Daughters of Fire (22 page)

Viv studied her face for a moment. She said nothing. Then she turned her attention to Pat’s script. ‘So, have you had any more dreams?’ She glanced up warily.

To her relief Pat shook her head. ‘I’ve written the next scene, though. Just skim through it and then we can move on.’ She held out a few pages.

Viv took them. ‘I’m beginning to get the impression you’re writing this without me,’ she said as she turned to the first page.

‘Not at all. We discussed all this. Some of it is based on what you did in the first draft. I’m just tidying it up.’ Pat sat down, not meeting her eye. ‘So,’ she went on as Viv turned over the first page, ‘is this young man special, as it were?’

Viv didn’t look up. ‘Don’t be daft.’ She frowned. ‘Pat, this is nothing like the outline we agreed.’

‘Better, don’t you agree?’

‘No. I don’t. You’ve put Medb in here.’

‘We discussed that, Viv. She’s too good a character to ignore.’ Pat sighed. ‘I talked this over with Maddie. I told you.’

Viv was shaking her head. ‘No, this is all wrong. We are writing a drama documentary, Pat. There is no room for all this. It may be exciting. I’m sure it would be wonderful for a thriller. But this isn’t a thriller. We have to keep within a framework of the known facts.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘I’m sorry. This won’t do. Let’s put our heads together and rewrite this bit without Medb. We agreed. There is only room for about five minutes about Carta’s early life. If that. The story really starts just before her marriage.’

Her second marriage.

Pat stood up. ‘I don’t see any point in this.’ Medb had to be in the play. Medb was the play.

Viv had picked up a pencil and was drawing a line through whole sections of the typescript. She looked up, startled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I came here to help you because I know what makes a good play. If you are going to ignore my advice I may as well go back to London.’

‘That’s silly. I value your advice.’ Viv sighed. ‘You’ve done some fantastic writing in the first scene.’

‘And so I have in this scene. What is it with you and Medb? You cannot bear the thought that people might hear what happened. That’s it, isn’t it.’

‘Pat! Hang on a minute!’

‘I told you Maddie is fine about this. And she wants the play finished soon. Before she goes on maternity leave. If you keep making problems the whole thing will be scrapped. I suggest you let me do the writing, Viv. That’s what I’m here for. Just be pleased that the project is in good hands.’ Pat stood up and swept her pages together. ‘Look, I’ll leave you to think about it. There’s no point in even discussing it with you in this mood.’ Heading for the door, she stopped. ‘Ring me when you’re ready to look at some more, OK? I do understand how hard this must be for you, but I know when you’ve considered it you’ll agree it’s for the best. If you want the play to be broadcast, that is.’

Viv sat staring at the door for fully two minutes after Pat had gone, stunned at the outburst, then she lowered her eyes to the script and read the scene through again. It was all about Medb.

They sold Anu on the quay. The women were still bedraggled and dripping with salt water, chained together in a miserable group while the cargo was being unloaded, when two men walked up to them and stood discussing them as though they were brood mares. Medb met the eyes of the taller of the two defiantly, daring him to approach. He did, circling them with a critical eye, exchanging quiet comments with his companion. Then they moved away to talk to the ship owner. ‘I’ll take the little blonde,’ he said, loudly enough for them to hear. ‘The other two look like trouble. You can send them to the slave market next week.’

And that was that. Anu was unchained and dragged away screaming. They never saw her again.

Medb and Sibael, in their dry clothes, with their hair combed, were bought by a Roman official to work in his household some two days’ march inland. He kept twenty slaves, fifteen working on the farmstead around his villa and five working indoors. Sibael and Medb were to wait upon his wife, Lucilla, an austere woman with cold steel-grey eyes and rugged cheekbones who spoke the
language of Less Britain and therefore was able to converse with them more or less. Medb did not for one moment betray the fact that she understood Latin. ‘Behave and work hard and you will find me a fair mistress,’ Lucilla said to them on the first day. ‘You will have clean clothing and good beds and decent food. When I know I can trust you your chains will be removed. You cannot work with chains. My other servants will tell you they have a good life here. Don’t abuse my trust.’

Sure enough, several days later the chains were struck from their wrists by the blacksmith and their duties were allotted to them. Sibael was to work in the laundry and Medb was required to wait at their meals. ‘You have a certain refinement,’ her new mistress said to her. ‘I suspect you have worked in a wealthy household. That is good. You can teach the others.’

Medb smiled and nodded and kept her counsel. She would tell her mistress who she was in good time.

The woman was indeed fair. She rewarded hard work with praise and small gifts which made their lives easier. She was popular with all the servants, free and unfree and, as they saw in time, with her friends and family as well. But the slaves were locked in at night and the house and grounds were patrolled by armed guards. Escaping would not be quite as easy as Medb had imagined. And even if she escaped from the villa she still had to work out a way to cross the ocean to go back home. Gritting her teeth she smiled and worked and earned Lucilla’strust. At night she lay awake and schemed. She never considered for a minute that she might have brought her misfortunes upon herself. Always in her dreams she saw the face of Cartimandua, the woman whom she blamed for all her misery. The woman who, once she was free, she intended to kill with her own hands.

