52

Branwen crept closer to the edge of the meadow, watching as the man stood staring round. Slowly he began to scramble up the hill, clearly trying to get his bearings. Once or twice he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't followed. She smiled. He was this side of the time gate. In her world.

Ifan stopped, leaning against the trunk of a tree to try to regain his breath. He was somewhere on the hill with the Iron Age fort on top, near Camp Meadow, but in a landscape he didn't recognise. He dabbed crossly at the deep scratch on his arm, smudging blood onto his fresh T-shirt. He was completely exhausted, disorientated and desperately thirsty. He glanced back the way he had come. Somehow he seemed to have lost most of the day. The sun was nearly gone. Soon the light would have disappeared completely. The forest, lapping against the slopes of the hill, was dark and somehow very sinister. He shuddered. He needed to get out of these woods. There had been no sight or sound of the police following him for some time. Pushing himself away from the tree trunk he headed downhill, trying to pick his way through the brambles, feeling them catching at his jeans. As he pulled himself free of yet another clinging tendril he felt the cloth rip and he realised he was near to collapse.

He paused, trying to calm himself, and it was then he heard the trickle of running water. He must be near the stream that ran along the foot of the hill on the edge of the meadow. He turned slowly, cupping his hand round his ear, trying to make out where the sound was coming from and carefully he began to make his way towards it. It was much darker down here and he held out his hands, warding off the tangled undergrowth. If he could find the stream he could follow it until he came to the edge of the meadow and what is more he could have a drink. Even the thought of water made his thirst rage more desperately. The police seemed to have given up and gone.

On the hillside where Ifan had hidden, the stag stepped forward, his nostrils flaring. Intent on her prayers Elen hadn't noticed the creature standing on the edge of the clearing. She watched him with a smile. He was obviously looking for his hind. He was aware of her there, on her knees by the spring, and was keeping half an eye on her but he didn't seem alarmed as he took another step forward. She didn't move. This was his territory, his world.

She became aware of the man standing in the shadows at the same moment the stag saw him. The creature froze, his eyes huge, his head with its great span of antlers raised. Was it possible the man hadn't noticed the animal? He was watching her and she saw him take a step forward towards her, then another. She hastily rose to her feet, brushing the moss from her skirt as she faced him. At first she thought it was one of the robbers who had attacked them so long ago, but then she realised it was the man she had seen earlier being pursued across the meadow and up through the woods. He was wearing -oddly-styled trousers and a striped shirt covered in the marks of fresh blood. Seeing she had noticed him, he took another step forward.

‘Help me. I'm lost.'

* * *

So, Ifan was there in Elen's world. Cadi lay back against the pillows and, looking down at her page, read those two last words again.

‘I'm lost.'

For a moment she felt quite sorry for him. What would he do if he really was lost there in that ancient world of hidden forests where wolves still roamed?

At the sound of his voice the stag let out a great bellow of rage. It thumped the ground with a forefoot and took several steps into the clearing.

‘Hush. He's no danger. You are safe here,' Elen said, but whether to the stag or the man she wasn't certain. With a cry of terror the man turned and fled back into the woods. She could hear the sounds of his racing footsteps, the crashing of branches and the alarm calls of the birds receding into the distance. When she glanced back towards the stag it had vanished as silently as it had come. She smiled. ‘Thank you,' she whispered.

Meryn returned that evening. Stepping inside and setting his case down on the floor, he glanced round anxiously. ‘What's happened?' The atmosphere in the room was jagged. He could feel the circling remnants of torn emotions: fear, anger, -exhaustion.

Cadi bit her lip. ‘Long story. I had a visitor. Ifan was here. We talked. And he left.'

Meryn frowned. ‘And?' He glanced from Cadi to Charles and back.

‘He disappeared.'

‘Did he hurt you, Cadi?' He didn't need to be psychic to see that she was nursing her arm as she sat hunched over the table, and she was very pale.

‘A bit.' She nodded. ‘It's OK. He had a knife but he didn't do too much damage. I managed to dodge the worst. And I'm a bit bruised where I fell. Nothing serious, I promise. Kate was here. She and Arwel called the police. The sirens frightened him off.'

‘But they haven't found him?' One look at their faces told him the answer to that one.

