44

Elen was sitting on a bench staring down at the sad ruins far below them, with the headman and Branwen beside her under the broad overhang of the sheltering thatch. Rain had been dripping steadily into the mud beyond the conical roof with its huge span. ‘I need to go before the snows come and close the road,' she said again. They had been discussing it for several days now. She had had messages from her father and from Conan; both had told her she would be welcome to go to them, in Camulodunum or Armorica, to make herself a home. Neither commented on her possible future, wherever she ended up. She was the widow of a defeated soldier, the mother of children, all of whom would need to be settled, married, exonerated from their father's crimes. Theirs was the future; her life was from now on at best unimportant, at worst non-existent; a time of retirement, absolution perhaps for Macsen's ambition, a time totry to cleanse the stain of his name for his children and to forget it for herself.

She stood up abruptly as at last the winter sunlight flickered through the clouds. ‘First I will return to Segontium. The legions have gone; there are no more than a handful of men holding the fort. I have friends there; local people who were prepared to give their lives for me, who will support me. I can do good there.'

‘And you would be welcomed,' Branwen put in.

‘But wait at least until the spring.' The headman stood up too. ‘The roads are terrible. They will soon be impassable. Stay here with us until then.'

‘The roads are the first thing I will improve,' she retorted. ‘No more ambushes. The main routes must be cleared, the holes filled, the countryside, my countryside, opened to scholars and traders and pilgrims so that women like us'– she glanced at Branwen– ‘can travel freely and safely throughout the realm. My realm.' She smiled. ‘You called me queen. I need to have a realm to leave my sons. You told me I would be the -mother of kings. It is up to me to make it so. The tribesmen will follow me, by the grace of God.' She did not see the fleeting look of -disbelief in Branwen's eyes. ‘We shall be beyond the reach of the empire. Theodosius said as much. He has enough to -preoccupy him with invading hordes threatening him on every side, anywhere they sense Roma's growing weakness.'

The headman gave her a searching look. ‘You intend to make yourself queen of the province of Britain?' He scowled. ‘What will your father the high king say to that? Or your stepbrother? Or Macsen's eldest sons? They all live in peace with the empire, albeit tenuously so. You intend to stir up rebellion and pick up Macsen's foolish ambitions where he failed?'

There was a sudden deep silence.

Slowly she shook her head. ‘You misunderstand me.' She gave a sad laugh. ‘I have an army of eleven men, seven women and my children. But I am descended from the ancient kings, so my blood is royal, and I have the protection of the Mother of Christ. She will tell me what to do to make this land that I love safe. That is nothing to do with Macsen and his legacy. This is mine alone. And it is a legacy of caring and gentleness and prayer.'

She had watched enough of Macsen's soldiers, drafted in to clear and mend the roads as they travelled across Europe, to know how it was done. Everyone agreed that the roads were dangerous and that they wanted to travel safely and with speed where possible. The first route to come to her attention, in the lands of the high king beyond the notice any longer of the Roman Empire, was that which led from the watermill, and the gates of the old palace which had been her birthplace, west towards the main route from Moridunum and then north towards Y Gaer. Then west again towards the sacred mountains and beyond them towards the setting sun of the summer solstice.

With no legionaries to provide the muscle for the roads, the leaders of the tribes along the route they travelled, inspired by her zeal, proved proactive and willing, helping with men and funding extricated from the tightly locked coffers holding taxes collected for Rome but never delivered. Later, much later, the route would be called Sarn Elen, meaning Elen's Causeway.

