The man smiled. ‘So this is Romanus, I presume? What perfect timing. As I came up river from the port with some local fishermen they spotted you and said you were Romanus the son of Gaius. I am your Uncle Flavius, young man. Now you can show me the way to your house. Your mother is going to be so pleased to see me.’
‘Abi?’ Cal, wandering out into the garden later, found her guest standing transfixed, staring into space. ‘Are you all right? Did you see something?’
Abi jumped. For a moment she didn’t seem to recognise Cal, then she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I was miles away.’
Cal noted the fork in the flowerbed. Almost no progress had been made with the weeding. The robin was singing from the top of the cotoneaster now, his breast blending perfectly with the russet of the leaves and berries. ‘So, what did you see?’
‘It was amazing!’ Abi shook her head. ‘It was as if I had some sort of day dream. I didn’t see the ghosts. At least, not like before. I wasn’t looking at them from outside the way I saw them yesterday. I seemed to be dreaming their story. Of course I might have been making it up. Having some sort of weird reverie; a fantasy. Perhaps I was asleep. The scene was set in a round house, not a Roman villa. Petra, the daughter, was ill and her younger brother was trying to fetch some medicine for her. He went to Glastonbury. It seemed to be a real island then and he paddled a dugout canoe across to it. I could see the Tor. He visited some sort of druid village and went to see the senior chap who seemed to be taking a class of students. He gave him some medicine for Petra. Then he came back and his uncle was waiting for him.’
Cal sat down on the bench. ‘My God! You make it sound like a film. Then what happened?’
Abi shrugged. ‘Nothing. You came.’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry, that sounded a bit cross. I didn’t mean it that way.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘I must have been dreaming, but it was all so real!’ She paused again. ‘Have you heard of a place called Axiom?’
Cal wrinkled her nose. ‘Axium was a Roman port on the Bristol Channel. I think it’s at Uphill near Weston. The rivers and coastline have all changed so much over the millennia but somewhere like that. Does that help?’
Abi nodded. ‘It fits, I think.’
‘I’ve read masses about the area over the years. Glastonbury wasn’t – isn’t – technically quite an island as I expect you know. It’s a peninsula. Now the levels have been drained, it’s an island in a flat landscape, but once it was surrounded by water at least in the winter. They think Ponters Ball, which is an earthwork across the neck of land between Glasto and the mainland, was a defensive barrier which effectively turned it into an island. No one knows for sure what was here, as far as I know, in Roman times or before, but if it was a sacred place, a sanctuary under the druids, then that would have been its boundary.’ She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I’m trying to remember my local history. If it helps, the names of both our rivers, the Axe and the Brue, meant river in Celtic times. Axe from the same word as Isca and Brue meaning something like fast flowing water. Which it isn’t. Not now! So, Axium just meant a place on the river! If your port was called Axiom perhaps it was the pre-Roman name.’ Her gaze was resting on the crystal ball in Abi’s hands. ‘What on earth is that? I’ve been dying to ask.’
Abi looked down at it almost guiltily. ‘Something my mother gave me.’ She reached into the wheelbarrow for the cotton bag and carefully inserted the lump of crystal into it, wrapping it gently. ‘It’s strange, I know, but I have been wondering if this is what helped me make contact with your ghosts. An ancient crystal ball.’ She laughed in embarrassment.
‘And did it?’
Abi shrugged again. ‘Something did.’ She laid the bag back in the wheelbarrow. ‘Is Ben still around?’
Cal shook her head. ‘He went home a while back. If you need to see him again I am sure you could give him a ring and drive over there. It is not far.’ She wiggled the fork free of the soil and laid it in the barrow. ‘Come in, Abi. You look very cold. If you’ve been standing out here for hours you must be chilled to the bone in this wind. And we have a problem.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve had a phone call from your father.’
Abi looked up, startled. ‘He’s not supposed to know where I am!’ she said sharply.