Cadi grimaced. ‘They brought in tracker dogs. They followed his trail around the village to the church and here, and across the garden into the meadow, but...' She looked across at Charles, her eyebrow raised. ‘There was no sign of him after that. Of course he might have got into a car somewhere– Arwel had given him his car keys– but the car is still there, and they seemed to think– that is, one of the dogs seemed to think– the trail petered out in the middle of the meadow. The dog handler said it was strange. It sniffed around that area, and its hackles went up. It didn't like it. It was scared.'

‘They're not going to find him, are they,' Charles put in -softly.

‘I wonder.' Meryn shook his head. He sat down abruptly and reached a comforting hand across the table to Cadi.

There were a few long moments of silence, then, ‘Meryn, can I ask you something,' said Charles. ‘In all seriousness, if he has somehow slipped through our hidden door into another world, is there any way we can close it off? For good. It's not a nice thing to have on one's doorstep.'

‘And trap him in the past, you mean?' Cadi snorted. ‘I wish.'

‘It's an interesting thought,' Meryn said. ‘I believe it's -generally assumed these portals aren't consistent. I don't even know how common they are, but I believe people think they come and go. This one certainly seems to. There is a suspicion they could be seasonal, or respond to geological stress of some kind. Nobody knows. And as to shutting them for good, I've no idea.'

‘You could ask Branwen,' Cadi said quietly. ‘Surely the ancient Druids would have known all about this sort of thing.'

‘Or,' Meryn said thoughtfully, ‘it's a scenario you could write into your novel and then we can see what happens next. -Imagine, you're one of the three Fates. You're spinning the story, deciding what will happen to us mortal men.' He was still holding her hand. His grasp was gentle and soothing. Cadi relaxed and found herself wondering if he was a hypnotist as well as all his other talents. She had already seen he was a -healer when he had soothed little Gemma. Her improvement had started with that moment.

‘When I came in,' he went on quietly, ‘you were both bent over your notebooks, Cadi. Did you manage to write some more while I was away, before all these cataclysmic interruptions?'

She nodded. ‘I wrote a bit this afternoon. Post cataclysm.' She managed a smile. ‘I couldn't sleep so I asked Branwen what had happened to him.'

‘Excellent. You're fulfilling your destiny as a spinner of tales. So, may I see how far we've got?' Gently he withdrew his hand from hers and he groped for his glasses.

As Cadi pushed the notebook towards him and sat back in her chair she remembered something. ‘With all this excitement I haven't had a chance to ask how your trip to see Rachel went. Is she happy now?'

Meryn smiled. ‘I think you could say so. As I hope you will be when you check your bank balance.' He picked up her notebook. ‘My solicitor has set everything in motion and as far as Rachel is concerned it's all arranged. It's amazing how quickly one can buy a house when everyone's working from the same page.' He put his glasses on. ‘So, let's see what's been happening.'

It seemed an age before Ifan fought his way through the last tangle of undergrowth and found himself on the shallow pebbly beach on the bend of the brook. With a groan he dropped to his knees and began to scoop water into his mouth. When at last he sat back on his heels he realised he could see the edge of the wood. Beyond, there was an area of grass, bounded by a broken fence. In the twilight he could just see some ruined buildings on the far side of the paddock. Damn. He must be in the wrong place. There were no ruins in his meadow, and as far as he was concerned there never would be. New houses, yes. He grinned to himself. Cadi might think his disappearance would save the field. She was wrong. He would make sure somehow that Sue pushed the plans through. Climbing stiffly to his feet, he looked for a place to ford the stream and it was only then that he realised he was not alone at the water's edge. A pair of yellow eyes were watching him from the shelter of the trees. Dear God! It was the wolf.

With a yelp of fear he flung himself forward across the brook, splashing carelessly through the deeper pools, scrambled up the bank on the far side and ran towards the fence. As he climbed over it, aware that the rotten wood was splintering under his weight, he glanced back. The animal had followed him, soundlessly leaping in one bound across the water. It was gaining on him. He began to run across the field towards the ruined walls, imagining he could feel its breath on the back of his neck. The twilight thickened as the sun dropped out of sight behind the hills in a blaze of crimson cloud and he became aware of a -column of mist rising from the grass. Desperately he made for it.

Behind him the wolf watched, puzzled. Its hackles began to stand up on its neck and it backed away. It turned and, running back the way it had come, jumped the brook and padded lightly into the trees. In seconds it had melted silently back into the woods.

Branwen saw the man look round, confused. The mist had vanished. Almost, the gateway had reopened, but then, as always unpredictable, it had closed again. The field was clear now in the moonlight.