When at last Elen's small party arrived at Segontium it was to find the remains of a garrison who, disheartened and abandoned by any signs of support from the empire, had developed a loose alliance with the tribesmen of the Ordovices still trying to protect the coast from raiders. Elen and her companions were greeted as if they were uninvited strangers. There were no guards to speak of on the great arched gateways, but the -offices in the principia looked as though they were still in use, the barracks and cavalry quarters were occupied. Elen recognised no one in the garrison. The general's house, the praetorium, was untended and shabby, the great reception room obviously used as a mess kitchen for the men, the gardens run to weed. Standing by the clogged fountain that no longer flowed with water from the aqueducts, with Valeria and Julia at her side Elen found herself near tears. She had kept this place warm in her heart, thinking of it as home now that the palace of her birth had gone. Peblig, Owain and Anwn, breaking free of their nurse, ran shouting through the building. They had been promised a home, and Delyth had told them stories of the beauties of the mountains, the painted walls of the nursery, showing the fairies and monsters and exotic animals of her tales, the ponies and puppies which would await them to replace the much-loved animals they had lost, and the boys, fed up with long weeks on the road, were too full of excitement to stand still. The girls came to stand behind their mother and their silence spoke volumes.

Elen sighed. ‘So, there is obviously much to do,' she said, her voice steadied once again. ‘Delyth, can you recruit servants from the vicus. Presumably the houses there are still occupied with the families of the men of the garrison. Branwen, could you see where our friend from Dinas Dinlle is to be found and explain to him the situation. Rhys?' The old man had followed them in, staring around him in complete astonishment. ‘We will need civilian grooms and house staff. And someone please call the officer in command to greet me.' There had been no sign of anyone of any rank in the fort at all. She paused and took a deep breath. ‘Valeria and Julia, between us we must make this a home again, and a safe place to live.' She knew Julia would help. Valeria she was not so sure of.

She looked around, trying to hide her despair. If she was to be treated as a queen, she would need the trappings and authority to ensure that she was recognised as such. If she was not to be a queen, what was she, and what place did it hold for her, this far-flung, forgotten corner of a disintegrating empire, not even recognised any longer by an emperor who was anyway her enemy?

‘What indeed?' Cadi read through the last of her notes. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. She had reached the end of the story as told in ‘The Dream of Macsen Wledig'. In that -version Macsen had captured the city of Rome with the aid of his -brothers-in-law. A complete fabrication. In her own version she had reached the end of Elen's place in history, sparse as it was. The emperor had spared her life, and the lives of her youngest children. Little Victor had been killed at Treverorum, the -German Trier. After that the only mentions of Elen were in the myths and legends, the splendidly detailed but unreliable -genealogies of the Welsh royal families and the wonderful inscription on the great Pillar of Eliseg in Valle Crucis, which mentioned -Sevira, and Vortigern, names written in stone. But even that was carved after the personalities she was dealing with in her story had been forgotten by authenticated history. Only one indisputable fact remained. These people had left memories. However doubtful and unreliable the memories were, their names and their fame had survived.

She looked up. Had that been a knock at the door? She pushed back her chair and stood up. Charles had retired upstairs an hour or so before, citing some notes he wanted to make for a course he would be running the following term.

She tiptoed across the floor to the door and listened, her ear to the panelling. There was someone out there in the dark. She could hear feet shuffling on the stones on the path.

‘Cadi!' The voice came from behind her. Charles was standing at the bottom of the stairs. ‘I wondered if you'd heard the knock. I saw her walking down the road from my window. She's alone. I think it must be Arwel's daughter-in-law. I'll make myself scarce, but call me if you need me.' He turned and ran back up the stairs and out of sight.

Drawing back the bolt, Cadi opened the door.

‘You probably don't want to talk to me.' Sue waited until she was inside to introduce herself. ‘Arwel doesn't know I'm here. He went to bed ages ago. The drive from London yesterday exhausted him. I hope you don't mind me calling, but I felt you and I needed to talk.'

Cadi led the way to the sofa and chairs by the darkened window and sat down opposite the young woman. Chris had been right in his description. She was very pregnant and very pale. He hadn't mentioned that she was also very beautiful.

‘The police didn't believe me when I said Ifan hadn't hurt me,' she said after a few seconds hesitation. ‘And they were right. He tried to kill me. I thought it was safe going back to the house because he was in Wales, but it wasn't. He told me he had been in hospital. He tried to make me feel sorry for him. He shouted at me and accused me of terrible things. I tried to run away and he hit me and then he pushed me down the stairs.'

Cadi felt her fists clench in her lap.

‘I knew if I implicated him he would get even one day, even if he had to wait years. I couldn't risk my baby's life.' She stifled a sob. ‘He thinks I've been unfaithful. He thinks the baby isn't his.'

