41

Elen had found an escort of men awaiting her as they came alongside the wharf at Rutupiae. Sent by her stepson, the elder Victor, they had been watching the fishing boat beat in on the last of the tide as the wind rose and began to swing round towards the west. Their senior officer, Junius Secundus, did not want her to go back to her father's palace. Her stepson, he said, had made it clear that it would break her heart to see her home looted and burned, but she insisted, and thus as the gales of late October lashed the seas behind them she and her party made their way along the road towards the west, their horses' hooves splashing through the puddles, the wind tearing at their hair. The women of the party and the children were accommodated in two wagons, all except Elen herself, who was mounted on a pretty roan mare. Not for the first time she thought about her lovely black horse and wondered what had become of him.

They followed the old roads across the country, the ancient routes, drained, and paved and made safe by the empire. There were still mansiones and cauponae at regular intervals and -villas, but the lack of legionary oversight was beginning to tell. The men who had followed Macsen across the sea five years before, had been a good part of the force which kept Britannia safe from invasion and from insurrection. They passed crumbling walls, and burnt-out homesteads, and the lack of military care for the highways was obvious every time one of the carts thumped down into a pothole or stuck halfway across an untended ford.

‘Why has everything been allowed to deteriorate like this?' Elen asked Secundus. For all his Roman name he had the wild hair and pale complexion and accent of a native-born Briton. He looked at her in disbelief. ‘Because Magnus Maximus Augustus took all the men of the legions with him to conquer his empire, madam,' he said crisply. ‘Did you not realise as much? On his orders, Britannia was left virtually undefended. The loyal men who serve your father, the high king, have enough to do without road mending.' He stared down at the broken wheel of the cart that was the latest casualty of their slow progress. ‘Even these, the great routes across the land are suffering. Highway robbers and beggars frequent the ways, many of the men who ran the inns have fled with barely the clothes they stood up in. No one travels the roads without an escort. This land is without protection and without leadership.'

It was only a short time later, as if to illustrate his bitter complaint, that a shouting horde of armed men hurled themselves towards them out of a patch of woodland.

The women and children who had been standing round the broken cart scattered, screaming. For a moment Secundus and his men seemed taken by surprise, distracted by his conversation with Elen, as their attackers had obviously realised, but within seconds the scene changed. Three men detached themselves from Secundus's troop and ushered the women and children out of the way as the remaining soldiers, armed, trained and determined, regrouped, rallied, and turned on the attackers. Not expecting any opposition and ill prepared as they were, they fled, but not before one or two of them had dived into the baggage cart, grabbing everything they could carry. In seconds it was all over, two of the robbers dead on the ground, one of Junius Secundus's men wounded, and the two draught oxen that had been pulling the disabled wagon, trotting off loose somewhere in the woodland that bordered the road. ‘Follow those robbers,' Elen cried. ‘Don't let them get away.'

But they had gone, melting into the shadows.

‘Are you all right, my lady?' Junius Secundus turned to Elen at last. He reached up to stroke the mare which was stamping and shuddering under Elen's quiet hands.

‘She's obviously not used to battle,' Elen said with a grim smile. ‘She will settle.' She turned to the rest of their party. ‘Is everyone safe?'

Julia stepped forward, her arm around Sevira's shoulders. The girl was sobbing quietly, her face white. ‘We've had a nasty fright, but we're all right. Where did they come from?'

‘Out of the wilderness,' Junius Secundus said grimly. ‘This is what happens when there's no one to oversee the cutting back of the undergrowth alongside the roads. Robbers can lie in wait and then flee again into the countryside without any warning, so travellers cannot protect themselves.' He walked back to the baggage wagons where the remaining two draught animals were bellowing after their lost companions.

‘Or go after their stolen belongings,' Julia said bitterly as she followed him. ‘That tall man with the red beard grabbed as many bags as he could carry as well as some of the children's.'

‘I don't think he took the time to be selective,' Junius -Secundus replied. ‘While my men are seeing to the wheel perhaps you can have a look and see exactly what is missing. Not that there will be any chance of recovering it. There's no point in going after them. They've long gone.'

