Daughters of Fire (50 page)

‘I have to.’ Could they not understand that she had given her oath? That she had done all this to save her people?

‘No!’ Venutios, too, was on his feet now. ‘I forbid it! Caradoc came here to claim sanctuary and aid. You would break every code of honour if you did not render him hospitality.’

‘You do not forbid your high queen anything!’ Her voice was icy as she confronted her husband. She stepped forward into the firelight. ‘How dare you question my decisions? Caradoc shall have our hospitality and food and warmth and attention for his wounds and he will remain here until he is well. But he will do so as my prisoner. Then I shall send him to the governor. I will not break my oath and endanger the lives of every man, woman and child in Brigantia for one man!’ She was facing Venutios now, glaring at him, daring him to defy her.

‘You cannot do this, Cartimandua. It would bring disgrace on your name and on that of the Brigantian peoples.’ Artgenos laid his hand on her arm as he spoke. ‘You are queen only by choice of the gods. The gods could remove you from power if you defy their wishes.’

She span round to face him. ‘I have the ear of the gods! My gods! And the people are behind me.’

‘Not all of them.’ Venutios spoke through gritted teeth. ‘You will divide the tribes.’

‘The tribes will remain united,’ she retorted. ‘Those who defy their queen will die.’ She beckoned the two armed warriors over. ‘Place the Lord Caradoc in chains. Give him the best of everything as befits a prince and king of his own people and see his wounds are tended regularly. But see he is closely guarded. I shall send messengers tonight to Ostorius Scapula to tell him that I hold his enemy. I shall demand assurances for the safety of his wife and children in exchange for surrendering him to Rome. And you, my husband,’ she turned on Venutios, ‘will add your name to my message. You will support your queen in her decisions.’

Gathering her mantle around her, she swept out of the council room, the dogs at her heels. Outside she stood for a moment, staring up at the sky. She was trembling. The heavy clouds were rolling away towards the east. The rain had stopped and she could see the stars appearing, one by one. She took a deep breath. The starlight was a sign. The gods supported her. They were drawing away the clouds.

‘Lady? May I escort you back to your house?’ She jumped at the soft voice behind her. It was Vellocatus. She gave him a quick hard
look, glancing behind him to see if he was alone then she nodded, her expression softening as it always did when she saw the young man who followed Venutios everywhere as was his duty. ‘You should be attending my husband.’ It was a gentle reproof.

‘I shall do so, later.’ He put his hand under her arm. She could feel the warmth of his fingers through the wool of her mantle. He was strong and yet gentle; a gentleness which almost shocked her after the customary violence in her husband’s touch.

‘That was a brave deed, my queen. To stand up for your beliefs against so many shows you to be very strong.’

She gave a grim smile. ‘Very strong or very foolish.’

‘They respect you for strength, not foolishness. You have done the right thing.’

She paused, looking at him. Then abruptly she laughed. ‘Thank you for your support, Vellocatus. I shall remember where your loyalties lie, my friend. But for now, return to your king.’

He bowed and stood back. She was aware of his eyes following her as she walked towards her house. At the doorway she paused. Two human heads hung there, moving slightly in the breeze. They smelled of the precious imported cedar oil in which they had been embalmed. ‘I do this for you,’ she murmured. She touched them lightly as she walked past. ‘For my principles you died and for my principles I must live or die also.’

In her sleep Viv cried out. The farmhouse lay swathed in mist and silence. There was no one to hear.

Mairghread was waiting for her in the central chamber. The fire had been rebuilt and soothing herbs thrown on the smouldering peats.

‘Is it true that you are going to hand the Lord Caradoc over to the Romans?’ she asked.

Carta closed her eyes briefly. ‘Are you questioning my decisions?’ Taking a deep breath she faced the other woman sternly.

‘No!’ Mairghread stepped back hastily. ‘No, my queen. Never.’ Her eyes narrowed.

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Nevertheless you need to beware,’ Mairghread persisted. She
paused. ‘There is much talk amongst the people. They believe the king is right.’

‘Then they are disloyal!’ Carta walked past her into her bedchamber. Suddenly she was furiously angry. She was being made to feel the traitor. Caradoc knew where her loyalty lay; he should not have tried to sway her. It was his choice to come here. His choice to put his life at risk. She stood staring down at the bed. The servants had smoothed the sheets and there was no trace now of their earlier love-making. She gave a bitter smile. Venutios would not forgive her easily for this. He would not dare show his fury openly but he would punish her subtly by avoiding her. By sleeping elsewhere. Well, that would be no loss. There were other fish in the sea if she felt the need of a man. Young Vellocatus, for example. She considered him for a moment, glad of the distraction from her sombre thoughts. He wasn’t of noble birth; he was all but a servant, but he was good-looking and gentle and had had the courage to give her his support when higher-born men had stood silent. And it would be very satisfying to suborn her husband’s closest attendant.

‘So, are you revelling in your powers, lady?’

She froze. She was wrong. Venutios was going to face her. She turned. ‘Do not dare to contradict me! Brigantia will honour her agreements with the Emperor.’

He was standing in the doorway. ‘Then the world will despise Brigantia until the end of time!’

Turning on his heel he walked out. The curtain fell across the doorway behind him. She was alone.

Half-awake now, Viv stirred. How right Venutios was. Except that the world had not despised Brigantia. It had despised Cartimandua.

Through the window she heard in the distance a sheepcalling, the sound echoing strangely in the rising mist. It was a lonely noise. Two thousand years ago she would have heard after it the eerie cry of a wolf.

