Justin Cavendish pulled his car into the lay-by a few hundred yards from the gates to the manor and glanced at his watch. By now Mat should have been off into Taunton as he always did on the first Tuesday in the month for lunch with his former colleagues, but his car was still parked outside the front door. A preliminary cautious drive past had shown several cars in the driveway. Cal’s old battered Volvo; another small runabout – dark green and muddy – and Mat’s ancient, seen-better-days Mercedes. Both family cars were on their second time round the clock. Thoroughly un-eco-friendly but who could afford a new car these days? Justin slapped the steering wheel of his own ancient Land Rover affectionately. Living where he did it was four-wheel-drive or nothing. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. No point in going in until Mat had gone, not after the last row. He sighed. All he wanted was to pick up some books, then he would be away again. If Cal was there he would have some coffee with her, some desultory chat. If she wasn’t he would let himself in. He still had his key. Then he would be gone without them even realising he had called in. Mat never went near their grandfather’s library. Justin doubted he would notice if every single book disappeared.

Half an hour or so later, glancing in the rear-view mirror, he saw the Mercedes turn out of the gates and head away from the house. There were two people inside. He waited until it was out of sight around the corner, then he leaned forward and turned the ignition key.

The house was quiet; they must have taken the dogs with them. He grimaced; he was fond of those two animals. It took only half an hour to collect the various books he wanted. As a boy he had been the one to come up here to talk to his grandfather for hours, borrowing books, discussing them, arguing late into the night, imbibing the old man’s wisdom. His two elder brothers, while fond of the old boy, had been too busy with their own lives to bother much with the past. The history. The topography. The legends. Like their father they were more interested in their own careers. He sighed. Their father had lived here for only ten years in the end. He had died five years before and their mother, brokenhearted, had followed her husband only two years later. Mat and Ben were both more interested in the house now, but in a way it was too late. They hadn’t assimilated the background the way he had. He frowned, running his fingers along the bottom of the shelf. There was one book missing. His hand hovered over the gap where it should have been. He sighed. No matter. He could come back another time. He glanced at his watch again. There was somewhere else he had to be.

Opening the door he stepped out into the hall and stopped dead. A strange woman was running down the staircase. Tall, slim, dressed in a dark-blue shirt and jeans, her long hair loose on her shoulders, she looked like some storybook Cathie looking for her Heathcliffe. She paused, mid-stride, and her mouth dropped open. ‘Who are you?’

‘I might ask the same question.’ He lifted his bag of books onto his shoulder. ‘I live here. At least I have a pied-à-terre here. Justin Cavendish.’

‘Ah.’ She nodded. ‘The one who doesn’t get on with Mat.’

He gave a tight smile. ‘Well that knowledge at least betrays the fact that you know something of our family. You are?’

‘Abi Rutherford. I’m -’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘I am staying here for a few weeks. A paying guest.’

‘Right. Well, tell Cal I was here. Don’t mention it in front of Mat if you want to maintain your vision of him as a sane man. Tell her I’ve taken some books. That will be OK with her.’ He turned towards the front door.

‘Do you live near here?’ She wasn’t sure why she had asked, perhaps to delay him a little. He intrigued her.

‘No, I don’t,’ he replied shortly. He was tall and handsome as were his two brothers, with the same unruly thatch of hair. But whilst Ben’s and Mat’s was greying, his was fair. He must be a good ten years younger than Mat, she suspected. He reached the door and pulled it open.

‘You don’t want to have a cup of coffee, I suppose?’ she asked quietly.

If he heard he chose to ignore the question. Stepping out into the sunshine he pulled the door shut behind him leaving her standing in the passage alone.

From the top of the ancient fir Romanus spotted his father walking his horse up the track while he was still half a mile away. Shinning down the tree, the boy set off at a lope through the rain to meet him.

‘He arrived yesterday, Papa, and he brought us all presents. His baggage came this morning on a mule from Axiom. Is he very rich?’ Romanus was almost dancing round his father as they headed back towards the farmstead. ‘Look what he brought me.’ From a sheath on his belt he produced a beautifully polished dagger.

Gaius’s face had darkened as he slid from his saddle.

‘And for Petra and Mama there was real silk. Enough to make a gown each. It’s incredible. Cold like water and it slips through your fingers.’ He paused, aware suddenly of his father’s silence. ‘What is it, Papa? Is something wrong?’

