Barbara Erskine - Time’s Legacy

‘It would be something of immense power; something to keep very secret, so no-one was supposed to know what they were,’ Abi put in. ‘Fergus obviously had one, as well. Perhaps the druids used them to store their secrets and if someone finds one, one day, all their hidden teachings will come to light.’ She glanced at him. ‘I spoke to Bishop David this morning. There is no change in Kier. He is stable and doesn’t need a life support machine or anything.’

Justin nodded his head slowly. ‘I have made enquiries.’ He glanced at her. ‘Over there, where he has gone.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I have reason to believe he would not want to be called back, even if we could. He will return in his own time, be that a week or a month or twenty years.’

She stared at him in horror. ‘And there’s nothing you can do?’

‘It is his choice, Abi.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Would you deprive him of the chance to meet Jesus?’

She chewed her lip for a moment. ‘I just feel so guilty, as though somehow his unhappiness and panic and unpredictability were my fault.’

‘They weren’t.’ He reached forward and laid his hand over hers. She was going to snatch hers away, then she changed her mind and left it there. For a moment they were silent, then he moved his hand and casually reached for his cup. ‘I want to go back to Woodley,’ he said at last. ‘See if I can’t make things up with Mat and there is something we need to do there.’

She glanced at him enquiringly.

‘The orchard. I’ve talked to Greg about it. Romanus needs to be set free. Greg agrees you should do it with me.’

‘Me?’ She scanned his face thoughtfully and he nodded. ‘Prayer. Incense. Druid and Christian together. Let the poor boy go.’

‘With Cynan?’

‘You think Cynan is still there too?’

She shrugged. ‘He felt responsible. Besides Woodley was his special place. Or at least, St Mary’s island was.’

He nodded. ‘You and I would make a good team, Abi.’

For a moment she froze. She didn’t know where to look. He saw her embarrassment and smiled. ‘In a spiritual sense, of course. Ghostbusters to the gentry.’

‘And to the church?’

‘If you say so.’

The orchard was wet and windy, yellow leaves whirling in the air. Mat and Cal had watched them walk across the lawn from the kitchen window then they had turned back to the fire. The meeting with Mat had been fine if a little restrained. The two men had shaken hands and Cal, with a little more colour in her cheeks than was normal had smiled and hugged them both.

Justin took his drum out of his shoulder bag and then a candle holder and a small incense burner. ‘I expect wind and rain in my job. More often than not I need several matches.’ He grinned at her. ‘Say and do whatever you feel is right, Abi. There are no rules for this kind of occasion.’

She reached into her pocket and drew out the Serpent Stone. ‘I went up and fetched it before we came out here. I thought it might help to contact them.’ She was aware of the rustle and hiss of leaves around them. She watched as, sheltering the flame with the flap of his jacket, he lit the little charcoal block under the incense and sprinkled on a few grains of resin from a small jar. The blue trail of smoke was whipped away from them. She could smell nothing. As her hand went to the little cross around her neck she closed her eyes.

Romanus was tall for his age and thin, a good-looking boy with brown eyes and a gentle intelligent face. She could see the streaks of blood down his cheek, the worse, more terrible stains on his tunic. Cynan had the druidic tonsure, he was taller, more solid, a sadness in his eyes as though he had always known what his own terrible fate would be. ‘Flavius.’ She heard the name as a hiss of rain, a rhythm in the gentle drumbeat. ‘Flavius must not be allowed to continue his persecution. He must be stopped.’

She stared round. The apple trees were gone. Instead she was standing in an olive grove. She could smell warm earth and fragrant sunshine. Flavius was standing alone with his back to her. Beyond him she could see the red terracotta tiles of a roof and somehow she knew it was his father’s house. He had returned home. As he swung to face her she saw the haunted eyes, the face grey with exhaustion and she knew what he was going to do even before he drew the short sword. He held it up. Had his father guessed what he had done? Was the guilt of the blood of his own brother and his brother’s son too much to bear? He was hesitating. He was thinking of his duty to his Emperor. His knuckles whitened round the sword hilt as he lowered it, the blade flashing in the warm Etruscan sun. His doubt was going. She saw his jaw grow firm, his eyes hard.

‘Do it,’ Abi whispered. ‘The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth from the ground!’

She saw his eyes widen as he looked round. The olive leaves rustled in the wind and small dust eddies rose and spun around his sandaled feet.

