Daughters of Fire (39 page)

Carta beckoned him forward and gestured to one of the slaves to bring the customary reward for the best entertainer. ‘A bag of gold, sir. Without dispute, you win the accolade today.’

He knelt before her and took the small bag in his hand.

‘May I ask where you come from?’ She liked his face, weather-beaten and of dark complexion which set off his eyes which were the brightest blue.

‘From Caer Isca, oh great queen.’

‘And whose court do you serve?’ She was curious that such a fine singer should be a travelling bard.

‘I am yours, lady.’ He smiled at her, a touch of mischief in the twitch of his mouth. ‘I believe I am a gift.’

She was speechless for a moment. ‘Are you not a freeman, then? I didn’t take you for a slave.’

‘I am a freeman, lady. I go of my own free will to a great queen at the behest of a great king.’

‘Venutios.’ She had whispered the name without realising it and only afterwards as he nodded did she smile. So, he had not forgotten.

Later that night, as she lay back on her heather bed and pulled sheets and furs over her, she thought again about Venutios. One by one the faces of the men at the feast rose before her and she considered them, wondering how it would feel to welcome them to her bed, how their bodies would curve against hers, how their manhood would tease her to desire and one by one, her body told her that no one would please her and tease her and love her as Riach had. But Riach had been a boy as she had been a girl. He had been a friend, a companion, and a co-conspirator against the world. These were men parading themselves before a woman.

Venutios’s was the last face she allowed herself to view, the last physique she allowed herself to imagine. The fantasy did not please her. With a shiver she put the thought aside and turned over, hugging her pillows, waiting for sleep to wash away her exhaustion and her loneliness as outside the rain began to fall.

‘Viv!’ Pat’s hand on her shoulder brought Viv back to reality with a cry of fright. ‘Sorry, but it’s raining.’

Viv closed her eyes, her heart thundering unsteadily under her ribs, trying to claw back the dream, but it had gone. ‘Don’t ever do that again!’ She was furious,‘You nearly gave me a heart attack!’

‘Sorry.’ Pat stood up. ‘It was weird. There was a clear blue sky. Sunshine. Glorious. Warm. Then the storm comes out of nowhere and it’s so bloody cold!’ She shivered. ‘You weren’t saying anything, Viv. Not to the mike.’

They were both aware suddenly that the rain on the leaves above their heads had stopped.

Viv looked round, disoriented. The storm had been a part of her dream. The storm had been in Carta’s time, and it had been nightfall at Dun Righ. Here it was a clear day with no clouds in the sky at all. She gazed round her at the nettles and brambles and the trees clinging to the rampart, the glimpses through the undergrowth of green fields in an area where the walls had been. Acres of emptiness where once there had been houses, people, animals, workshops, store rooms and the smoke from a hundred smoke holes and ovens and kilns. She was trying to regain her grip on reality.

‘For any scenes set here we’ll need domestic noises,’ Pat went on. ‘Children. Dogs. Hens. That sort of stuff? Not something we can record here these days!’

Viv nodded. ‘Wagon wheels on cobbles. Probably sheep and cows from time to time as they are brought in from the fields. Men shouting. Women laughing. Distant chatter. No recognisable words, of course. Can we fade out for indoor scenes and dialogue with maybe indoor noises of a fire, snapping, crackling twigs, that sort of thing?’ She sounded dreamy.

Pat nodded again. ‘’Exactly! I was hoping it would work with this small recorder just to get the effect. I’ll get hold of a better quality mike if necessary. Then I’ll download it all onto my laptop and I can edit it after that.’ She fumbled in her bag for the tiny digital recorder which she had put away as it started to rain. ‘Do you want to try again? Tell me what was happening just now in
your head.’ She plugged the microphone back into the small device and held it out. ‘OK. I’ve switched on. And …’ She paused as a blackbird started to sing nearby. ‘That’s perfect.’

Viv hesitated. ‘It’s jumbled. I woke up so quickly most of it vanished. Like a dream.’ The blackbird stopped singing and exploded out of the thicket, its alarm call ringing in their ears.

‘Go back.’ Pat was business-like. ‘And this time speak out loud as it happens.’

‘It doesn’t work like that.’

‘Try.’ Pat reached into her pocket for her cigarettes. ‘Sorry. I’ll sit down wind. And when you’re ready we’ll record a bit of downtown Stanwick. OK. I want you to talk to me. And I don’t want you to wake up. Just talk quietly out loud. Can you hear me?’

Viv’s eyes were closed.

‘Good. Now begin.’

As spring turned into summer Carta’s father died suddenly. His parting left her bereft, though he had taken no part in public affairs for a long time. Lonely and lost without his support her grief became an excuse not to consider the subject of a husband, though potential suitors were arriving from all over the country.

Artgenos was becoming impatient. ‘You cannot expect all the warriors to follow you, lady, without a strong man at your side to lead them into battle. I know you can do it alone,’ he forestalled her furious retort with a raised hand,’ but you should not have to. The gods need you to stay safe. You saw what happens when the king dies. Your brother could not be spared so soon. And decisions must be made. The Romans are advancing daily across the south. No one is fighting save my cousin Caradoc, now his brother Togodumnos is dead, and he won’t last long. The situation becomes more serious by the day.’

Carta frowned. They were sitting facing one another in one of the small side rooms built onto the outer wall of the circular great house at Dinas Dwr. They had travelled here, as Carta’s father had
before her, for the Lughnasadh fair in this rich, lowland side of her kingdom - the side more vulnerable perhaps to attack should the Romans come. They were alone, screened from interested eyes and ears so that they could talk in private. ‘The gods are growing impatient, Carta. Listen to them grumble.’