‘Is your mother all right?’

Romanus nodded.

‘And Petra?’

The boy nodded again and then shrugged to qualify the assurance. ‘Petra has been feeling bad again. I went to find Mora but she wasn’t there, so I had to bring medicine from Addedomaros.’

‘And where did Flavius spend the night?’

‘By the fire, Papa.’

His father’s face tightened grimly. ‘And where is he this morning?’

‘He was eating breakfast. Mama and Petra were with him. Papa?’ The boy stood still, puzzled, as his father, tossing his horse’s rein to him, began to run, splashing through the puddles on the track. It was several seconds before he pulled himself together and followed, dragging the horse behind him.

Flavius was eating a bannock by the fire, a beaker of ale at his side as Gaius pushed his way through the curtain at the doorway and came in, panting. The visitor looked up with a sardonic grin. ‘So, you have come home at last. I suspect your wife would have forgotten what you looked like were I not here to remind her!’ He threw the bannock down onto the plate on the stool beside him and stood up.

‘Gaius!’ Lydia rose to her feet. She ran to her husband and put her arms around him. ‘Where have you been?’

‘I was engaged in a business deal which took longer than I expected,’ Gaius replied grimly. ‘The price of metals is rising. I got the miners from Iscalis a good deal on their lead and silver. So, brother. Why are you here?’

‘That doesn’t sound very welcoming!’ Flavius squatted down to retrieve his ale. ‘Don’t you have decent side tables, here, Gaius? Solid wooden chairs? Baths? Beds for your visitors? This place is squalid!’

Lydia bit her lip. She was clinging to Gaius’s tunic.

Gaius refused to rise to the taunt. ‘Then you will be relieved to move on. We have no room for visitors.’

‘But Papa,’ Romanus put in. He was staring at the three adults in turn in some confusion. ‘We have a guest house. With clean beds and beautiful rugs. Mama told Uncle Flavius that.’ He looked bewildered. ‘And we have silver plates and jugs. He doesn’t have to eat off that.’ He glared down at the stoneware plate.

‘Perhaps as a soldier he felt such luxuries would make him soft,’ Gaius said quietly. He reached out to ruffle his son’s hair which was as wet as his own from the rain. ‘You haven’t answered my question, Flavius. Why are you here?’ His voice was suddenly very hard.

‘I told your family, I am looking for someone. It was coincidence that my quest should have brought me to Britannia and your doorstep.’

‘Too great a coincidence for me to believe it,’ Gaius said dryly. ‘So who is it you are following and why should you think he is here?’

‘He is an itinerant student, so I am informed, and he is studying with your druids.’

‘And why should you need to find him?’ Gaius raised an eyebrow.

‘The druids are dangerous.’ Flavius walked across the room and picked up a stool. Carrying it back to the fire he set it down and sat himself down next to Petra as he had the night before. ‘They threaten the peace of the Empire. Tiberius sees them as a major threat in Gaul. Anyone who spends too much time with them is seen as suspect.’

‘Tiberius is not Emperor over these islands,’ Gaius said calmly. ‘What he thinks is not our concern.’

‘You are happy to trade with the Empire.’

Gaius shrugged. ‘The other way round, I think. We have riches they want.’

‘We!’ Flavius looked at him incredulously. ‘So you identify with the barbarians now.’ He chuckled. ‘But of course I can see that. Your barber is obviously one of them. And your cloakmaker. Thank the gods our father cannot see you.’

‘There is nothing wrong with the druids!’ Petra put in suddenly. She looked up defiantly. ‘They are clever and kind.’

Romanus nodded. ‘I’ve thought of studying with them. Mora says even though I am not of a druid family, because my parents are from Rome I can go in as a foreign student.’

‘You, a healer?’ Petra turned her attention to her brother with a crow of derision.

‘Why not?’ He blushed. ‘But they don’t only study healing. I could be one of the vates, like Cynan. I want to learn about everything.’

Flavius looked up in mock despair. ‘What a nest of little rebels you nurture here, brother. Can he even read?’

Gaius nodded. ‘They can both read.’

‘And what do they read? Your account books? Your druid friends write nothing down so I’ve heard, to keep their sinister doings secret.’

‘Petra can read and write in Greek and Latin; Romanus is learning,’ Lydia put in. ‘Leave the children alone, Flavius. We do very well here. We can do without your malice.’ She felt braver now her husband was there.