‘Who’s there?’ he called. The sword was raised again now, pointing towards her although she didn’t think he could see her. Then she realised he could. He was remembering the days of his youth when he had consulted a sibyl near the Temple of the Vestals in Rome and bought charms to win Lydia and then curses when they didn’t work. When he had gone to ask for his money back she had spitefully told him that she had seen in her scrying bowl his doom in a woman’s eyes, the eyes which were now gazing at him from a different time and place.

‘Lydia?’ he called. His voice was harsh with terror.

Abi felt herself take a step forward and she saw his face freeze. ‘Mora?’

‘Do it!’ She wasn’t sure if she had spoken or if the voice was someone else’s, but the words seemed to come from her. The voice of thy brother’s blood is crying out for revenge.’

He gave a sob. ‘No!’

‘Do it!’

Behind him she saw a man’s figure through the trees. Flavius turned and saw it too. ‘Father!’ It was a broken whisper and in it Abi knew his father had discovered what he had done to his brother. ‘I’m sorry.’

His movement was almost too quick to follow. He reversed the sword, gripped the hilt in both hands, and drove it with every last ounce of strength he possessed into his own stomach. For a moment he stood, his face wiped of expression, his eyes huge and glassy, then he fell forward onto the blade.

The wind had grown stronger. She could feel the rain, cold, on her face. The drumming had stopped and slowly she realised that Justin had taken her in his arms. ‘I killed him,’ she whispered. ‘I killed him.’

He shook his head. ‘He killed himself.’

‘You saw?’ She stared at him. She had begun to shiver violently.

‘I saw. It may have been your destiny to push him to do the decent thing, but if you hadn’t, then it would have been his own father.’ Justin released her for a moment, pulled off his jacket and wrapped it round her shoulders then he put his arm round her again. ‘Look.’ He pointed off into the trees.

In the distance she saw Romanus and Cynan standing side by side. The older man put his arm round the younger in a gesture mirroring their own. He raised his other hand in acknowledgement. Then they were gone.

‘They are at rest,’ Justin said quietly.

‘I can’t believe I did it,’ she whispered. ‘I urged a man to kill himself.’

‘You did what had to be done.’ Justin steered her back towards the garden. ‘You must not feel guilty. This was your destiny. Ask Ben. Or Greg. Or your bishop. You were the instrument of fate. There was unfinished business to be done and only you could sort it out. You have acted as a very special catalyst in all of this, Abi. You are a healer and a priest. You, of all the women who have owned that stone have been able to resolve the anguish of this story and you were brought here to this house to do it. It can’t have been coincidence that you were brought here.’

‘By a bishop from Priddy.’ She gave a watery smile.

He stopped again and released her. ‘Flavius thought you were Mora.’

‘I don’t know why. I don’t look like her. Do I?’ She glanced up at him.

‘Ah.’ He hesitated, then he said, ‘Do you know how your mother originally came to have the Serpent Stone?’

She nodded. ‘I told you. It was handed down through the family, daughter to daughter.’

‘For how long?’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘For two thousand years? You really believe that? I wonder how many generations that is.’

He gave a small shake of his head. ‘We must assume, I think, that Mora’s child was a girl.’

She looked at him in astonishment and he nodded. ‘I think you probably are her direct descendant. She was pregnant at the end.’

‘With Cynan’s child?’ She glanced back at the orchard.

He saw the intense anxiety in her eyes as she turned back to him. Slowly he put his arm round her again. ‘Who else’s would it have been?’

Kieran smiled at the woman he was sitting next to. She had shared her food with him and passed over a skin containing asses’ milk. They had been listening with crowds of other people to Jesus as he stood on the hillside, in the shade of the ancient olive trees. It had been months since Kier had left Britain. He had followed Flavius, making his long weary way to Rome, where Flavius had called in to see his parents, staying but a few days before resuming his journey across the Empire towards Galilee. At some point Flavius had doubled back and Kier had heard rumours that he had begun to retrace his steps towards his father’s house. He didn’t follow him. Somehow now, it didn’t matter.

Jesus had been talking for a long time and he was tired. Kier could see the weariness on his face, but also the gentleness as people queued to approach him, to ask for his blessing. ‘Are you going up to speak to him?’ The woman glanced across at him. She had brought her daughter, a child of about five who had a twisted leg. ‘Come with us. Help me carry her.’