Although it was high summer it had been raining for three days and the surrounding moors were slick with moisture, the peat like a sponge. The fields and pastures had turned to mud. A steady stream of raindrops was finding its way through the smoke hole and hissing in the hot ashes of the fire. Beside the hearth, Carta’s two new dogs lay bored, idly scratching as they stared into the flames. She put out her hand and at once they came to her and nuzzled her fingers as another growl of thunder echoed across the township. In the distance she could hear the strum of the harp. Her new bard, Dafydd, sat beside the central fire quietly playing to the women who were spinning near him. As soon as Dafydd had arrived she had lost Conaire and she missed him sorely. ‘I crave your leave to go to the Druid college, lady,’ he had said, the day after the new bard had arrived. ‘You don’t need me now. I will always be your friend and I will always sing for you, but in my heart I have wanted to train as a seer and maybe a Druid if I am blessed by the gods.’ And she had nodded and given him her blessing and had let him go.

She sighed. ‘The gods do not have to make this decision! They will not have to make the man their husband!’ She replied to Artgenos at last.

‘But they will help you to choose wisely.’ He glared at her. ‘Throw the divination sticks and ask. Visit the sacred waters and consult the goddess herself. Consult the omens, woman!’ His patience was all but at an end.

‘And if I do these things, what will they tell me?’ She was tired of hedging. ‘Why not tell me now, Artgenos, and save me from this uncertainty.’ Her eyes were flashing with anger.

‘They will tell you to pick Venutios.’

‘I knew it!’ She stood up furiously and both dogs sat up, ears pricked. He had been there waiting when they rode into the town-ship, full of apologies for his absence from the coronation. Carta had scanned the faces at his side. There was no sign of Medb.

‘So. What is wrong with him? He is a strong man. A king. He will father healthy sons and lead your men well.’

‘Yes, I am sure he would do all those things.’ Her eyes were hard.
‘But would he bow the knee to me as his queen? Would he obey my command in battle? Would he stand back if I desired it and allow me to take my war bands where I choose?’

‘He is a king in his own right, Cartimandua.’ Artgenos put his head on one side. ‘An experienced, popular king.’

‘In other words, no. He would do none of those things.’

‘He would make a strong consort.’

‘He will not suit me, Artgenos.’ She folded her arms. ‘And now, I am sick of sitting here listening to the gods argue above my roof tree. I am going out.’

She swept her cloak around her shoulders and stepped out into the larger room outside. ‘Send a groom to fetch my pony,’ she called into the shadows. ‘I intend to go riding and I take no one with me, save the dogs!’

She felt the horse slide as she put it to the path into the forest but she steadied it, pulling her plaid around her hair, conscious of Sun and Moon close at the animal’s heels. It was foolish to come out like this. She could see nothing as the cloud nestled in the trees and before long the rain had worked its way through her mantle. She would have to be cautious as the pony hurried on, keeping to the track as she ducked beneath overhanging branches, feeling the brush of wet leaves on her face, smelling the keen scents of the forest and the earth.

When she heard the hoofbeats thundering after her she let out an exclamation of anger. In her frustration, all she wanted was to be alone. She reined in the pony and turned to face her pursuer. It was Brochan. ‘It is not safe for you to be out alone in this weather, Great Queen. Please, let me escort you.’ His hair was plastered to his head, his brown eyes anxious. ‘You should not go out into the forest at all. It is not safe. You could get lost.’

‘You dare to tell me where I can or cannot go!’ She was furious. ‘I have the gods to protect me, and the dogs you yourself gave me. Are they not enough?’

‘No, not in this weather.’ He held her gaze steadily and she liked him for it. He was handsome and charming and he would make a useful ally. She studied him for a moment, as the rain poured down. And she would enjoy him in her bed. Maybe he read something of her thoughts in her eyes because suddenly he grinned. ‘We could take shelter under the trees somewhere quiet, lady. This rain must stop soon.’ He glanced past her into the mist.

‘I know where we are, Brochan.’ She was smiling. ‘I know this place better than you, my friend, remember? This is the centre of my kingdom.’ It was a gentle rebuke.

He bowed his head. ‘Of course.’ For a moment she was tempted, oh so tempted, then reluctantly she shook her head. ‘Probably it would be better to return within the walls. I wouldn’t like them to send out a search party. The reason for my ride is gone. I have stretched my legs and shaken loose the gremlins in my soul.’

He laughed out loud. ‘A trail of gremlins would be a fearful sight. I trust they do not litter the track.’ His hand went to the wooden charm around his neck to ward off the insult to the little people. ‘Ride on, my lady, and I will follow at a respectful distance as befits your obedient kinsman.’

She was laughing too, now. ‘Very well. I will lead the way.’ She was drawing on the pony’s reins, kicking him round when the dogs at her side began to growl.

Brochan edged his own pony closer to hers. ‘What is it?’ He strained his eyes into the mist where the track disappeared into the trees.

They could hear nothing above the wind and rain on the leaves above their heads.

‘Wolves maybe, in the forest?’ Carta could see nothing. She gentled the pony, sensing its fear.

Brochan drew his sword. ‘Come on, back to the fort. Curse this rain, we can see nothing!’

‘Do not curse the rain.’ Carta urged her mount into a canter. ‘It could be our saving. It wraps us in its arms and provides us with a disguise.’