28

‘I want that woman out of my court!' Macsen had walked into his wife's bedchamber that evening, dismissed her ladies and servants and slammed the door after them. ‘How dare you ask her here after I told you not to communicate with her.'

Elen sighed. ‘I did not invite her here, she arrived. And she arrived to warn you of an impending assassination attempt. If you had bothered to talk to her she could have told you -herself.' She rose from her couch and pulled her stole more -closely round her shoulders. The wind off the river was somehow finding its way into the palace, shaking the leaves from the pots of plants in the atrium. Exhausted after her long race across Gaul with the imperial messenger, Branwen had begged to be allowed to go and sleep at last.

Elen folded her arms. ‘So, do you at least want to know where the threat comes from?'

‘Mithras.' He tightened his lips.

‘So, you already knew?'

‘I didn't know specifically about Segontium, but the threat has been made in several centres. In Roma itself. Bishop Martin and I discussed it.'

‘And yet you sent the bishop away, both of you in a rage.'

‘He feels I should be more lenient with men who diverge from the Christian faith. He is wrong. It is important to show strength and resolution. And that will be my response to the initiates of Mithras as well if they prove implacable. If necessary they must die.'

‘Which is exactly what they have said about you.' Her blood was up and she was prepared to stand her ground. ‘Except that you cannot deny breaking your vows to their god. You stopped wearing your Mithraic ring as soon as you became a Christian, but you must do more; you must break with them openly and officially.'

‘I must do nothing of the sort. Bishop Martin baptised me. That is all the proof I need that I am forsworn against other gods and other ways of worship.' His eyes narrowed. ‘Has Branwen forsworn her forest gods?'

Elen fell silent. ‘I do not ask other people's beliefs,' she said at last.

‘No,' he said drily. ‘Well, I suggest you do. I will expect her to accept baptism if she remains in this court for even a day longer.'

After a formal meeting with his advisers and officers he was wearing his imperial toga and she saw him draw the heavy purple folds over his shoulder as he faced her. He too was feeling the cold breath of the wind on his back. She shuddered. There was danger in the room. She studied his face and changed the subject abruptly. ‘Were decisions made this afternoon?'

He nodded. ‘It is invidious that I continue to recognise -Valentinian as some kind of distant co-emperor. I have a co--emperor of my own in my son. I have no need to abide by some vague agreement I made with that stripling. There will be no more delays. I have decided to move my capital to Roma as soon as possible. The court will go with me.' He held her gaze.

‘By the court, you mean you expect me to be at your side?' She refused to quail at his words.

He nodded. ‘And the children. You will follow well behind the army.' He relented a little. ‘There will be no danger. There has been none yet. The peoples of the empire welcome me. They recognise that my rule is strong and efficient. They see in me the true worth of the imperial power, and besides,' he smiled, ‘I have the royal blood of Britannia at my side and flowing through my children's veins. Their next emperor will be descended from the gods.'

‘Who you don't recognise,' she retorted sharply.

‘They take their places as servants of Christ, as his saints and angels,' he said piously. ‘That's close enough.' He grinned again and, stepping forward, swept his arm around her. ‘Without you I would be a lesser man, Nel.'

She fought free of the heavy folds of the entangling toga. ‘I'm glad you recognise the fact.' In spite of herself she felt herself succumbing to the attraction she still always felt in his presence, however much they quarrelled. Minutes later he had lifted her up and carried her through into her bedchamber. The attendants, alert to any sounds behind the doors of the empress's chamber, glanced at one another knowingly, and melted back into the shadowed passage that led towards their own quarters. It was unlikely they would be needed again tonight.

In one of the guest chambers of the palace, Branwen stirred in her sleep. She was back in the forests that clothed the lower slopes of Yr Wyddfa. The air was cold, the trees and grasses bending before the west wind, a golden eagle riding the clouds with the rain in its feathers. And there in the shelter of a stand of pine trees she could see the horsemen waiting near the road. The tribesmen from Dinas Dinlle, mounted on their sturdy mountain ponies, carrying shields and armed with spears. Who were they waiting for? The usual enemies came from the sea, fighting the waves and the vicious tides as they beat in towards the shore. In the past the invaders had been pirates, but more often now, their crews were intent on more than a quick snatch-and-grab raid, instead eyeing the richer lands to the east of their own, hoping to chase the remnants of Roman order from the mainland of Britannia. But these Ordovician men were not fa-cing the sea. They were watching over one of the main routes from Segontium, not towards Deva and Eboracum but south through the mountains to Tomen-y-Mur, and the party they were waiting for would be bound, almost certainly, for-Viriconium and the road some call Watling Street, the fastest route to Dubrisand the coastal crossings that would take them with the greatest speed to the continent, to Gaul and to the emperor's base at Augusta Treverorum.