The missing oxen retrieved, the wheel mended, and order restored, the party moved on for some half a dozen miles before turning up the long driveway to the welcoming lights and fires of a homestead owned by a wealthy trader and his wife. They received Elen with due honour, and she and her women and the children were shown to warm, clean chambers in the guest wing of the house. It was then she -realised that amongst the stolen bags was her own, containing shawls and tunics, her few cosmetics and brushes and combs, herveilsand,she-realised with a pang of horror, the silk shawl in which she had carefully wrapped the box that held the little dish given to Macsen's grandmother by the Blessed Virgin Mary herself.

‘I'm so sorry.' Delyth had been unpacking her other bag. ‘There was so much chaos in the wagon, with all the luggage piled up in a heap and some of the bags coming undone when the wheel came off, I didn't notice.'

Elen gave a sad smile. ‘I doubt anyone will find any of it now.' She sighed. ‘There was only one thing in there that I treasured before all else, and they will probably throw it away. It will mean nothing without knowing who it had belonged to.'

Delyth glanced at her. In all the time they had been together Elen had seemed so resilient and strong, managing to contain her grief, at least in public, for the sake of the children after the execution of her husband and then again after the murder of poor little Victor, but this, now, so close to the end of her journey, seemed like the final blow. She glanced at Elen as she sat on her bed. ‘I'm so sorry. But they were only clothes. See, your other bag is here and the jewel box is safe.'

Elen looked up and there were tears in her eyes. ‘It wasn't the clothes. And as for the jewel box, it is empty. There was something else in there, wrapped in my shawl, something very precious my husband's mother gave me.'

Delyth bit her lip. ‘I'm so sorry,' she repeated in a whisper. She looked up as the door opened and Maxima came in. The girl was looking frail and her face was blotched with tears. Seeing her mother crying, she let out a sob and ran to her and the two of them clung to each other, rocking to and fro as though their hearts would break. Delyth backed away. ‘I will go and see if I can find hot drinks in the kitchens for everyone,' she said quietly, then slipped out of the room, meeting Nia at the door, Nia who had stayed on to supervise the children's nurses and now as an indispensable part of their little household. ‘Let them be for now. It will do them both good to have a nice cry,' she whispered practically. ‘Can you wait and see no one else comes in.'

Their kind and thoughtful hosts insisted they stay another night as their guests and Elen, too tired and sad to argue, agreed gratefully. Valeria and Julia buried their animosity at least long enough to agree that the household should be kept away from Elen, leaving only Sevira and Maxima with their mother to care for her. Delyth supervised the concocting of soothing drinks, designed to bring sleep, and Nia found a harp in the reception room of their hosts and begged to be allowed to bring it to Elen's chamber.

She slept at last, but it was sleep fractured with nightmares.

Cadi had not expected Rachel to arrive unannounced. One look at her cousin's face led her to expect the worst as she stood back and let her in. ‘What's happened?'

‘It was your bastard ex-boyfriend. You suspected as much, didn't you. He's pulled out of the deal. Or at least his stooge has. The solicitor was a fake and the American buyer was completely astonished when my solicitor contacted him and told him he had agreed to buy my cottage and set up an exhibition for me. He was very apologetic and all that, but was not prepared to honour anything. And why should he? He knew nothing about it.' She flung her bag and a portfolio on the table. ‘Coffee please.'

Cadi nodded and walked over to the kettle. ‘I'm so sorry, Rach.'

‘So where is he, this mastermind out to destroy you and yours. Have they found him?'

Cadi reached for the jar of coffee beans. ‘He's in hospital under police guard. I'm not sure if he's been charged. I gather he hit his head when he fell in the road as he was being chased in London and he got concussion. He might not even be conscious yet, but they've got him. They can add all your stuff to the charges.'

‘I doubt it. There's no proof he or anyone else promised me anything. A few letters from a fake address, that's all.'

‘But you went to meet them in Cardiff.'