‘No, that’s what I thought you said. He gave me a number and asked me to get you to ring him. He said you weren’t returning his calls on your mobile. He sounded –’ She broke off as though uncertain how to put it. ‘He sounded a little impatient.’
‘My father is always impatient.’ Abi stooped to pick up the handles of the barrow. ‘I am so sorry if he was rude. That was one of the reasons I didn’t want him to know where I was. I hoped my mother’s death,’ she paused and took a deep breath, ‘well, I hoped it might bring us closer together, but it seemed to do just the opposite.’ He hadn’t rung her mobile. No-one had. All her friends, it appeared, had decided to give her some space.
The number he had given Cal was the home phone. After some hesitation she pressed dial on her mobile as she stood at her bedroom window looking out towards the Tor. Her father answered after two rings. He must be sitting at his desk. She tried to suppress the wave of misery which threatened to overwhelm her as she thought of him alone in the echoing empty house.
‘Abigail?’ His voice rang in the room. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you had been sacked?’
She closed her eyes briefly. ‘I haven’t been sacked, Daddy. I resigned. As a matter of interest, how did you get this number?’
‘The bishop’s office. Your boss came to see me,’ her father went on without pause. His voice was neutral. She couldn’t read his thoughts. ‘Kieran Scott.’
‘I am sorry.’ She gave a wry smile; she thought of Jesus as her boss. She toyed for a second with the thought of her father and what his reactions would be to an encounter with Jesus Christ, wondering who would win the argument.
‘We talked. He’s an interesting man.’
‘He’s an ordained priest,’ she retorted. Had Kier turned up without the dog collar, knowing her father was an atheist? If so he was a hypocrite – something to add to all his other sins in her eyes.
‘He explained he had been your employer. Why did you feel the need to run away from him?’ Her father sounded merely curious, his tone level. She still couldn’t guess where he was coming from.
‘Didn’t he tell you?’
‘He said he misinterpreted your feelings; he said he might have frightened you. He is extremely sorry that he upset you.’
‘And he’s asked you to be his spokesman?’ She was incredulous.
‘Not in so many words. I liked the man.’ She detected a note of embarrassment. ‘He believes in God which I suppose is his prerogative, but he assured me he would never require anyone else to do the same. We talked about the chemistry of the universe. We talked about definitions. He agreed that a great deal of the received attitude to mysticism is a nonsense which the church as an institution could well do without.’
‘I see.’ Abi pushed open the window and leaned on the sill, staring out at the garden. So Kier was crawling to her father. Thank goodness she had insisted no-one tell him where she was staying. The thought, as soon as it occurred to her, was dashed. ‘He said he hadn’t been told where you are,’ her father said. ‘But I don’t see why you don’t want him to know. Why not give the man a chance?’
‘Because, I don’t want to see him ever again. He was violent. Did he tell you that? He was threatening and he has destroyed my career.’
Her father let out a sound which sounded very much like ‘Tosh!’ ‘He said you had over-reacted,’ he continued with exaggerated patience. ‘He said you leaped to conclusions. Silly girl. You’ve always done that. I told him given time you would come round.’
‘I beg your pardon!’ Abi was incandescent with fury. ‘How dare you say that! You had no right.’
‘I had every right. I’m your father. I know you better than anyone, even you yourself if you would just admit it. If
you are going to persist with this stupid God stuff, you would be much better to do it under the firm guidance of a man who knows that the whole thing is a metaphor.’
Her hands were shaking. Somehow she resisted the urge to switch off the phone and cut him off. ‘You haven’t told him where I am, have you?’ she said furiously. ‘Please tell me you haven’t. Please, don’t encourage him to think that I am amenable to persuasion. I don’t want to hear from him again. OK?’ She paused. There was no answer. He had hung up.
Abi sat down heavily on the settle and stared at Cal in despair. ‘My father knows where I am.’
Cal shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose it was hard to find out. I know Ben wouldn’t have said anything, he knows that you wanted your whereabouts kept secret, but he was dealing with the bishop’s office. I imagine there are several people there who would know. If your father rang and said he’d lost your number and that it was urgent, there might have been someone who thought it OK to tell him.’
