The Warrior’s Princess

7

Steph put the phone down and turned back into the kitchen where Kim was frying onions and tomatoes. She was frowning. ‘I’ve been trying all evening but there is still no reply from either phone.’

‘Perhaps she’s gone out.’ Kim threw some sliced zucchini into the heavy pan and added more oil. With her dark hair and eyes and her plump figure – a testament to her fondness for her own cooking – Kim looked every inch the Italian mamma in the making for all she had been born in Romford and attended the same college as Jess and Steph. ‘And she’s forgotten to take her mobile.’

‘That’s probably it. I’ve reported the line at Ty Bran. They checked. It is broken.’

‘Well, presumably someone will go and mend it.’ Kim reached for her wine glass and took a sip before turning her attention back to the sauce. ‘So, you can stop worrying, Steph. Jess is a big girl. She doesn’t need you checking up on her all the time. In fact you never have before, so why now?’

Steph shook her head wearily. ‘I don’t know. I’ve got a strange feeling, that’s all.’

‘What sort of strange feeling?’ Wooden spoon in hand, Kim paused in her stirring to gaze at her friend’s face. ‘You two aren’t twins, are you?’

‘You know we’re not!’

‘Then stop worrying. Go and see to our guests. Make sure everyone has got a drink. If you really want to know what is happening with Jess ask Carmella. She reads the cards. You’ll find a deck in Stefano’s old bureau.’

Steph wandered through the apartment towards the front door. From the grand reception room she could hear the sound of voices. Kim’s penchant for cooking frequently led to these impromptu parties where her guests marvelled at the talent of their English hostess who could cook Italian food better than any of them.

Steph resisted the urge to mention the cards, but as they sat in the salotto later savouring their dolci and coffee Kim brought the subject up again.

‘Steph needs some info about her sister, Carmella. Would you read the cards for her? Tell us what is happening over there in Wales?’ She levered herself out of the deep sofa and went to the bureau, rummaging around in the drawers.

There was a general murmur of interest from the other guests at the suggestion as she drew out the small box she had been looking for.

Carmella, a tall, elegant woman in her forties, held out her hand languidly and took the box. ‘I haven’t seen these since Stefano died. Do you remember how often we would read them?’ She smiled at Kim, raising one of her startlingly black, fly away eyebrows.

Kim nodded, suddenly wistful. ‘He loved to watch you do it, but he would never let you do a reading for him. Perhaps if you had –’

‘No!’ Carmella started shuffling the deck. ‘No, don’t think of that. What was to be, was to be.’ She flicked her dark hair out of her eyes and leaned forward to take a puff from the cigarette lying in the onyx ashtray near her coffee cup. ‘Now, let me see what the cards have to say. This is about your sister, Steph?’

Steph nodded.

‘Tell me her name.’

‘Jess.’

‘And do you have anything of hers with you? Perhaps a letter? A piece of jewellery to make the connection.’

Steph thought for a moment. ‘I have a scarf of hers. I liked it so much she gave it to me.’

‘That is good. Get it.’

Steph watched amused as Carmella cut the pack and then laid out the cards on the coffee table. It was years since she had seen anyone read the tarot. Probably not since she had been a student and done it herself. Carmella did it with superb style, she had to give her that. She lay back in her chair and sipped her coffee, watching as Carmella turned up the first card, Jess’s scarf lying on her knee, a splash of emerald against the black of the woman’s skirt.