‘I met someone in Cardiff.' Rachel pulled out a chair and sat down heavily at the table. She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I don't think he was who he said he was. Oh, Cadi, what am I going to do? Bill– that's my landlord– has said he'll give me three months to sort it out, but then the cottage has to go back on the market. It's really decent of him to wait, but...'

Her voice wobbled and her eyes filled with tears.

Cadi turned back to the coffee. For a few seconds the sound of the grinder made it impossible to continue the conversation. By the time she had put the pot on the table, Rachel had managed to regain her composure. ‘I'm sorry. I just didn't know who to talk to.'

‘I'm glad you came here.' Cadi smiled sadly. ‘I wish I could help about the cottage. This is all such a mess. You know, it turns out he bought Camp Meadow years ago, straight after we split up. He told me he would have given it to me as a gift, but because I was nasty to him, he decided to keep it. He enjoyed the thought of being able to do whatever he liked with something he knew I treasured. How vindictive is that! Oh, Rach, how can one man cause so much misery and chaos?'

‘You must really have upset him,' Rachel said bitterly.

‘And I hadn't given him a thought for years. I assumed, if I thought about him at all, that he'd forgotten about me.'

‘He seems to me to be the personification of evil.' Rachel gave a watery grin. She reached across to the folder she had put on the table. ‘I did some more sketches for "The Dream of Macsen Wledig". I know we agreed to put it on hold so that you could write your novel, but I hoped you might still finish the poem.'

Opening the folder, Cadi stared at the drawing that confronted her. It was Elen. It was really Elen, the Elen she had seen, the Elen who was telling her story. She gazed at it for several seconds, then turned the page over to look at the next. Macsen himself, with his dark curling hair greying at the temples and his eagle nose and piercing eyes. The ruby ring, she noticed, had gone. It was perfect. She moved on. Elen's father, the high king came next and then—' She looked up in astonishment. ‘Who is this?'

‘I don't know.' Rachel shrugged. ‘I hoped you would tell me.'

It was Branwen.

‘She's not in the story. Or at least, not in the Mabinogion.'

‘Then where does she appear? I must have seen her somewhere.'

‘She has appeared here. In my story.' Cadi couldn't bring herself to refer to it as her novel.

Rachel glanced up at her. ‘So, what's her name?'

‘Branwen.'

‘And she's a witch?'

‘Not really a witch, no. A Druid, perhaps.'

‘Like Meryn.'

Cadi nodded. ‘I think she and Meryn have'– she hesitated over the choice of word– ‘interacted, shall I say.'

Rachel screwed up her face. ‘That sounds about right. What else would they have done.' She reached for the sketch. ‘So, I'd better tear it up then.'

‘No!' Cadi put her hand over the sketch to protect it. ‘No, don't do that. It's brilliant. It captures her essence, probably better than I ever could in my...' Again she hesitated. ‘Novel.' She forced herself to utter the word.

Rachel gave her a knowing glance. ‘Well done. You said it.'

Cadi grimaced. ‘I just don't see myself as a novelist.'

‘A historical novelist.'

‘Is that better?'

‘Of course it is. It sounds more serious. More historical.' Rachel managed a smile.

‘It's not coming out that way. There's so much about Elen that no one knows. The mentions of Macsen's wife disappear after Macsen is executed. Somewhere it says Theodosius spared her life and that of Macsen's mother, but the rest is, well, le-gend. A woman, a queen, called Elen or perhaps Helen, morphs into other people. She is confused with a prehistoric goddess and another empress and a Christian saint. It's only really the Mabinogion that links her to Macsen. So much ties in, but not enough to make it history.'

‘Doesn't that give you more scope to invent, if no one can-contradict you?' Rachel mused after a moment. ‘That's an interesting combination, though. Empress, goddess, saint and presumably, given your own address. Road builder!' Rachel sipped her coffee. ‘I'm glad I came. You always distract me from my own miseries.'

‘With my dotty ideas?'

Rachel grinned. ‘Something like that.'

‘Last time I infuriated you.'

‘Sorry.'

They both looked up as a knock sounded at the door. Cadi got up and went over to the front window. ‘I can almost see who is on the doorstep. Sometimes they stand back enough to get a glimpse– oh, it's Gwen. She's the detective inspector in charge of Ifan's case.'