Had the Mithraean party, hand-picked assassins, left the fort yet? Branwen struggled to see back along the road towards Segontium, but there was no sign of them in the whirling mists. Was it possible they had gone another way? The paths through these wild mountains, far from the recognised roads with their beaten surfaces and regular military stations, were steep and secret, following hidden passes between high crags and wild river beds. A small party of highly trained men could travel unseen even by the most alert of locals if they too had expert guides, men who had forsaken their local gods for the more glamorous worship of the Parthian Sol Invictus. In her dream, Branwen reached out to pull at the sleeve of one of the king's scouts, but he felt nothing but the tug of the wind, and the catch of a bramble to his cloak and brushed her away.

Cadi read through the last sentence she had written and gave a shaky smile. She had sat still for a long time after Charles had left and then, at last, stood up and walked over to her desk. She needed to take her mind off the latest revelations about Ifan. What better way than picking up her pen and fixing her mind on the past. She liked the description of Branwen's dream. Macsen was luckier than he knew to have her on his side. She let out a sigh and frowned. She reached for the folio of Rachel's illustrations and leafed back through them to the earliest sketches of Macsen in his sexy shirt, and with glowing eyes, and yes, there it was. On his right hand he was wearing a large ruby ring, the ring of the highest-grade initiate of the temple of Mithras. How on earth had Rachel known about that? She shivered and glanced towards the window. The sun had set into the black horizon beyond the distant Bannau in a dramatic flourish of crimson and gold; she could just see it through her kitchen window. In seconds it would have gone. She tensed. Was that a face looking in? She stood up so suddenly her chair fell backwards onto the rug. Peering out of the window she couldn't see anyone. She grabbed at the cord and closed the blind to find that she was shaking all over. Ifan. Was it Ifan? She swallowed hard, clinging to the rim of the sink, trying to steady herself. Hell and damnation! She was not going to allow him to terrorise her again. She walked across to the front door and pulled it open, standing on the doorstep to look up and down the street. There was no one in sight. The last line of light in the sky had gone and darkness was on its way in. Stepping back inside, she closed the door with a bang and pulled the bolt across, astonished by the wave of fury that swept over her. How dare he appear in her life again like this. To threaten an entire community in order to victimise her was beyond the pale. The bastard! She reached for the bottle of wine that was still standing on the table and poured herself another glass. She might have topped it up again had her phone not rung. It was Meryn. ‘I sense all is not well in the meadowlands of South Wales. I'm sorry it's taken longer than I expected to get away. I was planning to come tomorrow but I can set off now if you like.'

She managed to laugh. ‘I think I can contain the situation for another few hours. Bless you. I shall expect you at coffee time tomorrow.'

In the event it was Sally who arrived first next morning with Gemma close at her heels. ‘Chris told me about Ifan.' She reached for Cadi's cafetiere, still half full amongst the remnants of her uneaten breakfast and she shook it experimentally. She found a mug on the draining board. ‘Do you mind? Gem and I have been for a walk up the lane and I could do with something hot. There's no one in the meadow right now, but that tent is still there over the gravesite. Chris and Melissa thought I should know what's happened as I'm next door. She rang me last night. I'm so sorry, Cadi. I remember so well what that bastard did to you after you broke up. You were a nervous wreck.'

‘I was not!' Finally Cadi managed to get a word in. ‘I hope they haven't gone round telling everyone in the village. That would be a disaster.'

‘No, no. They know we can't tell anyone.' Sally tapped the side of her nose. ‘Don't worry. Watch and listen is the way -forward for the time being. Does Charles know?' She couldn't contain the cheeky grin.