‘Ah, il fante di denari. The page of coins; pentacles you call them, si? This is Jess. A page can represent a woman, you know that?’ She glanced round. Turning back to the table she ran her finger thoughtfully over the card. The eyes of every person in the room were fixed on her hands as she turned up the next and sat staring down at the layout in front of her. She was frowning. ‘Non capisco,’ she murmured to herself. ‘This is very strange. There are two different people here. We have two women. You see? Il fante di bastoni, the page of wands. But this one represents una ragazza. A much younger woman. Very important in the reading. They are linked in some way.’ She turned a third card. ‘And here with them we have il re di coppe al negativo.’ She paused, shaking her head. ‘Here is violence, scandal, treachery. A bad man in the lives of these two women.’ She glanced up, concerned. ‘And here. Il matto, the fool. He heralds a journey for all these people. I think not literally – maybe a step into the unknown. No, also a journey in reality.’ She turned up three more cards in quick succession. ‘There is so much here.’ She spread her hands over the cards. ‘They are on a quest. Your sister, Steph, has set out on a journey she cannot escape. She travels with another woman, maybe a child, and behind them follows this man. The cards never tell a lie, but this and this –’ Her hand strayed over the cards, stroking them, reading them almost like Braille. ‘This is too strange. There is love here; new love. Strong love, but also danger. And fear. And threats.’

‘Oh God!’ Steph whispered under her breath. She and Kim exchanged glances.

‘Perhaps,’ Kim said suddenly, clearing her throat, ‘this is not a good idea. Why don’t we have another drink and forget it.’

‘No.’ Carmella raised a commanding hand. ‘Aspetta! No, this is important. It is telling me something very important about your sister. She needs to be warned that she is in danger.’

‘Oh God!’ Steph repeated. She stood up as a murmur of concern ran round the room. Everyone was looking at her. No one seemed to doubt Carmella. No one was looking superior and cynical and scoffing as they would at a dinner party in London. They were all hanging on every word.

‘Carmella, stop it!’ Kim said. ‘That’s enough. You are frightening her!’

‘So, you don’t want to know? You don’t want to save her?’

‘Yes, of course I want to know.’ Steph sat down again. She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Go on.’

Carmella looked up at her for a moment, then she glanced back at the cards. ‘There is another man here.’ Her finger paused over the king of swords. She frowned. ‘Your sister’s father? He is wounded.’

‘Our father is dead,’ Steph put in sharply.

Carmella shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. This is definitely someone’s father. The other girl, perhaps. Do you know who she is?’ She looked up. ‘And there are soldiers here.’ She leaned closer to the cards for a minute. ‘And here, I see danger again.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘Here it is clear. There are two lives here and this,’ she tapped a card, ‘is your sister and someone wants to kill her!’ She sat back and stared at Steph, her eyes wide. ‘Dio mio, we are told never to forecast a death. Never! This is awful!’

‘And it’s tosh, Carmella!’ Kim looked really angry. ‘This was supposed to comfort her, not make things worse.’ She stood up. ‘Enough! Let’s have some Limoncello, then you should all go home!’

‘I’m going to ring the police!’ Steph hadn’t moved. She was sitting staring at the cards.

‘Don’t be an idiot! You can’t ring the police because of a tarot reading!’ Kim bent forward and swept all the cards into a heap. ‘That’s it. Finished. I am going to put them away.’

‘I’ll ring the Prices. Meg and Ken won’t mind going over to Ty Bran and seeing if she is all right.’ Steph stood up. ‘Don’t be angry with Carmella. I knew there was something wrong.’ She headed for the telephone, in the hallway, leaving the others all staring at each other.

The phone at Cwm-nant rang and rang. There was no reply. Steph slammed down the phone. Picking it up again she tried Ty Bran’s number. The line was still dead. Then she tried Jess’s mobile. It was still switched off.

‘Leave it, Steph.’ Kim appeared behind her. She had brought a bottle from the fridge in the kitchen and a tray of liqueur glasses. Pouring one out she put it down on the hall stand beside the telephone. ‘Get that down you. I’m so sorry. It was a stupid, stupid idea doing the tarot. I should have remembered how melodramatic Carmella can be.’

Steph picked up the glass and sipped it. The strong cold shot of lemon revived her a bit. ‘I don’t know who to ring, Kim. Jess is all alone up there. There is no one there I know well enough to ask them to drive up into the hills in the middle of the night to see if my sister is OK.’

