offered baked fish and mussels, flat malt bread and blackberries with honey. Then their host pulled out a bird-bone pipe and played for a while as they sat near his fire. It wasn’t until long after they had eaten that he laid down the pipe and looked at them. ‘There is a Roman in Axiom, who is looking for you. He has let it be known he will pay a reward to anyone who hands you in.’
Mora let out a little cry of distress. Already she was scrambling to her feet. The man held out his hand. ‘We do not betray those who have eaten under our roof, lady.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t take to the man at all.’
Mora put her face in her hands. ‘We have nothing to repay you with.’ He shook his head again. ‘If this young man is a healer, he can suggest something for my aching bones and have a look at my mother. That will be more than enough. Then as soon as the storm lets up and the tides are right, we will make an offering to the goddess Sabrina and I will take you across the estuary. Drop you off in Silurian territory. They don’t hold with Romans over there.’ He chuckled. ‘The way I see it after that, you have two choices. You can make your way back east across country and cross back into Gaul, that way. There are often quiet days, whatever the season, when boats ply the Straights, so I’ve heard. Or you can winter with the Silures and leave in the spring when the traders return. Either way yon Roman will lose track of you. If you stay here or go back to Ynys yr Afalon he will find you.’
It was two in the morning when Kier finally got back to his hotel. He had to knock up the night porter to get in. He regained his room and sat for a while, exhausted, on the bed. He must have dozed off because the next time he glanced at his watch it was nearly five. Splashing his face with cold water he switched on the kettle, then he took his notebook out of his suitcase. He had reached a decision as he sat in the little church in the dark, listening to the owl in the churchyard outside. He was going to follow Abi. She had taken a bag so she was going to stay somewhere. Cal had passed them a basket. If it was food it implied a long journey or going somewhere that might not be ready for them. Justin’s house. It was worth a gamble, and what other lead did he have? He thought hard. Where was it Justin lived? Surely one of the articles he had read online had mentioned a town? Ten minutes later, fortified by a cup of coffee mixed with two pots of disgusting milk substitute, he had the answer. Hay-on-Wye. Fifteen minutes after that with the help of his credit card and the fact that Justin Cavendish was not a common name he had the man’s address. He smiled grimly. The click of a button and he could download a satellite picture and mapped instructions on how to find the cottage. He silently thanked his former curate – former but one – he corrected himself wryly. Almost the only useful attribute that the man had possessed was a sure grasp of computer skills. One day when Kier had bemoaned the fact that he had lost touch with an old college chum the young man had introduced him to the art of people-finding. Kier finished his second cup of coffee, then he stood up. Within half an hour he was washed, shaved, packed and ready to go downstairs to pay his bill. Outside the window, even here in the city, the mist had returned.
Justin was sitting at the table in the living room when Abi appeared at last. A fire was blazing in the grate and the room was full of the incense smell of the oak blocks from the basket. He glanced up with a grin. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘OK.’ She sat down opposite him. ‘Did all that really happen or was it a bad dream?’ She ran her hands through her long hair, still damp from the shower. She had dug a pair of black jeans and a blue shirt out of her bag, with a cardigan slung over her shoulders.
‘It all happened.’ He reached across the table towards a jug and poured her a mug of black coffee. ‘I’ll make you some breakfast. Welcome to my world.’ He gestured towards the windows. The mist was still thick and white, lapping against the glass.
She took a sip of coffee and felt the caffeine hit as a physical jolt. ‘Have you heard anything from Woodley?’
He nodded. They are all there and still waiting for the bishop to arrive, I gather. No sign of Kier. Cal is cooking them all a huge breakfast which is what gave me the idea.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘You and I have work to do later, so food would be a good way of grounding us before we start.’
She scanned his face. ‘Work?’ It was slowly dawning on her that she was alone with this man, a druid priest, who was far too good-looking and attractive for her peace of mind, in the middle of God knows where, part of something which had all the makings of a first-rate melodrama, and they were discussing breakfast.
‘Did you bring your magic stone?’
She nodded. ‘It’s in my bag.’
‘Good. That will be where we start.’