Throwing down the pages, Viv looked up with a sigh. Where had Pat got this idea from? It had nothing to do with the story. It was a complete red herring. Medb had disappeared out of Carta’s life the day she had been captured and spirited away. Her only relevance from then on had been the malign trail of devastation which had led to the death of Riach and then of Carta’s baby. And that was over, surely. Walking over to the computer she hesitated for a moment, then she sat down and switched it on. There was only one way to find out what had happened next.

‘But this is my home!’ Carta was staring at King Lugaid incredulously. ‘You can’t send me away!’

‘Nor do I want to, child.’ Lugaid was fond of this girl, his son’s widow.

His first instinct had been to marry her to one of his other sons. Then he wondered if he could marry her himself. With Medb of the White Hands gone his bed was often cold. His senior wife would always be a friend and companion; he even loved her in his own way and she still knew how to give him pleasure, but for how much longer? She was past childbearing age. Her beauty and charm were no doubt prolonged by magical potions and spells and prayers to the goddesses. One day he might wake up and find a crone in his bed.

But the Archdruid had warned him off. ‘Carta’s destiny is with her own people, Lugaid. I have been reading it in the signs for some time. She has been studying with me and at the classes that Gruoch and Vivios run at the college. She learns fast. She has a natural aptitude.’

‘So, you would claim her as a Druid?’

‘She is already of the Druid caste, my friend, and I have no doubt if she pursues her studies for the set length of time she will one day become a fully fledged Druidess but no, that is not the primary future I see for her. The loss of the child has strengthened her. She has iron in her soul now. I would send her back to her father and send Gruoch with her. Then she can study with Artgenos at his Druidic school. She has much to learn, but the time will come soon when her people will seek a ruler of strength and wisdom.’

‘And they will choose Carta?’ Lugaid was disbelieving. ‘But she has brothers. Her mother has brothers. There are several warriors to my knowledge of her royal house who would come before her. Almost anyone would come before her. She’s a woman. And still a child!’

Truthac smiled. ‘So?’ He folded his arms more comfortably under his thick cloak. Outside the snow was falling out of a leaden sky. ‘If she is chosen by the gods, she will be chosen by the people. Yes,
by the men and women of her tribe.’ He shrugged. ‘I have done all I can to prepare her. She must go now to her own country.’

‘But her marriage portion -’

‘Will return with her and with it half of Riach’s wealth as is her entitlement according to the law.’ Truthac smiled at the king’s expression. ‘And with her will go also a firm alliance between the Votadini and the Brigantes, my friend. The omens suggest such close ties will need to be protected and reinforced in the future.’

Viv jumped as the phone rang. ‘Hell and damnation!’ She ran her hands through her hair. Why interrupt now, just as Carta was about to go back to Brigantia?

She had picked up the phone before she had time to come back down to earth.

‘Hi there, Viv. It’s Steve.’ There was a pause. ‘You were going to ring me? I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Sorry Steve. I was a bit preoccupied.’ She glanced at her watch. Once again the whole day had gone.

‘You were going to tell me if you would like to come to Yorkshire for the weekend.’

To Brigantia.

Carta’s home.

‘Yes please.’ Her reply was greeted by a long silence. ‘Did you hear me, Steve? I said yes, I’d love to.’ Away from Pat and away from Hugh. The perfect solution.

‘Great!’ It was spoken with such an exhalation of relief she almost laughed.

‘On one condition,’ she went on. ‘We take my car. I need to be independent. And I can only come for a couple of days - there is so much I need to do here. Is that a problem?’

‘No.’ At the other end of the phone he grinned. Whether his old Peugeot would reach home was always a bit of an uncertain equation. And one of his friends would undoubtedly enjoy the chance to drive it down for him. They agreed to leave next morning and
Viv hung up the phone with a smile. She would reach Ingleborough at just about the same time as Carta.

‘How long did you say your family have lived here?’

Steve had directed her along a series of increasingly small lanes until they headed at last through a gate and up a steeply rutted drive towards a grey limestone farmhouse, surrounded by dry stone walls and sheltered by old fruit trees, nestling in a beautiful fold of moorland on the flanks of the great humped hillside which was Ingleborough.

He shrugged. ‘Around the Lancashire, Yorkshire border, for generations.’ He had grown increasingly quiet as they drove south and west from Edinburgh into the farthest corners of North Yorkshire.

‘As in hundreds of years?’ Switching off the engine she sat back with a sigh. It had been a long drive. Around them the silence was broken only by the song of a lark high up in the brilliant azure sky.