‘I bet you she’s fine.’ Kim guided her back towards the kitchen and onto a stool by the table. ‘I tell you what. Tomorrow, if you can’t contact her by then, we’ll ring the police and you can explain how worried you are, OK? Honestly. I don’t think you can ring them tonight. Not on the strength of a card reading. They would think you were nuts. And they wouldn’t go. You know that as well as I do. There is no point in even trying.’

‘And what if someone is trying to kill her?’ Steph took another swig from the Limoncello.

‘Why on earth should someone try and kill Jess?’ Kim grabbed Steph by the shoulders. ‘Think about it, you idiot! What could Jess have possibly done that would warrant that!’

‘Will was trying to find her. He rang –’

‘Oh yes! And Will is trying to kill her? I thought you said he was still desperately in love with her.’

Steph shook her head. ‘I’m being stupid, aren’t I. I know I am. Sorry.’

‘At last! Sense. There was love in those cards as well, remember? Right, I’m going to send the others home. Go to bed, Steph. Sleep well. It will all be all right in the morning, you’ll see. The phone will be mended and you will find that Jess has been there all the time.’

For the second time Jess had locked the house and eased herself into the driver’s seat. Terrified that she would meet Dan’s car in the narrow lane she groped for the key and turned it in the ignition. The engine caught. With a little prayer of gratitude she eased up the clutch but as she began to turn the wheel to manoeuvre out of the yard the car engine coughed and died. ‘No! Please God, no!’ Leaning forward, her hands shaking, she turned the key again.

It was ten minutes before she gave up.

Nothing would persuade her to ring Rhodri again. She had her pride!

All she could do was take his advice after all, lock herself in and wait out the night. Perhaps Rhodri was right and Dan wasn’t coming.

The doors were locked and bolted for good measure, the windows closed, the curtains drawn, when Jess finally went to bed. Lying back on the pillows she stared at the window, not even bothering to open the book which rested on her knees. There was nothing to be afraid of. What could Dan do, even if he did come? She glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. Outside in the wood she could hear two tawny owls exchanging calls, the low hoots of the female echoing round the hillside, the sharp response of the male so loud he might have been sitting in the courtyard. She shivered and slid further down in the bed.

Publius Ostorius Scapula stood in his tent looking down at the woman who had been brought before him. She was dark-haired, slim, beautiful and very pale, the bruises on her face and throat still visible. One of his spies had given him some background on this woman. The eldest daughter of the last king of the Silures, the local and oh-so-troublesome tribe of these accursed southern Cambrian hills, she was Caratacus’s second wife. The first had died in childbirth so he understood. This second he had chosen with great acumen from the tribe in whose lands he had settled to spearhead his opposition to Rome. And she had done him proud, giving him three children, two girls and a boy and, so he had heard, her unswerving loyalty and love. She had great dignity and courage, this Celtic queen, in spite of her position as his captive.

‘I have news for you, lady,’ he said at last. ‘Your husband has been found.’ He saw the flash of hope in those beautiful grey eyes. ‘He was severely wounded but is, I understand, on the way to recovery.’

‘Where is he?’ The question came out as a whisper. She looked at him nervously, trying to be brave, meeting him eye to eye.

‘He fled north,’ he said slowly. ‘To the land of the Brigantes, assuming he would find succour there.’ His voice gave no clue to his feelings. ‘He threw himself on the mercy of Queen Cartimandua, who is, I understand, a kinswoman of his.’ She was smiling now. He moved across to the table, covered in maps and rolls of parchment and sat down, looking up at her thoughtfully. ‘You do not, perhaps, realise, that the queen is a client of Rome, sworn to the Emperor as our ally and friend.’

Cerys went white.

‘She has done her duty to Rome and informed us that Caratacus is now her captive. When he is well enough he will be transferred to my custody. I shall have him taken to Camulodunum to await word of the Emperor’s pleasure regarding his fate.’

