Daughters of Fire

Slowly, trying to prolong the anticipation, she began to unfold the material, conscious of the heavy flexible weight of the present in her fingers.

It was a golden chain and hanging from it a tiny enamelled golden horse. She gasped with delight. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘My wedding gift. Here, let me put it on.’ He slipped the chain over her head and rearranged her hair carefully on her shoulders. ‘A glossy pony. After your name. I had it made specially by my father’s best goldsmith.’

She could guess which one, the old man who lived near the ironsmith. She had wandered into all the craft houses on the hill. Each one housed a family business. There were more scattered down amongst the farmhouses. Potters, harness makers, woodturners, stone carvers, jewellery makers, weavers, three weapon makers and swordsmiths, but the best, the absolute best, were up there on the top of Dun Pelder near the king.

She glanced up. ‘You are so generous.’ The shyness vanished. She flung her arms around his neck and touched her lips against his.

The impetuous childish gesture hovered for a moment between them, then his arms closed around her. A man’s arms, claiming his woman. The kiss deepened. Her eyes closed as their bodies pressed closer and she felt him pulling aside her tunic as his lips left hers to move down her neck into the nest of her shoulder and then on towards her breasts.

Pausing only a moment to tear off his cloak and throw it onto the ground beneath the trees, he pulled her down with him, and they lay there in one another’s arms, exploring each other’s bodies, touching and kissing throats, breasts, shoulders, until at last he pushed her legs apart with his knee, and then gasped with surprise and delight as with a shout of glee she gripped him with her thighs and pulled him inside her.

For a long time they were oblivious of the world about them. If anyone glanced over the bank into the orchard they smiled tolerantly and moved on. It was the spring. The blood was high. What else would a man and a maid do given half a chance beneath the newly warm sun?

Only one creature saw them and stayed to watch. A hoodie crow in the spiny apple boughs above them swayed in time with the gentle breeze, fixed them with a baleful eye and kept unaccountably silent.

‘Watch out for the bird!’ Viv was struggling to make herself heard. ‘Can’t you see it’s a spy? Oh please, be careful.’

Her own voice in the silent room precipitated her out of her dream and she found herself sitting at her desk, trembling with cold and exhaustion. Carta and Riach were gone. It was 3.30 a.m.

8 (#ulink_88108bab-6bc7-5ae6-ad32-4e35bb97dab7)

I

Arriving early at the department next morning, Hugh glanced in at the office. There was no sign of Heather. The room was silent, the computer off, the coffee machine cold. He frowned in disappointment. His easy banter with her always cheered him up, but of course it was Saturday. He probably had the building to himself. Thoughtfully he climbed the stairs and walked along the narrow, dark corridor with its squeaky floorboards, past the three closed doors with their labels announcing Dr Hamish Macleod, Miss Mhairi Mackenzie and Dr Viv Lloyd Rees. He paused outside Viv’s room and listened. There was no sound from within. Cautiously he reached out and turned the knob. The door was locked. He stood for a moment, lost in thought, then he turned and retraced his steps swiftly down the stairs and into the office. There behind Heather’s impressive cheese plant, which was threatening to take over the entire room, was a small cupboard in which hung duplicates of all the department’s keys. Scooping Viv’s key off its hook, he turned and made his way once more towards the stairs.

Her room was unnaturally tidy, the desk cleared of its usual piles of books and papers, her bookcase neatly ordered, the chairs pushed back against the walls. She had taken most of her files, her boxes of old floppy disks, her CDs, her notepads, her correspondence. There was nothing of her there. The room felt abandoned. Walking over to her desk he sat down in her chair. For a moment he didn’t move, sitting, staring into space, then slowly he leaned forward and began methodically to open the drawers of her desk. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He knew the pin would not be there but somehow he couldn’t stop himself searching. As he scanned the contents, the notepaper and envelopes, the old pens and biros, the notepads, the files of old papers and letters, a couple of unused birthday cards, still in their Cellophane slips, he found himself trying to gain a sense of her presence. A scent. A sound. There was nothing. Giving up abruptly he slammed the drawers shut and walking out of the door, locked it once more behind him. Going straight into his own room he flung himself down at his desk and thumped the surface with his fist.

‘Stupid, silly woman! Why in God’s name did you do it?’

There was no reply.

Pulling the phone towards him he lifted the receiver and punched in a number. ‘Meryn? I’ve looked everywhere. The brooch has gone. I’ve more or less accused her but she pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about! I couldn’t bring myself to press the point. Not to her face. If she has taken it the implications are appalling.’

‘Why not wait and give her the chance to return it after her programme?’ The voice the other end sounded faintly amused. ‘Don’t dwell on it, Hugh.’

‘But the insurance –’

‘I’m sure it won’t come to that. Trust her.’

‘What if she’s touched it? What if it’s cursed?’ He couldn’t believe he had said the words, but that sense of chill, the feeling of evil, seemed to cling still to his fingertips. He shivered.

Meryn didn’t balk at the word. ‘If she’s touched it, Hugh, it’s already too late.’

Hugh was silent for a moment. ‘You said the link with Venutios was real, Meryn.’ He clenched his fist in front of him, asking the question in spite of himself. ‘How do you know?’

There was a pause at the other end of the phone. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Hugh, now would you.’

