Behind them Greg paused on the edge of the beach. Idiots. Couldn’t they leave well alone? He clenched his fists. Didn’t they understand? This was where it had happened. The Roman woman, Claudia, and her lover. Her British lover. Dead. Together. He narrowed his eyes in the glare off the sea. Two men in love with one woman. A story as old as time itself.

He limped towards them slowly, and almost guiltily, Jon dropped Kate’s hand.

‘You realise that it was another man who came between them,’ Greg said, chattily, as he reached them. ‘Why else would Marcus want to kill his beautiful wife?’ He took the torc out of Kate’s hands and turned it round, staring down at it, picking off the sticky, clinging weed. ‘Why do you suppose we haven’t heard from him: the lover? Marcus did kill him as well, didn’t he?’ His eyes strayed from Kate’s face to Jon’s.

Behind them, shadows in the wind, Nion and Claudia drew closer. Soon they would be together.

‘Let’s go back, Greg.’ Kate stepped away from him towards the sea, feeling the wind pull her hair away from her face. ‘The grave itself has gone. There’s nothing to see.’

Greg was staring down at the torc in his hand, his grey-green eyes veiled. ‘They are here,’ he whispered. ‘Marcus is here and Claudia, and so is the other, the lover. I can feel them. They are trapped here on this beach together. An eternal triangle.’

‘Greg -’ Kate interrupted him uneasily. ‘Let’s go back.’

‘Why?’ There was open hostility in his gaze.

‘Because it’s late. Jon and I have to go. We have a long journey back to London.’

‘No.’ He turned away from them and stared out to sea. ‘No, I don’t think so. You don’t like London, remember?’

Jon frowned, eyeing the other man with caution. Surreptitiously he put his hand on Kate’s arm and pulled her away. ‘Let’s go,’ he whispered, his words almost lost in the rush of the sea. Nodding, she turned to follow him, but Greg had noticed. He swung round and his eyes were alight with anger. ‘No. You’re not going anywhere.’

He could feel Marcus so clearly now. Close. Pushing. Eager.

‘Don’t be stupid, Greg,’ Kate’s voice was sharp. ‘We are leaving. If you want to stay, that’s up to you.’ She began to walk inland, turning her back on the place where the excavation had been.

Behind them Greg was staring once more down at the torc. Suddenly his eyes were full of tears. He couldn’t fight it much longer. Marcus and Kate. He couldn’t cope with both. He stumbled after her. ‘You can’t go,’ he called. ‘I won’t let you. This was sent here to hold you – ’

Jon swung round. He released Kate’s arm abruptly, his anger bubbling to the surface at last. ‘That is enough, Greg! Kate has told you. She is going. You mean nothing to her.’ Angrily he snatched the torc from the other man’s hands. ‘This has caused enough trouble. Now it is going back where it belongs.’ Lifting his arm he flung the torc into the air. As it landed in the heaving greyness of the water, he felt anger sweeping over him uncontrolled.

Terrified, he tried to master it.

It was red, vicious. Blind.

Ecstatic.

He wrestled with it frantically, staggering back from the sea’s edge, clutching at his head, hearing nothing but the raging of the waves. He did not see Kate’s terror as the swirl of jasmine-scented dust settled over her.

‘Jon!’ He heard her voice distantly; it was frightened; screaming. ‘Greg! Do something! Marcus has got him! Help him! Greg, help him! Help me!’

‘No, not Marcus.’ Suddenly Greg was laughing. ‘Marcus is here. With me! Nion’s possessed him.’ The name had come to him so easily – the name his wife had screamed into a Beltane dawn. Nion the Druid.

The voices were growing fainter, the sound of the sea louder. Suddenly Greg was afraid. Marcus was there; Marcus was inside him. Turning, he ran towards the water. He could feel the waves icy against his ankles, taking away all the pain. The shock of the cold stunned him.

Fight. He had to fight. The water was deeper now, sucking round his knees. Cold. Clean. Powerful.