To do her justice she did not flinch. Her shoulders remained straight, her face after that initial pallor without expression.

‘I shall send you there as well, with your daughter. I understand she was attacked by one of my men?’

Cerys looked him in the eye. ‘We were both raped by your men, General.’

‘As soon as they are identified they will be punished. You have my word on that, lady. As to your other children,’ his voice softened slightly. ‘I understand every effort has been made to locate them.’

This time she could not hide the pain in her eyes.

‘Has everything been done?’ He raised his gaze to that of the praefectus, Justinus, who stood at her side.

He stood to attention and saluted. ‘Sir. If they were there to be found, we would have found them. The search has been extended over a huge area. Either they have been found by local tribesmen and spirited away into the mountains, or –’ He paused, with a glance at his commander. ‘They are not there any more, sir.’ Wolves. The word hovered between them. Out of pity for the woman’s anguish neither man said it out loud.

Scapula was impressed by her dignity and courage. He sighed. He was as certain as maybe that the woman would never see her two younger children again. And he was prepared to waste no more of his soldiers’ time on looking for them. Her capture and that of her daughter was enough to give him leverage over Caratacus, if any were needed. Now he was sure of the man’s capture he had no real need of her at all, but no doubt parading them both before the people of Camulodunum, once the capital of this man’s father, would add to the impact of the defeat.

Back in the tent where her daughter waited for her, Cerys sat down next to the child and put her arm around her shoulders. ‘Your papa has been found alive, sweetheart. He is wounded but not too badly.’ No point in saying he was a prisoner. No point in saying that the Queen of the Brigantes had betrayed them, betrayed her blood, her kin, her oath to her gods and to her people. She clenched her teeth desperately. They would never see Togo and Glads again. That had been made clear by the Romans. They were not unsympathetic; she had read that much in Scapula’s eyes, but there was nothing more to be done. And never, never, she vowed as she cuddled her daughter to her, would she say anything that would cause Eigon to blame herself.

It was a game! Can we finish playing the game?

The voice echoed through Jess’s head as she slept.

Please, can we stop playing now?

The words came not from Eigon but from a smaller child, her sister.

Restlessly Jess turned over and punched the pillow. ‘She’s alive! She’s still alive! Glads is alive. Oh please, someone, go and look for her!’ She called out the words in her head but no one heard them.

The lamps were burning low; no one had come to replenish the oil and the tent was full of shadows. Cerys could see the silhouettes of the two guards beyond the leather flap of the doorway, their profiles black against the firelight. She could see their spears as a cross, black against the flames.

And again the thin little voice echoed round Ty Bran:

Eigon, where are you? Can I tell Togo to come out now?

In her sleep Jess gave a little moan.

Outside the house a figure crept across the yard and stood for a moment at the front door. It was just growing light.

Dan reached out and pushed the door experimentally, soundlessly rattling the handle, then he turned and tiptoed along the front of the house, pausing as he reached the corner. In the holly bush the blackbird fluttered up to its look-out post, shrieking a warning into the cold morning and upstairs Jess jerked awake suddenly, startled by the noise. The dream fled as she sat up.

She listened nervously. Something was wrong. Throwing back her bedcovers she eased herself out of bed and moving silently towards the window she peered down. The courtyard was empty, lost in colourless pre-dawn mist. Soundlessly she pushed the window open and leaned out. There was a car parked in the lane. She could see the dull gleam of the bonnet beyond the stone wall. She couldn’t distinguish the colour but she knew who it was. Closing the window silently she hurriedly threw on her clothes and tiptoed to her bedroom door, listening. She had locked all the downstairs doors and windows the night before; she remembered clearly touring the house one last time before she climbed the stairs to bed. He couldn’t get in. Not without breaking a window. Almost as the thought occurred to her she heard the sound of breaking glass from somewhere downstairs. Bolting the door, she flew to the phone beside the bed and lifted the receiver. It wasn’t until she had dialled 999 and waited, breathlessly, for an answer that she realised the line was still dead.

