a few weeks ago. That and bones.'

‘Bones would be good as well! Even better.'

‘And what about the wormhole?'

Meryn grinned. ‘If they build over it, it will provide some very interesting experiences for whoever buys that particular house.'