The rain started next morning as they sat round the breakfast table. Huge bronze thunderheads were piling up in the west and in the distance a low rumble announced the coming storm.

‘Perfect!’ Viv glanced at Pat. ‘Are you game to go up the hill and record during the storm? The effects would be stunning.’

‘And suicidal.’ Pat reached for the coffee pot. She was exhausted after the previous day’s climb and her head had begun to ache. ‘People get struck by lightning in storms!’

‘Not if we use the shelters up there. Or get down behind some rocks. We needn’t go very far up. Come on. We can’t miss a chance like this.’

‘Why not go into town with Steve? You’d be mad to go out on the fells in this weather.’ Peggy came in with a tray of empty plates in time to hear the tail end of the conversation.

‘Mad but inspired!’ Pat grinned. ‘Viv’s right.’

‘Can’t you record it in the house?’ Peggy commented over her shoulder as she carried fresh toast to the dining room for the other guests.

‘It wouldn’t be the same,’ Pat called after her.

Viv grinned. The story in her head was too insistent to give up the chance of seeing the sullen beauty of the hill when Taranis the thunder god was angry.

There was no sign of the re-enactors. They had packed their tents and gone.

‘They’ve got more sense than us.’ Viv swung the bag off her back and crouched down behind a low stone wall where it strode across the side of the hill. ‘Shall we stop here? I don’t want to go too far. We’ve got to have some shelter before it hits us for real.’

As if to underline her words a fork of lightning cut through the sky and they flinched at the almost instant crash of thunder reverberating across the moorland. Pat subsided beside her.

‘Go on, Pat. You play Cartimandua; this is the first speech she makes as she returns from Colchester. She addresses the tribal leaders in a storm. ‘Don’t improvise here. This bit is important. It
shows her motivation for the whole of the rest of the play.’ Viv handed her the page in its plastic sleeve.

Pat nodded, turning on the recorder inside its weatherproof bag.

The sound of the rain on their waterproofs, on the stone, on the grass was deafening. As another thunderclap echoed round them Pat began to speak. Water ran across the lines of typescript. She couldn’t read it. Her words were snatched from her lips by the wind. Another thunderclap broke almost overhead. With a shrug she rose to her knees. ‘I can’t do this, Viv. Sorry. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all.’

‘Then I will,’ Viv said impatiently. ‘Here. Give me the mike.’ And suddenly she was shouting, belting the speech out into the storm. It was not what was written on the script in her hand.

‘Can you not understand? It is my honour that is at stake here! I gave my oath to the Emperor only to protect my people. To bring them prosperity and peace. If I break that oath the Romans will attack us as they have attacked the Silures and the Ordovices. As they have attacked the south. They are all disarmed. Destroyed. Slaughtered. Is that what you want for the Brigantes? Annihilation? I see disaster on the horizon. This storm carries portents from the gods! If I give in and release this man, the mountains will fall, our civilisation will disappear, our gods will be defeated. The only hope for us is to honour my agreement as the Romans will honour it. It can be no other way!’

The sizzle and crack of the lightning bolt seemed to hit the ground beside them and the crash of thunder drowned Viv’s next words. She ducked down behind the wall, shaking the rain out of her eyes.

‘Viv, that wasn’t in the script!’ Pat muttered.

Viv ignored the interruption. She was staring out cross the broad valley into the rain.

‘The Druids do not understand this changing world! How, with all their wisdom and their knowledge can they not see what will happen? It is the Druids that the Romans distrust the most. They see them as spies nurturing the opposition. Artgenos only proves their point. He demands that I release Caradoc. If I do so, it will seal their fate as surely as my own and that of my people!’

‘Viv!’ The recorder had stopped. The light had gone out. Pat reached over and took the script out of Viv’s wet hands.

‘I cannot do it. I will not let him go. The Romans are on their
way to collect him. My messengers will have reached the legion already!’

‘Viv!’ Pat grabbed her arm. ‘We’ve stopped recording!’

‘Do not touch me!’ Viv rounded on her. ‘I will call my guards!’

Pat shrank back. The fury in Viv’s eyes was overwhelming, the sense of power coming off her in tangible waves.

‘Viv!’ Pat leaned across and touched Viv’s shoulder. ‘Stopit! Stop it now!’ She was afraid. Whoever it was crouching next to her against the old stone wall it was not Viv Lloyd Rees. She took a deep breath, leaned over and shook Viv’s shoulder again. ‘For God’s sake, wake up! Come back!’

Another rumble of thunder deafened them, but it was further away now, moving eastwards.

‘Viv!’ The rain was pouring down their waterproofs, forming huge puddles at the base of the wall.

‘Viv, wake up now.’ Pat spoke through clenched teeth.

Viv exhaled violently. She slumped back against the wall and closed her eyes. For a moment she didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. Then slowly she gave a deep, agonised sigh as she struggled to rise to her feet.

‘Viv, stay put. There is still lightning about.’ Pat pushed her back against the wall. ‘It’s over. We’ve recorded the sequence.’ She studied Viv’s face. The anger and the power had gone. She was herself again.

Pat lay soaking thoughtfully in the scented water of her bath, listening to the rain lashing the window. Downstairs, Peggy was orchestrating the delectable smells which were issuing from the kitchen and drifting up the stairs. Viv had disappeared into her own room. Viv’s turn was over. Now it was Medb’s.