once the decision had been made there was no delay. A wagon was provided for Cerys and her daughter with an escort of fifty men. Many of the captives from the battle had already left on their way east; the remainder were being marshalled in chains to follow them, defeated, wounded, some half dead from illness and near starvation. Scapula watched as the woman and child were brought out of their tent and steered towards the vehicle. Cerys walked with stately dignity. Only her fists, clutched into the folds of the Roman tunic and mantle in which she was dressed betrayed her tension. Drawing opposite her captor she stood still. ‘Promise me you will continue to search for my children.’ Her voice trembled slightly as she held his gaze.
He nodded. ‘We will continue to search.’ They both knew he was staying to consolidate his victory and take the battle deeper into the mountains. There would be no time to search for children.
‘Thank you.’ The single austere phrase was all she said. She turned to the wagon, allowing one of the soldiers to take her arm and help her up the step. Eigon followed her, her face white and tear-stained. ‘Mam, what about Togo and Glads?’ She clung to her mother’s skirt.
‘The soldiers will look for them, child.’ Cerys sat down on the bench which ran lengthways down the side of the wagon beneath the leather hood. She put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. ‘We must pray to the goddess to take care of them.’ Her voice faded to a whisper as she fought back her own tears. As the wagon lurched into motion they both looked through the double line of marching men as it fell in behind them, back towards the golden line of the hills, the broad river plain, the neat lines of Roman tents behind their fortifications slowly growing smaller as they lurched down the track. They were following the winding line of the great river towards the legionary fortress of Viroconium from where they were to start their journey east towards Camulodunum.
At Viroconium they were lodged in the house of the wife of one of the senior officers. She was kind and treated them with dignity. They were served with carefully prepared food at the family’s table, but neither Cerys nor her daughter ate much, both locked in their own misery. It was the same wherever they stopped. At each day’s end the procession halted at one of the forts, scattered a day’s ride apart along the road, and at each one they were given hot food and beds. Several times the escort acceded to Cerys’s demands that they be allowed to ride. Abandoning the imprisonment of the wagon with little regret they made better time, the legionaries watching the straight backs and easy riding style of the captive queen and her daughter with grudging approval. Even surrounded by the guards of her enemy with a lead rein from her horse’s bit to the hand of a trooper Cerys felt better. At first she felt her spirits lift at the exercise but as the distance grew between them and the lands of the Silures and their northern neighbours the Ordovices she spoke to Eigon less and less, her heart torn with anguish for her two lost children. Eigon watched her miserably, huddling deeper and deeper into her cloak, her own guilt and loneliness growing greater with each step of her shaggy pony.
The countryside changed. Leaving the mountains of Wales faraway in the west they followed a route which became flatter with every day’s journey. Eventually even the lower hills were gone and they plodded on across the flat midland plain through endless forests, areas of scrub, areas of burned cleared woodland, past small reclaimed areas of cultivated land, and larger fields, past small villages where the occupants cowered at the sight of the Roman soldiers and shook their fists at their backs as they rode by, always, endlessly heading towards the rising sun.
At Verulamium the party stopped for two days.
It was there, watching other children playing, that Eigon heard Glads’s voice calling her.
Where are you? You told us to stay in the wood. Eigon? I can’t find Togo. Can we stop playing now. I’m lonely!
The voice was hysterical, broken with sobs, echoing across the broad streets, threading over the sound of other children’s laughter.
‘Mam!’ Eigon pulled at her mother’s hand. ‘I can hear Glads calling.’
Cerys looked down at her and her eyes were like flint. ‘Don’t mention your sister’s name!’
‘But Mam! Please! She’s calling. She’s lost and frightened!’
Cerys pulled her hand away sharply. ‘You’re lying!’ She turned away to hide her tears. ‘Don’t think about them. They’ve gone.’
‘But Mam, Glads is still there. She is waiting for us. She’s lost Togo.’
Cerys let out a wail of anguish and violently pushed Eigon away. The child didn’t try and tell her any more about what she had heard. Instead, quietly in her bed at night, she prayed, pouring out her heart to the goddess Bride, begging her to look after her brother and sister.
The goddess did not reply.
When Jess woke it was full daylight and she was so stiff she could hardly move. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, then wearily she sat up and peered round, her dream receding, memories of the events of the day before flooding back. Hungry, thirsty and frightened she climbed to her feet and tiptoed to the door. The yard was deserted.
A second circuit of the farmhouse and its outbuildings confirmed the fact that the place was empty. Driven by hunger, she opened one of the old freezers which sat in a shed behind the barn and was confronted by a frozen mountain of various cuts of lamb. With a shudder she closed it. Megan’s kitchen garden was much more help. Late raspberries and strawberries, blackcurrants, peas and a carrot or two brushed free of mud, restored her strength and confidence and by the time she had eaten her fill she had worked out a plan. She would go home, retracing her steps until she could look down at Ty Bran from the woods on the hillside above. If Dan was still there she would bypass the house, make her way down towards the road and the distant village.
Perched on the hillside above the house she had a good view of the courtyard and the lane outside the house. There was no sign of Dan’s car. Cautiously she made her way down towards the gate and paused, scanning every corner of the yard, every tree and bush, every angle of the house. The place felt empty. The lean-to garage was empty. Her own car still stood uselessly in the middle of the courtyard. There was nowhere else his car could be. No space round the back; no hidden places up on the track. He had gone. She was sure of it. The blackbird was on his favourite perch on the roof of the studio. She smiled. If anyone had been here in the last few minutes the bird would have flown away, surely. As quietly as possible she pushed open the gate and tiptoed around the courtyard. The front door was closed. Silently, flattened against the wall, she edged towards the kitchen window and after a moment’s hesitation, peered in. The room was empty. Ducking under the window she made her way round the side of the house. To her surprise the back door was ajar. She shrank back, frightened, and waited, holding her breath. Was he still there after all? It was a long time before she crept forward again and cautiously pushed the door open as far as it would go. There was no sound from inside. It took a lot of courage to go in; more to search the house. He had gone. There was no sign of him anywhere save the broken window in the dining room where he had forced his way in.
Her heart thudding with fear she stood in the kitchen again, trying to decide what to do. She couldn’t stay here now. She was too much of a threat to him. She frowned. Where had he gone? Why had he left? Had Nat phoned him and demanded he go back? Perhaps his alibi had run out. She gave a grim smile at the thought, but she wasn’t going to stay and wait for him to come back. He must realise she would tell someone about his threats. Or was he going to bluff it out; tell the world she was deluded. After all, he was right, there was no proof of what had happened, either yesterday or back in London. No proof at all. She had told no one. There was no evidence, she had seen to that. Miserably she paced up and down the floor, aware in some part of her that the blackbird was still singing outside
