30

Meryn helped himself to some more coffee. They had been sitting over breakfast for some time. Charles had phoned early to say he was driving back to Cardiff for a departmental meeting. When the call ended, Cadi had fallen silent, staring down at the phone in her hand. Had he sounded a bit strained? She hoped he hadn't been put off by everything that was happening and decided to give up on the meadow. On her. Meryn glanced at her. She was looking exhausted, and he had heard the drop in her voice as she wished Charles a safe journey.

She had told him about her experiences the night before, including her sighting of someone in her front garden. ‘Of course, it might have been my imagination.' She sighed.

‘You should have called me. I wasn't asleep.'

‘I know. I saw your light under the door. I just had so much to think about and I didn't want to have to deal with Ifan as well. I had finally seen the marching soldiers and understood where they were going, why they were here. And before that I had been dreaming or watching or imagining Branwen who was dreaming or watching or imagining what was happening at home in Wales when she was somewhere in Germany– or France, I'm not even sure where– and she was trying to warn Macsen about the men who vowed to assassinate him. But I know they don't succeed because I know what happens to him in history and I can't bear it.' She broke off, unable to go on. ‘Why, Meryn? Why can I see all this if I can't change history? Branwen can't change history. It's all an echo. A pointless echo.' She shook her head, shocked to find herself near to tears.

Meryn sat back in his chair. He looked thoughtful as he sipped his coffee. ‘I can't answer your questions, Cadi. I can only assume that there are no reasons we should pick up the echoes of the past, except that of course the past is there. On all sorts of levels it is still with us. Some people are aware of it and some are not. The echoes are there, but perhaps they're no more meaningful than the voice that comes back from the darkness in a cave when we shout up into the unseen shadows. And if we accept the premise that there are many parallel options in the present as to the way the future will pan out before us, perhaps we can learn—'

‘Can we?' she interrupted.

He smiled. ‘Oh yes, I think we can assume that.'

‘So we have a choice?'

‘No, Cadi, that's not what I mean. I think it's perhaps easier to see time as a bagatelle board. There's no knowing where the ball will fall with each pull of the spring. We can't judge which energies and forces will come into play at any particular second. I think we can– some people can– influence the fall of the dice, to mix my board games, but even then there are too many options, too many possibilities ever to predict the future.'

‘And yet Branwen can do it. For her the future has already happened. And her present is our past.'

He grinned. ‘It's all relative, Cadi. Look, you're worn out. It's too early in the morning for this level of philosophy. Let's leave it at that for now, shall we?'

She nodded with a rueful smile. ‘I suppose we have to. But Ifan is in the present. Perhaps I should concentrate on him.'

‘Indeed. Simple precautions there, I think. Keep your kit-chen blind drawn, even in the daytime.' They both glanced at the window where they could see the climbing rose flowering gloriously outside the window; as they watched a car flashed past and disappeared down the road. The rainclouds had vanished in the night and sunshine was pouring in, lighting up the kitchen, sending patches of warmth across the floor. He got up and went over to the window, pulling the cord. The room became shady. ‘And don't wander around at night on your own.'

‘Even in my own garden?'

‘Even in your own garden. Anyone could walk through your side gate or push through that hedge if they wanted to.'

‘You don't think... You don't actually think that Ifan is a threat to my safety?'

‘I've no idea. Although, I suppose everything is a possibility. Did you mention his name to the police sergeant who came to interview you?'

She shook her head. ‘Ifan owns the field. Or at least his company does, as far as I can gather, so they know he exists, but I don't think anyone has actually seen him round here except his own employees. I can't even be sure that I really saw him at the window last night. I'm probably the only person who knows, or guesses, that there might be a personal element in all this, apart from Chris and Mel. And Sally.' And Charles. Who had gone.

‘So the police need to know about him. I'm sure they've clocked him as being around, because he's involved in thedevelop-ment plan, but you must make sure he's on the police radar. After all, you're being stalked, Cadi. Did you report him after you broke up with him?'

She shook her head. ‘I was just so relieved he'd gone. But you're right. The police could at least question him. Why not? It might rattle his cage.' She gave a grim smile. ‘And if the gossip Charles picked up is true, his wife has left him because he was violent towards her.'

‘Then what are you waiting for?' Meryn stood up. He wandered over to the desk and picked up her last batch of notes. ‘I think I might take these upstairs. Meditate with our friend Branwen. See if she's amenable to two-way transmissions.'