Abi nodded. ‘Will he tell Kier, though? Knowing I don’t want him to has given him power over me. He liked that. I could hear it in his voice.’
Cal came and sat down opposite her. The fire was still unlit. A bed of grey ash lay in the hearth, illuminated by a patch of sunshine which had strayed down the huge chimney. The dogs had gone out somewhere with Mat. ‘Abi, if your father could find out, so could anyone, I’m afraid, but remember, you are safe here. If your father comes, even if Kier comes, they can’t drag you away. We will give them a cup of tea, talk to them nicely and then ask them to leave. If they don’t go, then you can go and stay somewhere else for a day or a week or a month if necessary until they do.’ She grinned broadly. ‘I defy anyone to stay here if Mat decides he doesn’t like them. You don’t know him well enough yet, but the dear old stick can make himself extremely prickly when he wants to. And no-one is going to threaten you or hurt you with the Cavendish brothers on the premises. OK?’
Abi nodded, speechless for a moment. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. It was ridiculous, feeling like bursting into tears because someone was being kind to you. Cal had the tact to look away. She stood up. ‘Tea before you go out again?’
The small church, dedicated to St Mary of Wood Leigh, was a gem. Like Woodley itself, it rose on an outcrop of rock and sand, one of the many small ‘islands’ rising from the levels, the churchyard surrounded by a low wall of warm honey-coloured stone, the lych-gate carved from gnarled oak. Letting herself in, panting after the steep climb between the moss-covered gravestones, Abi stared round, feeling the atmosphere wrapping itself around her like a warm blanket, reassuring, calm, steady. Even without glancing at the short history of the church for sale at the entrance for the princely sum of twenty pence, Abi had guessed that it was incredibly ancient and built upon an even more ancient sacred site. She could feel it. Something from the distant past, an older sanctity which predated and somehow transcended its life as a Christian church. Firmly she pushed the feeling aside. She had come here to pray to her own god.
Closing the door softly behind her she walked up the aisle. Instead of pews there were about two dozen rush-seated chairs, grouped roughly into two ranks on either side of a central aisle. She sat down on one about halfway up the nave. She hadn’t brought the Serpent Stone with her. It seemed wrong somehow to bring it into a church.
‘You’re still there then.’ She whispered the words into the spaces. Was it really several days since she had prayed? What had happened to her daily prayers, the structure of her faith? ‘I’m sorry. I did my best. I really thought I would be good at the job.’ She looked up at the east window. The colours in the stained glass were murky, greens and ochres, old colours, natural stains from the hills and fens around the church. The figure of Christ on the cross was primitive. Medieval. In spite of the barbaric pose, the huge nails through his wrists and ankles, the face of the Lord sported a huge grin. She found herself smiling back. ‘So you knew it was all going to be OK,’ she said quietly. ‘Not so easy for the rest of us.’
She loved the smell of old churches. People always said they were redolent of ancient incense, but that wasn’t it of course. Just stone. And old hassocks and crumbling hymn books and candles. And prayers. The atmosphere was very still. When she had come in it was sleepy; gentle. Lost in dreams. Now almost imperceptibly, it was changing, something was stirring. She looked round nervously. It was as though someone – or something – was watching her. She glanced back at the window. The smile had gone. What she had taken for a loving grin was a grimace of pain. Scrambling to her feet she turned and made for the door. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I thought it would be all right.’ Scrabbling for the door handle she let herself out into the wind. The sun had moved. It was low in the sky and the shadows were lengthening. Closing the door firmly behind her she felt the breeze tugging at her hair and she pulled off her hairclip, shaking her head and turning back, retraced her way down between the moss-covered gravestones, towards the orchards at the bottom of the manor’s gardens.
7
Lydia stared at her brother-in-law, in shock. ‘Why have you come?’