‘Try me.’ Hugh’s voice was dry.

‘OK.’ There was a further silence. ‘I sensed it strongly when you came here. There was a vibration in your auric field when you talked about it. I sensed him as a watching spirit.’

‘I shouldn’t have asked!’ In his office Hugh glanced heavenwards and shook his head.

‘No.’ A quiet chuckle. ‘But you need to be careful, Hugh. Believe that at least. Don’t talk about the brooch. Don’t think about it. Avoid thinking about Venutios at all if you can.’

‘I’m writing a book about him, Meryn!’

‘Don’t. At least, not for now.’ All the humour had disappeared from Meryn’s voice. ‘Concentrate on other aspects in the book. You told me it’s about the Romans. Think about them for a bit. I’m serious, Hugh. Don’t spare him any thoughts at the moment.’

‘That is ridiculous! You know I can’t do that. He’s central to the whole thing –’ Hugh broke off as a quiet tap sounded at the door. It opened and Steve poked his head around it. ‘I’m sorry, Professor –’

‘Meryn, I have to go. I’ll call you back a bit later.’ Hugh put down the phone and frowned. ‘Yes? What are you doing here?’

‘Could I have a word if you’re not too busy?’ Steve approached the desk. ‘You kindly said you would lend me some of your notes about the northern tribes. I’m planning to go home for a few weeks fairly soon, and it would be great if I could take them with me.’ He eyed the Professor thoughtfully. ‘I gather you’ve started a new book on the subject. I shall look forward to reading it.’

Venutios.

It seemed to Hugh that the name hung in the air between them.

Staring up at the tall young man, casual and relaxed in a striped, open-necked shirt and faded jeans, Hugh gave a tight smile. He felt old just looking at him. No wonder Viv enjoyed his company so much. ‘I wonder where you heard about that. Well, no matter. It will be some time before it’s finished, Steve. I have a great deal of work to do yet but you are welcome to the lecture notes.’ He stood up and walked over to the bookcase, riffling through a box file and extricating a pile of A4 sheets. ‘Return them to me, if you would, when you’ve finished with them. I can let you have some books too if you like, but they are at home. You’ll have to arrange to come and collect them.’

As Steve closed the door Hugh stood where he was, frowning, listening to the sound of the young man’s footsteps as he walked back down the corridor and ran down the stairs.

In the silence that followed Hugh found himself staring round the room. The hair on the back of his neck was prickling suddenly and he was uncomfortably aware of a strange feeling that there was a presence there with him. He scanned the corners carefully. There was no one there. Nothing. Of course there was nothing. Just the echo of Meryn’s voice with his usual brand of silly superstitious mumbo jumbo. For a moment he considered ringing Meryn back. He should have asked him what he meant, why he should avoid thinking about Venutios. He stared down at his hand, the hand that had touched the brooch, and flexed his fingers cautiously, then shrugging his shoulders he walked back to his desk. The whole thing was a blatant nonsense. The only problem was what to do about Viv Lloyd Rees and perhaps for now he would take Meryn’s advice on that one and do absolutely nothing.

II

‘I can’t work on the play today!’ Viv stared at Pat in dismay. The sound of the doorbell at 9.30 a.m. had dragged her out of a deep exhausted sleep. She ran her hands through her hair leaving it standing on end, uncomfortably aware that Pat, in a pale blue blouse and cream trousers looked rested and alert while she herself was wearing nothing but a crumpled shirt, her customary sleeping attire, her legs and feet bare.

‘I could make us some coffee while you jump in the shower,’ Pat said, eyebrow raised. ‘Please, don’t make me go down all those damn stairs again. What on earth made you choose to live in a place like this without a lift?’ She dropped her bag on the floor and pushing past Viv, walked into the living room.

‘I live here because I like it,’ Viv retorted.

‘And it’s fabulous. You’re right,’ Pat said quickly. ‘It’s just the stairs getting to me. I’m too unfit. Put it down to the smoking.’ She changed the subject. ‘I did some more work on the play last night. I can’t wait to show it to you.’

In the shower Viv stood for a long time allowing tepid water to pour over her head and face and down her aching body. The story from the night before was coming back to her. The two young lovers in the orchard under the apple blossom. Carta’s ecstatic passion. The sound of their laughter, the heat of their young bodies. Her eyes closed, she found she was smiling as languidly she sponged her own body beneath the water. Then she remembered the bird sitting high above them. Medb’s messenger; Medb’s spy. Abruptly she opened her eyes and reached out to turn off the tap. How did she know the bird was a spy? Somehow she had to get rid of Pat; go back to Carta’s life. Find out about Medb.

Pat was waiting with a mug of black coffee. Sipping from it, Viv listened to her as she read from the pages on her knee. It was good. Fluent. Well written.

‘This bit,’ Pat said, glancing up, ‘is straight narrative. And I think it should be your voice. You would be good at this –’

‘Pat,’ Viv interrupted. ‘I’m really sorry, but I’m not in the mood.’

‘You have to be, Viv. We have a deadline,’ Pat said firmly. ‘I’m sorry too, but we’ve got to keep at this if we can, to get it done.’

‘No.’ Viv stood up. ‘No, Pat. I can’t. Look, give me some space. We’ll do this tomorrow. I promise.’ She put down the mug. ‘There is something I have to do now. Something important.’