Gwen sat down with them and Cadi assured her that she could speak freely in front of Rachel. Her face was sombre. ‘I have news. Good and bad. The good news is that Ifan's wife has regained consciousness and her pregnancy seems secure. The bad news is she refuses to press charges. She swears Ifan never touched her. She insists she tripped at the top of the stairs and he only grabbed her to try to stop her falling.'

Cadi stared at her in astonishment. ‘I had no idea she was pregnant.'

Gwen looked taken aback. ‘Oh dear. That was probably confidential information. I took it for granted you knew.'

‘No, but I'm glad she's OK. I'm not surprised she's refusing to charge him. He will have messed with her head if my experi-ence is anything to go by. Poor woman. So, what's happening to Ifan?'

‘Luckily he's not well enough to leave hospital yet. We're still trying to prove he was responsible for the vandalism to your friend's car and laptop, but there are no fingerprints and it's hard to find any proof as yet. And of course there is absolutely no proof that he had any intention of harming your uncle. The fact that a Roman dagger was found near him proves nothing. He's had a scan of his head and they're not too happy with the results. There is swelling on the brain and they're not going to release him until that has reduced. I'm leaving someone there to keep an eye on him for the time being, but I'm afraid without any further charges we can't really justify the resources to guard him full-time. I know you feel under threat, but we can't prove he's actually done anything.' She sighed. ‘I went to see his father just now but there's no one there. I don't suppose you know anyone who would know where he is?'

Cadi shook her head. ‘He's not my best friend either, I'm afraid.'

‘Nor anyone's, as far as I can tell.' Gwen laughed bitterly. ‘What a charming family.'

‘And they can't stand each other,' Cadi put in. ‘You don't suppose Ifan's murdered him?' Her suggestion wasn't entirely serious but Gwen nodded with a rueful smile. ‘It had crossed my mind. So far I'm leaving that one open.' She stood up. ‘I must be off. Keep checking your door before you open it, just in case.'

‘Nice lady,' Rachel said as Cadi closed the door behind her.

‘I don't buy it that his wife has refused to testify against him. If she has, it must be because she's too scared of reprisals.' Cadi sat down again. ‘Gwen was telling me they couldn't keep him under arrest, wasn't she. Once his brain has gone back to normal.'

‘From what you say, it was never normal,' Rachel said tartly.

‘But they won't keep him in prison. His threats to me aren't serious enough. And if they haven't found any fingerprints at Annabel's, and we can't prove anything he's done to you, either, then what can they charge him with?' The two women looked at each other for several seconds without a word.

‘Let me take you out to supper,' Rachel suggested. ‘I can't bear the idea of us locked up here waiting for another knock at the door. I can stay, can't I? Your secret lover isn't here, is he?'

‘No. He's gone.' Cadi hadn't realised what she had said until she saw Rachel's triumphant expression. ‘That is, I haven't got a secret lover, as you well know. If you meant Charles, who's just a friend, he's gone back home to sort out the mess that Ifan made of his life. If anything is guaranteed to put you off someone it's a paranoid vicious ex who wrecks your nice peaceful existence.'

‘Have you spoken to him?'

‘Yes.'

‘And?'

‘He said he'd probably be coming back tomorrow.'

‘And will he be staying here?'

Cadi shook her head. ‘He didn't say where he would be staying, but my guess is he'll go back to Annabel, if she'll have him. Of course you can stay here.'

Sitting up in bed, Cadi stared towards the window with a -shiver. She held her breath, listening for several seconds, then, -plucking up courage, she slid out of bed and crept across to the window to peer out. The street was empty.

She opened her bedroom door as silently as she could and glanced across the landing towards the spare room. There was no light showing under the door. Rachel must be asleep. Turning to the staircase, she tiptoed down and padded over to the front door. She listened carefully for several seconds then quiet-ly drew the bolt and pulled it open. The night was very still. Cautiously she crept out to the gate and stared over it. There was no one around but in the distance she could see a light on in Arwel's house. So, he had come home at last.