There was nowhere to hide. The ruins near him smelt sour and lifeless. Slowly he turned back towards the steam. The wolf had gone, if it ever existed. That was one of the madder schemes of the dotty rewilding people, which could never happen. He followed the track back in the moonlight towards the stream, then up over the rocks until he found the spring. He stopped near the spot where the woman had been standing and, gazing round, he saw the gentle gleam of silver in the moonlight. It was a little Celtic cross. He stooped and picked it up. There was no sign of the woman now. Holding it in his hand he looked around again. ‘Hello?' His voice was hesitant, flat. It held no resonance.

He stared up towards the top of the hill where the glow from the oppidum's cooking fires showed through the trees, half hidden by the surrounding walls, and Branwen saw him head -purposefully up the path towards it.

Quietly, almost soundlessly, she pursed her lips and gave a low whistle. The wolf wasn't far away. She heard the pad of its paws on the forest path and she smiled. As it approached the man he let out a scream of fear, plunging off the path and away down the hillside over the heather and rocks, not caring where he went as long as he could escape.

He ran until, exhausted, he collapsed at last, lying motionless in the undergrowth as the rain began to fall. The wolf had followed effortlessly. It approached him and cautiously sniffed at his hair, then it turned and trotted away into the darkness.

The holy men from the clas found him eventually and managed to carry him to the shelter of their little house. They would care for him.

Branwen smiled.

If he ever returned, looking for his way back to that other world where he had made so many people unhappy, he wasn't going to find it. At least for now the pathway had closed.

Taking off his glasses, Meryn sat back on the sofa. ‘So. He's gone.'

‘That's what it says.' Cadi laughed uncomfortably.

‘Perhaps we should tell Gwen.'

Charles shook his head. ‘I suggest we give it a day or two. Let's see what happens. I know she asked to be informed if he ever turned up on another planet, but I'm not sure where he's gone counts as another planet.'

‘I think it's near enough,' Meryn said with a chuckle. ‘And in the meantime, perhaps you might take a look at these.' He reached for the folder that he had brought in with him when he had come in from the car. He had dropped it on the table when, with a bolt of real terror, he had caught sight of Cadi lying injured on the sofa and he'd forgotten about it until this moment. It contained a selection of new watercolour sketches. Cadi reached across and picked one up. She stared at it for a few seconds then put it down and picked up another. She looked up at the two men. ‘She's painted Ifan!'

Meryn was still smiling. ‘In a monk's habit.'

‘Did she ever actually meet Ifan?' Charles frowned. ‘I know he had her in his sights.'

Cadi nodded. ‘Oh yes. She met him.'

‘But, certainly not as he is now.' Charles was trying to keep a straight face. ‘It looks to me as if he's met his match. You, Cadi, or Rachel, or both of you between you, have written that man's fate into history, just like Meryn said. I think he's found God. Or God has found him.' He stood up. ‘D'you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to nip up to the pub to buy a bottle of bubbly and we're going to drink to Ifan's conversion. If your story is to be believed, and I do so hope it is, he's warm, he has shelter. He'll be fed, and who knows, before long he may well meet Elen again and perhaps it's her destiny to talk some sense into him, and his destiny to listen.'

Meryn and Cadi looked at each other after he had gone. ‘The more I see of your Dr Ford, the more I like him,' Meryn said with a quiet laugh. ‘He's confronted by evil beyond reckoning, attempted murder and something that, to the average layman, cannot be anything other than genuine out-and-out witchcraft, and the man goes out to buy champagne. As I may have said before, he's a keeper, Cadi. You hang on to him.'

That night Cadi heard the marching feet again. She sat up in bed with a shock of recognition; the sound still had the ability to scare her. Her gaze went automatically to the window. Outside, the moonlight was very bright. Silently she slid out of bed and tiptoed to look out. There was something different about the sound tonight and it was a moment before she realised what it was. It was coming from the other direction, from the -meadow, heading back towards the village from where it would con-tinue on down Sarn Elen towards the distant coast. The cohort was on its way to join the ragged remnants of the armies of the Roman province of Britannia to follow the standard of the Emperor Constantine III over the sea and into oblivion.

And Elen? Would she write any more of her story? Cadi had a feeling that, as far as she was concerned, her role in Elen's life was finished. She, together with the magic isle of Albion, were to be left to their legends.