‘He told you that?'

‘Oh yes. He told me.'

‘And is it true?' It seemed a callous question, but then this woman was a complete stranger.

‘No, of course it isn't. Arwel came to see me in hospital. He told me a bit about what had been happening to you. He knows his son. He knew I was in danger. The hospital wouldn't let me go home unless I had someone there to look after me and Arwel was the nearest thing I have to family. He offered to bring me back here. He and Ifan don't get on. I expect you knew that.'

Cadi nodded. She sighed. ‘Where is he now?'

‘Ifan? Still in hospital, I assume.'

‘No. They released him. The police decided not to charge him after you– sorry to say this– after you decided not to press charges. After all he's done, and all the things we suspect him of doing, they had to release him. Nothing could be proved. He's like some kind of eel. Nothing sticks to him. He's suspected of all kinds of things but he never leaves a trace, or a fingerprint, behind. Oh, Sue, sorry. Are you OK?' she gasped as Sue slumped back in the sofa, her eyes closed.

‘Could I have some water, please?'

Cadi handed her a glass. ‘Shall I make some tea? That would be more comforting.'

The nod was so slight she barely saw it.

Cadi saw how badly the woman's hands were shaking as she sipped the water. She returned to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. ‘The police rang me this afternoon to tell me he had been released. The local DI is very sympathetic,' she said gently. She made two cups and brought them back to the sofa. ‘Sue, do you think he's really capable of murder?'

‘Yes.' She didn't hesitate.

‘But surely you could at least have got some kind of anti--molestation order?'

‘I told you, I didn't dare. I just wanted to run and run and run.' Sue's eyes filled with tears.

Leaning forward, Cadi found herself reaching out to put a comforting hand over Sue's clasped fingers. They were ice-cold. ‘Do you feel safe with Arwel?'

‘As long as Ifan doesn't guess where I've gone. He despises his father, so it's unlikely he'd suspect me of coming to stay with him.'

‘Who else knows where you are?'

‘Well, the hospital, of course. And our cleaning lady at home. Arwel took me back to fetch my things and some baby stuff.She knows what went on. She was next door and saw us. But shewould never tell him.'

Cadi kept her thoughts to herself. Even if the cleaning lady was brave enough to stand up to Ifan, someone at the hospital would tell him without a second's thought who it was who had come to collect his wife.

Arwel agreed. He came over the next morning on his own. ‘She's still asleep. We need to talk.' He glared at Cadi and then at Charles. They had been eating breakfast outside and she led him out to the table on the terrace.

Charles sat back in his chair. ‘Cadi has put me in the picture, and I have a suggestion to make. My sister lives near me in Cardiff. Supposing I drive Sue over there. I'm pretty sure Margo would welcome her and take care of her. She's on her own now– her husband died a few years ago and there are no -children– and best of all she lives only ten minutes from the hospital should the baby put in an appearance early. I won't suggest Sue goes to my flat. I suspect Ifan is probably targeting it for a petrol bomb by now, but Margo would be the perfect -refuge for her. If she agrees, I could take Sue as soon as she's ready, settle her in and then come back here this evening.'

The handover was managed with the skill of an army manoeuvre. Arwel drove Sue across the hills to Waitrose in Abergavenny. They wandered round the store for fifteen -minutes, throwing baby stuff into the trolley. He then left her and her trolley in the car park, made his way back to his car and set off back home. Two minutes later Charles appeared in his new car, scooped her into the front seat, threw her shopping in the boot and was out of the car park in seconds.

An hour and a half later Arwel phoned Cadi. ‘They've arrived safely. Deserted back roads, and as far as they can tell there was no one tailing them.'

Cadi smiled with a sigh of relief. No small talk, no -softening of his tone, but at least he must appreciate that she was being -helpful. Time to ring the police and tell Gwen what had -happened and to find out why Meryn's word had not been -sufficient to keep Ifan under arrest.