Oh please God, no. She shook the phone, tried again. Silence.

‘Jess?’

Dan’s voice was right outside her door. She saw the latch lift and heard the creak of the hinges as he tried to open it.

‘Jess, come on. Open the door. I’m not going to hurt you. But we do have to talk, don’t we.’

‘What the hell are you doing here, Dan? You can’t just break in! Go away. Now. I’ve called the police.’ Her voice came over as remarkably strong. ‘Don’t be a fool. You are going to make things worse than they are already.’

There was a moment’s silence. She thought she heard a chuckle. ‘No, Jess. You haven’t called the police. Your phone is dead, I tried it. I have your bag, and your mobile is here, in my hand.’

She spun round staring wildly about the room. She had left her phone downstairs, plugged in to charge. The thought that he had found it and that he had rifled through her bag as he was prowling through the house at five o’clock in the morning sickened her.

She tiptoed towards the window and peered out. Could she climb down? She doubted it. Anyway he would hear her.

‘Go away, Dan. Please. I’m not coming out so unless you’ve got all day, in fact all week, you may as well give up now. Threatening me is not going to make things any better. Go and we can talk on the phone.’ She clenched her teeth.

‘Come on, Jess. You must realise I can’t allow you to put everything I hold dear in jeopardy. I need you to make me some promises.’

‘I’ll promise nothing, Dan. Go away.’

There was a short pause. ‘Open the door and we’ll talk about it.’

‘You know I’m not going to do that.’

‘So you don’t trust me, but I am expected to trust you?’

‘There is a reason for that as you must realise.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’ve never lied to you, Dan.’

‘Yes you have. You just told me that you had called the police. That was a lie, wasn’t it.’ His voice was silky.

She closed her eyes. ‘I may not have called the police, but I’ve told someone what happened to me,’ she said defiantly. ‘And I have told him it was you. If anything happens to me he will go to the police for me and the truth will come out.’

‘That was a mistake, Jess. We could have talked about this. I could have explained.’ There was a long pause. ‘Did he believe you, this person you talked to?’

‘Of course he did!’

‘You amaze me. No one else will, once the facts come out.’ He laughed. There was a long silence. ‘Really, Jess. There’s no need for all this. We can talk it through.’ There was another pause. ‘We don’t have to have a great confrontation. If I misunderstood what you wanted, I apologise. I thought you wanted it as much as I did. You did. How can you say you didn’t? After all you can’t remember anything about it, can you. So, you do need to take my word for this.’ She heard his footsteps as he paced up and down the landing, then he was back outside her door again. ‘No one needs to know anything about it. Come on. Open the door. We need to talk. You’ve been depressed, Jess. Things get out of all proportion when one is depressed. That is why you’ve been behaving so oddly; your friend Rhodri will confirm that.’ There was another pause. ‘Of course, it was Rhodri you talked to.’ Another pause. ‘It was, wasn’t it? Large, extrovert, noisy Rhodri! Well, you didn’t have to tell him how you were paranoid about ghosts in this house, how you hallucinated about people smashing up your paintings, how you broke bottles of wine and accused me of doing it. He knows. He saw it all.’ She heard his footsteps again, heavy, angry, turning sharply at the end of the landing and returning to stop outside her door again. ‘You realise I could break this door down,’ he went on at last. ‘You can’t avoid me, Jess. Much better to talk about this. You don’t want to make me angry. After all, if something happened to you, who would ever suspect me? I would tell them how depressed you were when me met in Hay. Rhodri would confirm that, I expect! So, if you were found to have killed yourself, Jess, I doubt anyone would query your suicide. Look how strangely you’ve been behaving, even at school. Resigning. Not giving them notice. Refusing to go in even to collect your stuff. Oh Jess, no one would be surprised if it came to that. But we don’t want it to happen, do we. Come on. I’ve got all the time in the world. I could just wait here!’