Fight. Fight the Roman.

Fight or die.

Where was Roger? He had promised. Dad, help me! Help me fight him. Dad, please. His voice rose in pain and fear and anger.

A wave slammed against his waist and the shock of it stopped him.

He turned and surveyed the beach.


* * *

Fight. Jon too was fighting, the battle in his head deafening.

Recite. Fill your head with something else. That’s what Anne had said. Don’t let him take hold. Recite…

Nion must have his revenge.

Marcus is vanquished.

Nion turned his hungry, angry eyes to look for the Roman who had caused his death…

Fight. Fight the anger in his head.

Recite.

Byron. She didn’t know it, but he had learned Byron for her sake. ‘Where’er we tread ’tis haunted, holy ground…’ Grope for the memory. Fill the mind. ‘All tragedies are finish’d by a death.’ Was that Byron too…? It didn’t matter.

Jon stumbled away from the sea, his hands clawing at his temples. Where was she? Where was Claudia? His love. He shook his head. Kate. Where was Kate -? There was no one there. They had gone. Nion was gaining strength. Marcus? Where was Marcus? Nion had to be rid of Marcus for ever.

Recite. It’s the only way. Blank the druid out. Don’t let him in. He’s not going to win.

Sobbing, he fell on his knees in the wet sand.

‘She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

She walks in beauty, like the night…’

He repeated the words again and again until he had no strength left and his voice faded in his throat.

Marcus could see them clearly now, through the eyes of the man, Greg. They were there, near him, reaching out to one another.

Nion and Claudia.

Jon and Kate.

Greg groaned as the icy water slapped around his thighs. His eyes weren’t working properly. Everything was blurred.

Jon and Kate.

Nion and Claudia.

Slowly he was beginning to understand. Marcus fed on hate and jealousy. Their strength, their love, those were the weapons he needed. Clenching his fists he took a step towards the sand. Then another.

Fight.

Fight the alien inside his head.

Fight him with love. Love that transcends time and space.

Nion and Claudia.

Jon and Kate.

Jon and Kate.

The rage was receding. Greg could feel the anger and hate inside him dwindling. He took another step towards the beach. Marcus was losing. Love would always win over hate.

In the end.

Painfully he shook his head. It was as though he were waking from some hideous nightmare. Far out at sea a stray beam of sunlight had broken through the clouds to touch the sea to silver. He stared at it mesmerised, then slowly and weakly, he began to wade back towards the shore. He had won. Marcus was going. He could feel him shrinking and weakening. He rubbed his eyes. The dream had left him now; it had gone, into the shadows of eternity with its pain.

Kate looked up at Greg as she cradled Jon’s head on her knee, her eyes full of tears. The sweet scent of jasmine was all around her.

The hands on his head were gentle. He could feel them clearly, soothing away the pain.

Her voice. It was her voice. She was there. She was with him.

Weeping, Nion the Druid rested his head in the soft blue folds of her gown, and felt himself at peace.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The name Nion is taken from the Celtic Tree Calendar

Beth – Luis – Nion (Birch, Rowan, Ash) depicted by

Robert Graves.

This book has many roots: the awe and fear in a little boy’s voice many years ago, as we stared together through the window into a midnight garden after a bad dream; a lonely visit to Sutton Hoo on a cold afternoon in winter when the wind screamed through the firs and down across the River Deben; a long, thoughtful visit to the twisted body of Lindow Man in the British Museum and the view from my study window out across fields where Trinovantes and Romans once walked on the edge of the saltings with, in the distance, the icy North Sea, are some of the strongest.

About the Author

A historian by training, Barbara Erskine is the author of ten bestselling novels that demonstrate her interest in both history and the supernatural, plus three collections of short stories. Lady of Hay was her first novel and has now sold over two million copies worldwide. She lives with her family in an ancient manor house near Colchester, and a cottage near Hay-on-Wye.