Cadi stared at him. ‘You're serious?'

He winked. ‘It's worth a try. And meanwhile, why don't you pop up to the mill and get some of their delicious pastries for our lunch. It would be good for you to stretch your legs; you'll be perfectly safe in daylight and you might pick up some more gossip from Chris. Then when you come back you might feel like doing some more writing.'

In seconds Meryn had disappeared upstairs.

‘You have to come back to Britannia with me.' Branwen was sitting with Elen in one of the courtyards of the palace at Augusta Treverorum. The nurses had brought the children outside to play. Sevira and Maxima were busy with their dolls, earnestly taking off their clothing and re-dressing them in their nightshifts before tucking them up side by side in a beautifully carved miniature cradle made for them by one of Macsen's army carpenters. Anwn was drawing with a stylus on a wax tablet and Owain and Peblig were throwing a ball for two puppies, smuggled into the palace by one of their nurses, while Flavius Victor had climbed onto his mother's lap. He was sucking his thumb, watching his brothers with wistful concentration. ‘Why don't you go and play with the others?' Elen gave him a gentle push. He resisted, putting his arms around her neck. She sighed. ‘Macsen has been too hard on him. He's only a baby and yet since he was made the imperial heir he is expected to sit in on council meetings and watch the men parade.'

Branwen nodded, tight-lipped. ‘All the more reason to come away. You have to bring the children. If he doesn't give you permission, then we should go without it.'

‘And how far would I get without his permission?' Elen buried her face in the little boy's hair. ‘He would send half the army after us.'

‘Only half?' Branwen sneered. ‘He might try but he would never find us if we go alone and secretly. I traversed the forests and hills of Gaul with the imperial messenger. I kept my wits about me and my eyes open. I made contact with the men of the trees and the gods of the country and they will protect us if I ask. No one will catch us. We have to get those children away.' She was watching Elen with her son, her expression one of such sorrow that Elen felt a shiver of apprehension.

They were interrupted by the tutor Macsen had appointed to Flavius Victor. He walked up to them and bowed as the boy scrambled hastily off his mother's lap. ‘I was sent to find the little emperor,' he said stiffly, addressing the air somewhere above Elen's head. He stooped and picked up the toy sword lying on the floor at their feet, handing it to his charge. The other children had all stopped playing and were staring at him nervously. Behind him, the two nurses approached cautiously, obviously expecting some kind of reprimand and Elen realised that he had assumed an authority over the nurseries she knew nothing about. She rose to her feet. ‘I will send the prince to you when we have finished here. You may wait for him outside.'

She saw the flash of anger in his eyes, but he said -nothing, bowing meekly and withdrawing without argument. She bent and took the sword out of Victor's hand. ‘Is it time for your -lessons?' she asked quietly. He nodded. ‘Then you may go. Leave the sword with me.'

She and Branwen watched as the boy reluctantly made his way out of the room.

Elen tightened her lips. ‘I suppose the eldest has to have special treatment.'

‘But surely, he isn't the eldest,' Branwen put in.

Elen gave a grim smile. ‘No. But apparently Ceindrech's sons don't count. Macsen already has plans for my two girls. Their husbands are chosen. I have been told their names.'

‘Told!' Branwen's voice shot up with indignation.

Elen smiled. ‘I have his agreement that will not happen until they are of age. He is emperor, Branwen. His children have value, just as I had to my father. I had no choice in my husband. You of all people know that. His only concession was that they cannot go until I say that they are old enough, and with that I have to be content.'

‘All the more reason to go away now. With the children. All the children,' Branwen added. ‘You know there is danger. The followers of Mithras—'

‘Have no quarrel with children. Children are not initiates. Even if the men you saw in the temple escaped the ambush of the warrior tribes of the hills of the west, the fortress here is guarded, and if they try to reach the emperor they will be cut down without mercy. The children are safe.' She walked across the room, spun on her heel and walked back, tense with anger. ‘No, Branwen. You have done your duty and warned us of what the men from Segontium plan, but that is all you needed to do. Thank you for your services. You have done enough. I want you to go home now. Back to the palace of my father and the oppidum where you were born. That is where you are needed.'

‘Needed!' Branwen turned to face her. ‘I am needed here with you. I see what is going to happen in the future. It is too late for your father's palace.'