While he was in the small kitchen – ‘only space for one at a time in here, so you can’t help,’ – she stared round. It was a man’s room, a scholar’s room, lined with books. On the table in the window she could see a computer – so he probably did have e-mail – and a phone, papers, more books. But there were other things, interesting things. Crystals, a drum, jars of dried herbs, bunches of ditto, a jar of large feathers – buzzard at a guess. Were these the working tools of a druid in the twenty-first century? Apart from the desk and writing chair there was the large table at which she seated herself, and two deep armchairs near the fire. There was no TV that she could see, and there were no other doors. In the corner of the room a small winding stair led out of sight to the upper storey. That must be where his bedroom was. Her own room was off a passage on the opposite corner on the ground floor, in a converted outbuilding of some sort, as was the kitchen and the obviously newly built bathroom with to her relief, every modern convenience. She was conscious of the smell of bacon drifting through the door. Not a vegetarian then. She bent to throw on another log. She suddenly felt ridiculously happy.
‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked as they tucked into the bacon and eggs and toast.
‘About five years.’ He gazed round the room fondly. ‘This is a magic house. I was incredibly lucky to be able to buy it. A young couple, Beth and Giles Campbell lived here, but they decided it was a bit remote once they started a family. Before that, a friend of mine, Meryn Jones was here for years. My guru and teacher.’ He gave a mischievous grin. ‘He lives in Scotland now, so I have in a sense inherited his hideout.’
‘It feels very special.’ She looked towards the window. ‘Is there a view?’ The mist was still all round them.
He laughed. ‘The gods of the druids have given us protection today. We are on top of the world here. You can see, and be seen, for miles.’ He paused. ‘I am sorry. Does it make you uncomfortable if I talk about other gods? It is easy to forget you are a vicar.’ So he too was aware of the irony of their situation.
It was her turn to laugh. ‘It should, but somehow it doesn’t. Everything that has been happening to me has opened my eyes to other beliefs in a way I hadn’t expected. If Our Lord studied with the druids, why shouldn’t I?’
He reached for the coffee jug. ‘Why not indeed.’ He looked at her attentively. ‘So, would you like to talk about your stone?’
They were shaken awake at dawn. ‘Come.’ The man beckoned Yeshua and Mora out into the cold rain-washed world. ‘The gods are with you. The tide and wind are right. I’ll take you over now.’
Mora glanced at Yeshua and put her finger to her lips. ‘Think of Sabrina as the guardian angel of the river,’ she had whispered to him the night before. ‘Your father god will help us – but so will she.’ And so it proved. The wind had dropped and the waves of the night before had settled to a gentle swell.
The boat was bigger than the ones she was used to on the meres and fens of home, with a small stumpy mast and a sail of tanned deerskin. A pile of nets lay in the stern. The tide was rising, carrying them over the mudflats then out across the deep channel and towards the northern coast. She could see two small islands with their attendant clouds of birds, and beyond them the dark hills of the interior of the Silurian territory, rising misty and mysterious in the distance. Once the breeze caught the sail they were able to ship the oars and sit back, enjoying the sunlight on the glittering water, watching the gulls swoop and dive. Nearby a seal surfaced briefly and gazed at them with soulful eyes before vanishing again under the waves. There were no other boats near them; if Flavius was still on their tail he must be waiting at Axiom for them to appear. Mora turned to look behind them, but there was no sign of any ships emerging from the harbour mouth beyond the point.
Their host ran the boat ashore at last on a pebbly beach below low cliffs. In the distance they could see a farmstead, much like the one where they had spent the night. ‘They will see you on your way,’ he said. ‘Good people even if they are from over the water.’ He chuckled.
Yeshua threw his pack onto the beach, then he climbed over the side and stood for a moment in the shallow water, holding the edge of the boat. ‘I want you to go back, Mora,’ he said. ‘This kind man has said he will take you and put you ashore somewhere safe.’ She had already risen to her feet and for a moment she stood balancing as the boat moved gently up and down beneath her, its nose firmly wedged in the sand, the tide already threatening to lift it free. ‘From now on I go alone,’ he said firmly as he saw her hesitate. ‘You must go back to the college, to your people and to Petra.’
