‘There are still bodies to be recovered from the battlefield.’
‘I think his capture or his killing would have been shouted from the highest summit of the hills,’ she said sharply. She straightened her shoulders painfully. ‘My husband is a king and the saviour of his people; the greatest warrior in Britain. If he had fallen, we would know it.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You are probably right to say that.’ He sighed. ‘Scapula wishes to speak with you, lady. I told him you are injured.’ He glanced at the bruises on her face and at her throat and on her arms, and the strapping on her ankle, showing beneath the mantle and cloak in which she was huddled. ‘He has ordered me to bring you to him when you are well enough.’
‘Thank you for giving me that respite at least.’ She bowed her head. So far she had been treated with courtesy, even consideration, but that she was a prisoner was beyond doubt. Two men stood outside the entrance to the tent, their spears crossed over the doorway. They had snapped to attention as the praefectus had entered, but crossed them again behind him.
‘If there is anything you need for yourself or the child, tell one of the guards,’ he went on. Then he bowed. He left her sitting at Eigon’s bedside, her hand over the child’s pale cold fist as it lay on the bedcover.
When Eigon woke again at last the lamp had burned low; the oil was sputtering in the bowl and the tent was almost dark. She stared round. ‘Mam?’
‘Here, sweetheart.’
‘Where is Alys?’
Cerys bit her lip. ‘She isn’t here, Eigon. I’m sorry.’
‘And Togo and Glads?’ The child’s voice suddenly slid higher with anxiety.
Cerys shook her head. ‘I don’t know where they are.’ She sighed. Was the officer right? They would be better off with her? Better that than to risk being raped and murdered on the cold hillside, surely; but if they were with her they risked, what? What would the Romans do to her and her children? Imprisonment? Ransom? Death? She shook her head violently. Caradoc would rescue her. He would find a way of saving her. Her duty was to keep the children with her, safely.
‘Where were they, Eigon? You came to find us, but the children weren’t with you.’
Her daughter shook her head. ‘I told them to hide. I told them we were playing hide and seek like you said. I told them not to come out till I went back for them.’ The child’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Why did those men hurt me, Mam?’
‘They were soldiers, Eigon. Ignorant, vicious men. You must try and forget what happened. The gods will punish them for what they did.’ Cerys closed her eyes for a few seconds, unable to look at her daughter’s anguished little face. When she opened them she took a deep breath. ‘Eigon. We have to find Togo and Gwladys. Do you remember where you left them?’
The child shook her head again. ‘It was dark. The wind was roaring in the trees. I couldn’t see anything. We hid in a ditch where the wind couldn’t get to us. It was warmer there.’ Tears began to run down her cheeks. ‘Are they all right?’
‘I don’t know.’ Cerys felt the words catch in her throat.
‘It wasn’t hide and seek, was it?’
‘No, sweetheart. It wasn’t …’
Hide and seek!
The words echoed through the bedroom as Jess sat up abruptly, suddenly wide awake. The moon had moved on and the room was dark. She stared round, frightened. ‘She’s telling me her story. Eigon wants me to know what happened. She knows I understand because it happened to me.’ Climbing out of bed Jess stood for a moment in the darkness trying to steady her breathing. Padding barefoot to the window she looked out. The night was dark now. She couldn’t see anything or anyone outside.
The luminous dial on her bedside clock told her it was just after three. Switching on the light she stared down at her pillows for several seconds before turning her back on them and heading for the stairs.
In the kitchen she switched on the kettle, then she went to the door and unlocked it. Pulling it open almost defiantly she stood looking out into the courtyard. The night was balmy; a gentle breeze touched her face. It was very quiet. Even the trees were motionless. Still barefoot she stepped outside and glanced up. The sky was bright with a myriad stars. She caught her breath. One could never see the night sky in London properly. This was spectacular and she was not going to lock herself inside, frightened by a dream. She had vowed not to be a victim. She was not going to be terrorised by a ghost any more than she was going to be terrorised by the man who had raped her. To walk to the gate was the first proof that she was succeeding. The flags were warm under her feet as she walked away from the open door.
‘Eigon?’ She whispered the name out loud. ‘Eigon? Glads? Are you there?’ Her voice was louder this time. With a shriek of alarm a blackbird flew out of the bush by the gate and disappeared into the darkness. Her heart hammering, she stopped. It was only a bird. Nothing to be afraid of. In fact, if there had been anyone there lurking in the shadows the bird would have long gone. She forced herself to walk on. Two more steps. Then one. She put out her hands to the gate and grasped the top rail. ‘Eigon?’
She could just make out the line of the track outside the gate. In one direction it led towards the wood, in the other back down between high banks which eventually followed the contour of the hillside to the road in the valley bottom. Faraway in the distance she could make out two or three lights which showed a village tucked away in a fold of the hills. Nearer to her, to the east, the silhouette of the hillside blocked out the stars. She studied it. How strange that she had not realised it at once. That was the site of the fort in her dream. The fort which she had seen in flames as the women and children fled the vengeful Roman force. She could see the distinctive tiered shape of its summit now, outlined against the blazing heavens.
‘Eigon?’ she called out one last time. There was no reply and turning her back on the trees she retraced her steps towards the house. Inside she closed the door and bolted it. Only then did she acknowledge just how frightened she had been.
‘Hi Steph, how are you?’
Steph answered her mobile as she walked out of the palazzo next morning on her way to buy some food for Kim’s dinner party that evening. Kim was already entrenched in the kitchen, and last-minute guests had meant last-minute supplies.
‘Who is that?’ Pausing, Steph turned, pulling her dark glasses down over her eyes. The heat was like a furnace, reflecting off the pavements of the piazza, the traffic roaring noisily round the corner past her. Behind her the palazzo was a classic elegant Renaissance building, the faded terracotta façade peeling now and in places cracked and crumbling, the formal, perfectly symmetrical windows topped by swags and curls of exquisite stone carving. At the centre the huge old door was studded and barred in iron, a small pass door almost invisible in the ancient wood. Kim’s husband, Stefano, had been born and brought up in the huge high-ceilinged shabby apartment in this ancient palazzo, an apartment bought by his father specifically so his family could be a part of this Bohemian artistic quarter of the city.
Turning to face it she stared up at the walls as the voice spoke in her ear. ‘It’s Will, Steph. Please,
