Daughters of Fire

Hugh nodded. Is. Not was. That was typical of Meryn. He and Meryn had re-established their close friendship thanks to Alison. She had adored Meryn’s books, written to him without realising that he and her husband had once been so close, met him at last the year before she died, then on discovering the length and depth of their former friendship, insisted that Hugh and he get in touch again. They had kept in contact over the years, but their approach to their studies was very different and had in a sense driven them apart, Hugh’s academic and based in the empirical record, Meryn’s spiritual and psychological. His approach to Druidry was rooted not only in study, but in memory and meditation – in experience – something Hugh found hard to understand.

Meryn didn’t deny being a Druid nowadays. In fact it was what he called himself. Not a member of any organisation. Nothing formal. Just a deep, passionate philosophy. A way of living. A way of believing and of remembering which came from the distant Celtic past of his country and his ancestors and his finely tuned intuition which was undoubtedly psychic. He frowned as he sat studying his visitor. His intuition was telling him now that something was very wrong.

Hugh put down his cup. He respected Meryn’s learning, and his natural wisdom if not his academic purity, and lately he had begun to regard his friend as something of a mentor and guru. Meryn seemed to possess a knowledge and assurance which he himself lacked. It was something he envied.

Meryn reached for his drink at last. ‘You must let her go, Hugh.’

‘Who?’ Hugh started almost guiltily.

‘Alison, of course.’ Meryn was watching him closely. ‘Who did you think I meant?’

Hugh shook his head. He leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. Then he plunged into his story, coming straight to the point. ‘Did you ever meet Dr Lloyd Rees when you came up to the DPCHC?’

Meryn shook his head. ‘One of your adoring disciples?’

Hugh gave a bitter smile. ‘I used to think so.’

After a pause Meryn asked, ‘So, what has Dr Lloyd Rees done to displease you?’

‘She’s written a damn stupid book. Made a complete ass of herself. It’s going to show up the whole department, and she’s –’ He paused abruptly. ‘She’s done something else unutterably stupid as well, and I don’t know what to do about it.’

‘What sort of thing?’

‘She’s stolen something, Meryn. Something of inestimable value.’ Hugh glanced up.

He hadn’t actually seen her do it, but when he had gone back to the office and searched the chaos of his desk it had gone. It had to have been her. Who else would have done it?

‘Have you asked her?’

Hugh shook his head.

‘Why?’

‘I didn’t want to confront her, I suppose.’ Hugh shrugged. Scowling, he levered himself out of his chair and paced restlessly up and down the floor a couple of times.

Thoughtfully Meryn watched him. Hugh was growing more agitated by the second.

‘She doesn’t realise what she has started!’ Hugh burst out suddenly. He flung himself down on the chair again and drummed his fingers on his knee, staring into the fire.

‘And what has she started?’ Meryn’s question was very soft as he studied the other man’s expression.

‘A war.’ Hugh said the words almost absent-mindedly. ‘She started a war. Stupid bitch!’ His voice had changed. Deepened. Become raw with anger. ‘She will pay for what she has done!’

Meryn raised an eyebrow. ‘Strong words.’ He was carefully scanning Hugh’s face.

‘Not strong enough!’

‘Are we still talking about Dr Lloyd Rees?’

‘No! I’m talking about Cartimandua!’ Hugh’s eyes were closed now, his mouth set in a grim line.

Meryn frowned, his senses alert. It wasn’t Cartimandua who had started a war, it was the man whose essence was prowling through the room, the man whose anger and impatience was resonating in the shadows, whose voice had used Hugh’s larynx, the man whom Hugh did not appear, as yet, to have seen.

‘What do you think Dr Lloyd Rees took from you, Hugh?’ he asked quietly.

‘A brooch. Technically a gold fibula.’ After a moment’s hesitation Hugh’s voice was his own again. The shadowy figure had gone.

Meryn nodded gravely. He relaxed. ‘And why did she take it, do you know? Presumably she is not by nature a thief.’

‘She wants it to show on a TV programme. Part of the publicity for her book.’

‘So she hasn’t stolen it? She intends to give it back?’

Hugh shrugged. ‘As far as I know.’

‘And did she not ask if she could borrow it?’

Hugh nodded. ‘I said no.’

‘Why?’

‘Because –’ Hugh shook his head from side to side vehemently. ‘Because I didn’t want her to have it, Meryn!’ He hesitated again. ‘Don’t ask me why. I was feeling uncooperative, perhaps. Or grouchy, as you so charmingly put it. Or just angry with her. But she shouldn’t have taken it.’

‘If indeed she has.’

‘If indeed she has.’ Hugh sighed. ‘I lent it to Hamish Macleod.’ He paused. ‘He couldn’t bring himself to touch it. He told me he left it in the box. He wouldn’t let anyone else touch it either.’ He looked up and met Meryn’s steady gaze. ‘There is something about the brooch which is odd.’

‘What about you? Have you touched it, Hugh?’

Hugh nodded.

‘What happened?’ Meryn was looking thoughtful.

‘Nothing happened. At least –’ Hugh shrugged. ‘It felt strange. Powerful. I assumed that was because I knew how old and rare it was. But …’

‘But?’ Meryn prompted after a minute or two.

Hugh shook his head. ‘Artefacts like that have a powerful effect on the imagination.’ He couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word evil. His father had felt it. Perhaps so had Wheeler. He had always wondered why the latter had given up the brooch so easily. Maybe this irrational fear was experienced by anyone who came near it. That would explain everything.

Meryn was nodding sagely. ‘So, what did you imagine, my friend?’ There was a slight twinkle in his eye.

‘That the brooch would give me an unpleasant insight into the head of the man to whom it had belonged.’

‘Who was?’

‘Venutios, King of the Brigantes.’

‘And you don’t want Dr Lloyd Rees to share your insight?’