He smiled, the shape of his mouth so like his brother’s it caught at her heart. ‘You think I’ve come across the whole world just to find you, Lydia?’
‘Yes, that is what I think!’ She held his gaze, her eyes sparking defiance.
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I am on a mission for the Emperor.’ The smile had quickly settled into a sneer of disdain. ‘Where is Gaius? I seem to have missed him on my way up the river.’
‘He’s not back.’ As soon as she said the words she regretted it. Now he would know she was alone and defenceless. Apart from the children. Romanus was standing behind his uncle, staring at him in awe.
Flavius stepped past her into the house and looked round. The slight flare of his nostrils was enough to make her see it through his eyes. His and Gaius’s parents, her parents, all from well-born senatorial families had had large, rich town houses in Rome with costly mosaic floors and elegantly carved furniture, attended by slaves. They were influential and powerful. When she followed Gaius round from country to country they had almost always had comfortable Roman-built houses, or lived in richly appointed quarters on large vessels as they plied their trade across the Tyrrhenian Sea. When they settled in Damascus, that house had been the grandest of all. They had loved it there, until Flavius had arrived to chase them away again. She followed his gaze around this, their home for the last thirteen years. It was large and well appointed for a round house, but, compared to a villa, it was so very small, built of timber and wattle and cob, thatched with reed. Their living quarters around the walls were curtained off with woollen hangings – ornate and beautifully woven, granted, but hardly substantial walls and now in the daytime drawn back. The central hearth was surrounded with simple stones. Outside in the kitchen hut, their utensils and pans and crockery were of fine workmanship, the imported wine they drank of the best quality, their olive oil and fish sauce for which Gaius had never lost his fondness, stored in elegant amphorae in stands near the cooking table. Their clothes were well made, the table and carved stools sturdy and attractive as were the beautifully woven wicker chairs, but to Flavius it must look as though they lived like peasants. She flushed uncomfortably. ‘We plan to build a villa here one day,’ she said defensively. His answering smile conveyed derision.
He turned and looked at Petra, who was reclining on a couch near the fire, swathed in rugs. ‘And who is this? Surely not the baby you had in Damascus?’
Lydia nodded, biting her lip.
‘And this is your son?’ He looked Romanus up and down again ‘He is much like my brother. Like me, I suppose.’ He grinned at her and turning, pulled up a stool, placing it next to Petra. ‘So, young lady. Why in bed at this hour? Are you not well?’
Petra shook her head. She appeared to have been struck dumb by the arrival of her uncle.
‘Please leave the children alone, Flavius!’ Lydia said sh
arply. Two dogs who had been lying watchfully by the fire rose to their feet. They slunk towards the doorway.
Flavius glanced at her mockingly. ‘Why, Lydia? That would be rude. Besides, I have gifts for them. My baggage is following. They hadn’t yet unloaded it from the boat when I found to my surprise that I had relatives in the area and decided I must come straight here. It is so strange that the gods should have sent me straight to your door, isn’t it. As I said, I come on the Emperor’s business, but how delightful that I should be able to settle my own at the same time.’ He pointed at another stool and gestured to the boy to bring it and sit next to him. ‘Come, Romanus. We need to get acquainted, young man. I shall make you my especial envoy. A young pair of legs and eagle eyes. You shall be my messenger and for your pains you will have a commission from the Emperor Tiberius himself and be paid.’
‘Romanus!’ Lydia’s voice was sharp. In the shock of seeing Flavius she had completely forgotten the reason for her son’s trip down to the mere. ‘Where is Mora? Did you bring the medicine for your sister?’
Romanus scrambled to his feet. He flushed scarlet. ‘Mama! Mora is away, but Cynan says he will tell her to come the moment she returns. And the medicine is in the dugout. I forgot! I’m sorry.’ He glanced apologetically at his uncle. ‘I will go back and fetch it. I will run all the way.’
‘Do so, please.’ Lydia walked over to Petra and laid her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘It will not be long, sweetheart. Your brother can be there and back before dark.’