Gwen rang her back an hour later. ‘I'm afraid we've made no progress. The report is correct. Your uncle's house is locked up and there's no one around to verify if they've seen him recently. I'm afraid the local police know nothing about what happened. The young constable who spoke to your uncle has gone on leave and doesn't seem to have felt the event was worth recording.' She gave an irritated groan. ‘DCI Vaughan moved on several years ago and I'm still waiting for him to get back to me. Meryn Jones has a slightly unreliable reputation, to put it mildly. The lightning was, shall we say, very localised.' She cleared her throat. ‘Even though they got the air ambulance out to the victim and his burns were very real, the mention of Professor Jones's name produced some -really sceptical reactions not to say unsympathetic jokes down in Hay. It's unfortunate he shares a name with a film hero action man.'

Cadi sighed. ‘I've tried ringing him. He hasn't called me back.'

‘I'm sure he'll contact you as soon as he gets your messages.' Gwen's voice softened. ‘I'll let you know if we hear anything, I promise.'

Julia and Valeria had left. After a few days in the discomfort of the fort with no goal any longer to pull them forward, they told Elen they were planning to go, taking with them an escort from the already meagre garrison. Julia's sister was married to a senior officer in Deva. They would go there. Elen would not miss Valeria. Her relationship with Macsen would always come between them, but Julia had been one of the nearest people she had to a true friend. They exchanged kisses and Elen and her girls waved them farewell, then they turned back to look down the empty via principalis.

Her only solace was in the emptiness and grandeur of the distant mountains and the return of her beloved Emrys with his mares and two of his offspring, a small family of horses arriving on Conan's orders with their own groom, who, after a stern inspection by Rhys, was admitted to the cavalry barracks. She had been afraid the horse would not recognise her, but he showed every sign of delight when she went to make a fuss of him, whickering with pleasure and rubbing his head against her shoulder. Taking Emrys from the stables and escorted by two or three of the male servants employed by Rhys, it was wonderful to ride again, off the roadway and into the heather and bracken, following deer paths that wound into the woods, exploring the River Seiont and the lonely valleys. Sometimes one or other of the children would accompany her, but mostly she preferred to ride alone, delighting in her own company and that of the wild creatures she saw from horseback, making it clear her escort should lag behind.

From time to time she visited the holy places. -Sometimes they were in empty cwms and sheltered passes, sometimes they were deep in the forests on the lower slopes of the great mountain ranges. There she would find small shrines, sometimes still loved, as witnessed by a posy of flowers or a coin or a bent pin tossed into a rock pool, more often abandoned but still redolent with the powerful energies of the earth and there she would pray as Bishop Martin had taught her, feeling nearer to God there than in the little chapel she had resurrected in the fort, leaving the men to watch the horses until she returned from her prayers. Sometimes there were carvings of the old gods, hewn out of the local stone and draped in moss, but once or twice she saw near them a Christian symbol, the chi-rho, or a fish, or a ringed cross and occasionally the figure of a saint with a halo round his head. Where the old gods still ruled she would make the sign of the cross and perhaps leave an offering to a local saint, and several times she vowed that she would rededicate the shrine to Christ and encourage one of the holy men from the local monastery to come as a hermit to offer regular prayers in a place so obviously dedicated to God. She thought often of Bishop Martin, taking refuge from his busy life in the quiet lonely caves beyond the river, of the stories he told of St Antony, alone in the desert, of the examples such men displayed of the holy life a hermit could lead and quietly, in her dreams, she saw that future for herself. When her children were gone and no longer needed her, surely she too could find comfort and the companion-ship of God in some solitary place where the only sounds were the wind in the heather and the trees, the trickle of holy water from deep in the earth and the calls of the birds.

Each time she headed back to the great fort she would sigh and long to return as soon as was possible to that solitary life of prayer, but for now she was a queen and a mother and her duties lay with her two daughters, now more reliant on her than ever as Julia and Valeria had gone. The only women left at the fort were Delyth, Nia and Sian, washerwomen, servants and slaves and the few wives of the junior officers.

As she stood with the two girls in the garden she had created behind the storerooms in the praetorium the boys burst outside, racing round shouting, kicking a football ahead of them. Elen sighed. Delyth had appeared, shaking something in her fist as she ran after them. Her infuriated shouts went unheeded. ‘They need a tutor, Mama,' Sevira commented. ‘Owain is becoming a real nuisance!'

