weeks fairly soon, and it would be great if I could take them with me.’ He eyed the Professor thoughtfully. ‘I gather you’ve started a new book on the subject. I shall look forward to reading it.’
Venutios.
It seemed to Hugh that the name hung in the air between them.
Staring up at the tall young man, casual and relaxed in a striped, open-necked shirt and faded jeans, Hugh gave a tight smile. He felt old just looking at him. No wonder Viv enjoyed his company so much. ‘I wonder where you heard about that. Well, no matter. It will be some time before it’s finished, Steve. I have a great deal of work to do yet but you are welcome to the lecture notes.’ He stood up and walked over to the bookcase, riffling through a box file and extricating a pile of A4 sheets. ‘Return them to me, if you would, when you’ve finished with them. I can let you have some books too if you like, but they are at home. You’ll have to arrange to come and collect them.’
As Steve closed the door Hugh stood where he was, frowning, listening to the sound of the young man’s footsteps as he walked back down the corridor and ran down the stairs.
In the silence that followed Hugh found himself staring round the room. The hair on the back of his neck was prickling suddenly and he was uncomfortably aware of a strange feeling that there was a presence there with him. He scanned the corners carefully. There was no one there. Nothing. Of course there was nothing. Just the echo of Meryn’s voice with his usual brand of silly superstitious mumbo jumbo. For a moment he considered ringing Meryn back. He should have asked him what he meant, why he should avoid thinking about Venutios. He stared down at his hand, the hand that had touched the brooch, and flexed his fingers cautiously, then shrugging his shoulders he walked back to his desk. The whole thing was a blatant nonsense. The only problem was what to do about Viv Lloyd Rees and perhaps for now he would take Meryn’s advice on that one and do absolutely nothing.
II
‘I can’t work on the play today!’ Viv stared at Pat in dismay. The sound of the doorbell at 9.30 a.m. had dragged her out of a deep exhausted sleep. She ran her hands through her hair leaving it standing on end, uncomfortably aware that Pat, in a pale blue blouse and cream trousers looked rested and alert while she herself was wearing nothing but a crumpled shirt, her customary sleeping attire, her legs and feet bare.
‘I could make us some coffee while you jump in the shower,’ Pat said, eyebrow raised. ‘Please, don’t make me go down all those damn stairs again. What on earth made you choose to live in a place like this without a lift?’ She dropped her bag on the floor and pushing past Viv, walked into the living room.
‘I live here because I like it,’ Viv retorted.
‘And it’s fabulous. You’re right,’ Pat said quickly. ‘It’s just the stairs getting to me. I’m too unfit. Put it down to the smoking.’ She changed the subject. ‘I did some more work on the play last night. I can’t wait to show it to you.’
In the shower Viv stood for a long time allowing tepid water to pour over her head and face and down her aching body. The story from the night before was coming back to her. The two young lovers in the orchard under the apple blossom. Carta’s ecstatic passion. The sound of their laughter, the heat of their young bodies. Her eyes closed, she found she was smiling as languidly she sponged her own body beneath the water. Then she remembered the bird sitting high above them. Medb’s messenger; Medb’s spy. Abruptly she opened her eyes and reached out to turn off the tap. How did she know the bird was a spy? Somehow she had to get rid of Pat; go back to Carta’s life. Find out about Medb.
Pat was waiting with a mug of black coffee. Sipping from it, Viv listened to her as she read from the pages on her knee. It was good. Fluent. Well written.
‘This bit,’ Pat said, glancing up, ‘is straight narrative. And I think it should be your voice. You would be good at this –’
‘Pat,’ Viv interrupted. ‘I’m really sorry, but I’m not in the mood.’
‘You have to be, Viv. We have a deadline,’ Pat said firmly. ‘I’m sorry too, but we’ve got to keep at this if we can, to get it done.’
‘No.’ Viv stood up. ‘No, Pat. I can’t. Look, give me some space. We’ll do this tomorrow. I promise.’ She put down the mug. ‘There is something I have to do now. Something important.’
Pat peered at her over her spectacles. ‘You do look like shit.’
Viv scowled. ‘No doubt.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. Really sorry.’ She relented. ‘I should have rung, but I overslept. I didn’t get to bed till the early hours and I’ve got a foul headache. I won’t make any sense today.’ She just wanted Pat to go.
She needed to know what happened next.
She had to warn Carta about the bird.
‘OK.’ Pat did not look happy as she stood up. ‘But for God’s sake ring me next time. I didn’t get a lift, you know. I had to make my own way here.’ She gathered together her papers and slotted them into her bag. ‘I’m up in Edinburgh to do you a favour,’ she said sharply as she opened the door. ‘You might give that fact some thought.’
‘A favour that will be very well paid!’ Viv retorted. ‘Shit!’ she muttered as the door banged and she heard Pat’s heels clattering down the stairs outside. For a moment she entertained the idea of opening the door and shouting down after her to come back. But only for a moment.
In seconds Pat was forgotten.
III
‘She has cursed me! Look!’ Carta held out the amulet with a shaking hand. She had found it on her pillow. ‘She has made me barren!’
Truthac took it from her soberly. ‘This is bad work, daughter. Grave. But a curse can be unmade. The woman who put this on your bed is not a powerful seer and nor is the person who made this charm.’
‘You know?’ Carta stared at him through her tears. ‘You know who did this?’
‘I know.’ He sighed. ‘The spell maker came to me for advice after it was bought from her. It was undedicated and without power. You have nothing to fear.’
‘And you know who it was who bought it?’
‘And so do you, child. You have the strength and the knowledge to fight her viciousness.’
‘I might have.’ She didn’t sound certain. ‘But what about Mellia? She died.’
‘Of an accident.’
‘No. She was murdered. The gods have told me.’ Carta’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘As was my Catia. Are they to go unavenged? Is Conaire to go unavenged?’ Her voice rose passionately. ‘He spoke out against this vicious woman at the feast. He loved Mellia too. You are a great judge. You must deliver justice!’
‘And so I shall.’ He paused. A scandal at Beltane