‘Too late? What do you mean, too late?' Elen stopped in her tracks, the words reverberating round in her head.

‘It is burned to the ground. Surely your husband's messengers told you.'

She stared at Branwen, rigid with disbelief. ‘Burned?'

‘Yes, burned.'

‘And Macsen knew this? He didn't tell me.' She fell silent. ‘And my people?' she whispered. ‘The women who served me?' All but a chosen few had been sent back home when the armies were readied to cross into Gaul and Elen finally acc-epted the fact that she had to follow her husband and his imperial ambitions into the heart of the empire. She had wanted to keep them safe.

‘All safe as far as I know.' Branwen relented a little. ‘They had word that the raiders were coming and fled up to the oppidum where the men would make sure they were safe until your brother came to clear the countryside of raiders. But the palace itself is destroyed.'

Elen went to stand in the doorway, looking out into the garden. Behind her the nurses gathered the children up and with a look at her rigid shoulders and clenched fists ushered them away to the nurseries.

‘It was you who warned them the raiders were coming, with your magic scrying bowl.' Elen said quietly. She shuddered as fragments of memory surfaced then sank back into the shadows. ‘You saved them. You are always trying to save us.'

Branwen didn't answer. Behind her Elen turned and went to sit on one of the couches. ‘What do you see for my children? Tell me.'

‘I see them back safely in the lands of their fathers, of the Silurian peoples and of the Ordovices.' Branwen shook her head sadly. ‘All save your little boy Victor. For him I can see nothing and that is why I want to take him, above all of them, back to Albion where he will be safe.'

Elen bit her lip. ‘Tell me what you see for my girls and their destiny?'

Branwen sighed. ‘Your daughter Sevira and her husband will be the progenitors of a line of kings stretching far into the future.' She gave an enigmatic smile.

Elen sighed. ‘Macsen has promised Sevira to his gen-eral, Prince Vortigern.' Macsen had great plans for Vortigern, in whom he saw much promise. That much she knew. He had sent the young man back to Britannia where he had been entrusted with overseeing a vast swathe of the province under the overlordship of her father.

‘So, who has he chosen for Maxima?' Branwen's gaze was implacable.

‘She is promised to another of his generals, Ennodius. Both are men grown. Both are respected and trustworthy, but my girls are still children.' A tear rolled down Elen's cheek.

‘And the thing now is to keep them safe until they are of an age to marry,' Branwen put in gently. ‘I see Maxima as travelling to distant lands. But she will thrive. You need have no fear for her. So, my Elen, if they have a future written in the stars, then it is up to us to make sure they live safely to fulfil their destiny.'

Elen wiped away her tears. ‘And my babies, Anwn, Owain and Peblig?'

Branwen smiled. ‘I see no disaster for them. They will thrive. Anwn and Owain will be kings; their sons will be kings.'

‘And Peblig?'

Branwen shrugged her shoulders. ‘He too will live to be famous through history.'

‘And me?'

Branwen nodded. ‘You too will live, my Elen, and your name will live after you. For ever.'

Elen shook her head with a sad smile. ‘That I doubt.' She was silent for a moment, then she went on in a whisper, ‘And Macsen?'

‘He is the author of his own destiny. My powers do not see that far. He has been warned of his immediate danger. I can do no more to advise him.' Branwen's expression had become implacable.

Elen studied her face, aware of the icy chill spreading through her bones, and slowly she nodded her head. ‘I will speak to him, although it is hard to get near him alone these days.'

‘Indeed.' Branwen gave her a speculative look.

Elen blushed. ‘Indeed,' she repeated. ‘Go home, Bran-wen, please. Take my blessings and my love to the mountains of home. I shall not forget them and if it is at all possible I will return.'

Alone in her bedchamber Branwen began to pack her few belongings into her satchel. By dawn she would be gone. Even without Elen and her children she planned to go home via the byways, through the forests, living off the land and the friendship of the tribal peoples of the unseen places. She had no wish to see Macsen again or the men of his entourage. Their future was no longer her concern.

With a sigh she sat down on the bed. Night was coming and the guest chamber was lit by lamps, filling the air with the scent of olive oil and of something else. She sniffed cautiously. Surely she could smell the scrying herbs of home.

‘Branwen.'

The voice came from the shadows from undreamt of distances.