Elen gave a rueful smile. ‘You are right. I'm going to seek a tutor from Dinas Dinlle.'

‘You go there all the time, Mama.' It was Maxima's turn to look disapproving.

‘Is it a wonder? I need support.' I need friends . The second sentence was unspoken. Branwen had gone ahead of her, preferring the company of the learned men of the Ordovices, who were based there on the edge of the world, to the endless restless, inconsequential chatter of Julia and Valeria. And even now they had gone, she was not prepared to put up with the cold antagonistic looks of the people of the garrison, wives, officers and men alike.

Elen looked thoughtfully at her daughters. The last months of stress and exhaustion, the difficulties of the long overland journey, the loss of their father and their little brother had taken their toll on them as much if not more so than the boys, but now they were showing signs of turning into the beautiful young women they were destined to become. They had been of immeasurable support to her, wise beyond their years, with Delyth filling in the role of nurse and governess and companion to them. It was important they continue to learn to read and write. That was something the Roman Empire had taught their provinces. Elen thought wistfully of the scroll cases with her favourite books, long ago lost with most of her other treasures. The only thing left was that little box, with its precious bowl and that in itself hardly -represented the wealth that should surround a queen. Queen of a -faraway land. She gave a rueful smile. How apt the -throwaway title, bestowed by the emperor of Rome, sounded now that she was here.

She already knew where she was going to hide the Virgin Mary's bowl. It was one of the sacred places of this land, and it held special memories.

She took Maxima and Sevira with her, and Delyth and Rhys. King Brennius provided an armed escort of only four men– she refused to take more and she insisted they waited with the horses at the bottom of the cwm where the spring flowed down the hillside. There was no fear of invaders from Hibernia this time with watchtowers on the shore and lookouts posted on the roads.

The hermit's cave was exactly where she remembered it, on the ledge above the pool with the spring almost invisible behind its curtain of ivy and lichen. Someone had left offerings– whether to the old gods or to the saints there was no way of knowing– but the cave was empty, shrouded with hanging mosses and carpeted with old long-dried bracken, blown in from the hillside.

She stared round sadly. The old man was obviously long gone. While the other three waited outside by the pool Elen made her way into the cave and crept towards the back, where the -darknesswas heavier, the sound of water muffled. She could hear the restless movements of bats high up above her, disturbed by her presence but not enough to fly out into the sunlight. As her eyes grew used to the dark she glanced up and there on a rocky shelf she saw the old man's meagre treasures: a wheeled cross carved from stone and hung with moss like the wall it leaned against, two scroll cases, the leather mouldy and discoloured, a metal plate and a drinking cup, black and dented. At the very back of the shelf a hidden hollow held a tiny statue of the Blessed Virgin herself, no larger than her thumb. She smiled. Reaching up she pushed the small box to the very back then stood the statue in front of it. Our Lady would keep the bowl that had caught the drops of her son's holy blood safe and guard it until it was needed. She stepped back and bowed her head in prayer.

‘Mama?' Maxima and Sevira had followed her on tiptoe.

Turning, Elen stared at the girls, for a moment confused by the pictures that swirled in the darkness. A child, a grandchild, a descendant of someone close to her, would be the one to find the bowl and invoke its power. Not a child of hers, she knew that now, but someone close, someone very close, who would come to retrieve this precious relic and it would be their destiny to give it to a king who would fight to save the country. And until then the tiny chalice would be safe here, guarded by the spirits of the mountain and the saints who served Our Lord. She frowned.

‘Mama? Are you all right?' Sevira stepped forward and took her hand.

She bit her lip. ‘I was remembering when Maxima was a baby. She was baptised Mair, here and Delyth and Rhys stood as her godparents.'

‘So you've left an offering to the saints here. For me.' Maxima moved to stand on the other side of her. ‘We saw you leave it on the ledge up there.'