‘He was here when Chris came over yesterday. He was the one who found out about Ifan through his mate in the archaeology team.'

‘And that nasty creep Ifan is reborn as John Davies the ultra-respectable and very rich businessman who just happens to have discovered a nice little development possibility in the heart of the countryside. Have you seen him?'

Cadi hesitated. ‘I did wonder last night. I thought I saw someone peering in through my kitchen widow.'

Both women turned to look at it. ‘Shit!' Sally said.

‘I was really scared, then I got angry. But it might have been nothing. A trick of the light. It might have been anyone. I must learn to shut the blind when I have the lights on. I forget that people can walk down the street and see in. It's so quiet here normally.' She sighed.

‘You shouldn't be alone, Cadi.'

‘I won't be. Uncle Meryn is coming to stay and he'll be here soon. I spoke to him last night.' When he had psychically realised he was needed at once. She didn't say it out loud. ‘He's going to help with the history. I think he and Charles will get on rather well.'

Sally managed to keep a straight face. ‘Good. I hope between them they can outwit the bastard developer. I gather he's staying with Madelaine.'

‘Apparently. Except that she's not there. She's off on one of her Italian trips.'

‘She ought to be careful or he might sell half her garden for a nice little profit before she gets back. Can I make some more coffee? This is cold.' Sally glanced down at Gemma, who had curled up under the table. ‘She's not herself, Cadi.'

Cadi slid off her chair and sat down on the floor next to the dog, fondling her gently as she slept. ‘Have you seen the vet again?'

‘I spoke to her on the phone. She says Gem is probably still traumatised by whatever happened to her. Can you ask Meryn to have a look at her when he arrives? I know he's not a vet, but he seems to be so good with animals and he has an amazing instinct about things.'

Cadi glanced up at her. ‘Of course I will.' Sally had no ideajust how astute Meryn's instincts were but then she had no idea either how traumatising Gemma's adventure must have been.

He arrived about an hour after Sally had finally gone home. The morning had warmed up and he and Cadi sat in the garden while she filled him in with all the details of everything that had happened.

‘Forgive me, Cadi,' he said at last, ‘but are you sure about this developer's identity? It seems to me that no one has actually seen him yet.'

She nodded ruefully. ‘Well, I'm not going to go and knock on his door, am I.'

‘Perhaps not, but your friend Chris could arrange an interview. He would be within his rights as the organiser of the -village opposition to the development.'

‘I suppose so. But we know he's Arwel's son. It's Ifan. There's no doubt. And he must know I would find out eventually. After all, the whole point would be to upset me as much as possible.' She steadied her voice with an effort. ‘I don't think I'm being paranoid. He had a real vindictive streak. I just can't work out why he should revive the vendetta after all this time.'

They found out at lunchtime. Charles had phoned and suggested they all meet at the mill. ‘I went to see Maggie Powell, to thank her for the introduction to Joyce,' he said after he and Meryn had shaken hands. He grinned. ‘I guessed she might be a source of more information so I accepted her offer of a cup of tea and a flapjack. She knows all about our Ifan and she knows it's him.' He lowered his voice with a glance round the café. There was almost no one there, so he had beckoned Chris over to join them. ‘She doesn't like him. I'm not sure if she knew youhada history with him, Cadi, but she knew his father and he had amassive row way back. She thinks he might have given or at least promised Arwel a stake in the development to try and lure his way back into favour. But that's not the most chilling bit. She says he's come home because he and his wife have split up and she's done a runner, accusing him of abuse and all sorts. I'mnot sure how she knows all this, but as far as I can see this village is an echo chamber of gossip and secrets. I had no idea I missed so much, living in the city.' He looked at Cadi. ‘It gives us something to go on, though. Might explain a lot, no? Memories of being rejected. Maybe he hoped he could move in with his dad, though from what I hear that would be a vain hope, or so Maggie thinks. She's not sure how he knows Madelaine, but she reckons all rich people "from off", as they say round here, know each other anyway. And she thinks if Madelaine is rich, maybe she's an investor.'

‘She's probably right about that,' Chris commented. He stood up. ‘The place is filling up. I'll chase up your food, folks. A lot to think about there, Charles. Did you ever work for MI5? If not why not?'

‘I was wondering that too,' Cadi put in with a smile.