Elen linked arms with the two girls. ‘It is to stay there until it's needed. It won't be in my time, or yours, my darlings, but it might be because of one of you that it will come to the aid of whoever comes after us.' The vision had been so fleeting already she could not remember it clearly. In seconds it had gone. She turned to the daylight. ‘Come. It will be safe here.'

Cadi stared down at the page in front of her. ‘The Holy Grail,' she whispered. ‘That is the Holy Grail, and I know where it is.'

‘Sorry? What did you say?' Charles had been up to the mill to collect croissants for breakfast and had picked up a newspaper on his way past the post office. He had been buried in the paper, a cup of coffee on the table near him.

‘It's the Holy Grail, I'm sure it is. I suspected as much. -Listen!' She read out her last paragraph.

Charles stood up and went to pour her a coffee. ‘Come and have breakfast while these croissants are still warm. You do know the Holy Grail is a myth.'

‘Of course I do. But it's a myth based on a legend based on a reality, the reality I have written here. I have the provenance.'

‘The provenance?'

‘A vision of the Virgin Mary gave it to a holy man who gave it to Macsen's mother's father who gave it to Macsen's mother. And she gave it to Elen to take home to Wales. She knew it was not for him. It was too late for him.'

‘Your provenance is a vision of the Virgin Mary,' Charles repeated solemnly.

‘It was a small clay dish used to catch the blood dripping from Jesus's wounds as he hung on the cross.' Cadi sat down at the table. ‘OK. Stop looking like that.'

He smiled gently. ‘Butter?'

She reached for her knife. ‘I always thought the grail was a jewelled chalice made of gold and, if I was imagining it, that's how I would picture it. This was Samian ware.'

‘Ah, now that is impressive: a technical description.'

‘Red, am I right?'

‘Reddish, but not alas with Jesus's blood.'

‘No, that was the dried black sediment in the bottom of the bowl.'

He grimaced. ‘So, where is it, this grail of yours?'

‘In a cave near Caernarfon. At least it was in AD 389 or 390.' She watched as Charles dolloped some honey onto his croissant. ‘OK, I grant you it might not still be there.'

He managed to keep a straight face. ‘Don't tell me. One of these days you're going to go and look for it.'

‘It would get me away from all this. Imagine. This is all to do with King Arthur, isn't it. The grail his knights went searching for.'

‘If King Arthur was in any way based on a real person, he would have lived at least a hundred if not a hundred and fifty years later than Elen.' He sighed. ‘Oh, Cadi, I'm sorry, but I'm not really buying any of this.'

‘Fair enough.' She changed the subject with a rueful smile. ‘Has your sister rung you this morning?'

He nodded. ‘They're fine. Sue slept well and a friend of -Margo's who's a retired midwife is popping round later to give Sue a quick once-over. So'– he peered at her over his -spectacles– ‘I think we can assume Sue is safe for now.' His face took on a look of concern. ‘I don't want to worry you unduly, but if Ifan can't find her, might he turn his attention back to you?'

‘I suppose it's always a possibility.' In truth, Cadi hadn't slept at all the night before for worrying about it. ‘I was wondering.' She forced a smile. ‘I've a vague idea where the cave is; I can tell you how far away it is from Segontium on horseback and I can describe the hillside. Wooded.'

‘And there is a sacred spring, you said.'

‘There is. Of course it's perfectly possible a magical mist has descended over the hill and it disappeared for a thousand years to keep the grail safe.' She was spreading butter on the warm croissant and managed not to look up, concentrating on the first soft oozing mouthful and then licking her fingers.

For a moment Charles stayed silent, then she heard him clear his throat. ‘Only one thousand years? What about the other six hundred or so?' After a moment's reflection, he went on: ‘It would be interesting for you to see the fort; help you to place what you're seeing in your head in the landscape of Snowdonia.'

‘Eryri.'

‘Eryri. Thinking about it, Cadi. I think it's worth taking the idea seriously. It might be a good idea to get away from here for a few days.'

‘You think Ifan will come here?'

‘I'm sure he will. He'll be looking for Sue. Once he realises Arwel took her out of hospital, his house is the first place he would look. And here you'd be far too close for comfort, given that he already has you in his sights.'