The Warrior’s Princess. Barbara Erskine

lines of Roman tents behind their fortifications slowly growing smaller as they lurched down the track. They were following the winding line of the great river towards the legionary fortress of Viroconium from where they were to start their journey east towards Camulodunum.

      At Viroconium they were lodged in the house of the wife of one of the senior officers. She was kind and treated them with dignity. They were served with carefully prepared food at the family’s table, but neither Cerys nor her daughter ate much, both locked in their own misery. It was the same wherever they stopped. At each day’s end the procession halted at one of the forts, scattered a day’s ride apart along the road, and at each one they were given hot food and beds. Several times the escort acceded to Cerys’s demands that they be allowed to ride. Abandoning the imprisonment of the wagon with little regret they made better time, the legionaries watching the straight backs and easy riding style of the captive queen and her daughter with grudging approval. Even surrounded by the guards of her enemy with a lead rein from her horse’s bit to the hand of a trooper Cerys felt better. At first she felt her spirits lift at the exercise but as the distance grew between them and the lands of the Silures and their northern neighbours the Ordovices she spoke to Eigon less and less, her heart torn with anguish for her two lost children. Eigon watched her miserably, huddling deeper and deeper into her cloak, her own guilt and loneliness growing greater with each step of her shaggy pony.

      The countryside changed. Leaving the mountains of Wales faraway in the west they followed a route which became flatter with every day’s journey. Eventually even the lower hills were gone and they plodded on across the flat midland plain through endless forests, areas of scrub, areas of burned cleared woodland, past small reclaimed areas of cultivated land, and larger fields, past small villages where the occupants cowered at the sight of the Roman soldiers and shook their fists at their backs as they rode by, always, endlessly heading towards the rising sun.

      At Verulamium the party stopped for two days.

      It was there, watching other children playing, that Eigon heard Glads’s voice calling her.

      Where are you? You told us to stay in the wood. Eigon? I can’t find Togo. Can we stop playing now. I’m lonely!

      The voice was hysterical, broken with sobs, echoing across the broad streets, threading over the sound of other children’s laughter.

      ‘Mam!’ Eigon pulled at her mother’s hand. ‘I can hear Glads calling.’

      Cerys looked down at her and her eyes were like flint. ‘Don’t mention your sister’s name!’

      ‘But Mam! Please! She’s calling. She’s lost and frightened!’

      Cerys pulled her hand away sharply. ‘You’re lying!’ She turned away to hide her tears. ‘Don’t think about them. They’ve gone.’

      ‘But Mam, Glads is still there. She is waiting for us. She’s lost Togo.’

      Cerys let out a wail of anguish and violently pushed Eigon away. The child didn’t try and tell her any more about what she had heard. Instead, quietly in her bed at night, she prayed, pouring out her heart to the goddess Bride, begging her to look after her brother and sister.

      The goddess did not reply.

      When Jess woke it was full daylight and she was so stiff she could hardly move. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, then wearily she sat up and peered round, her dream receding, memories of the events of the day before flooding back. Hungry, thirsty and frightened she climbed to her feet and tiptoed to the door. The yard was deserted.

      A second circuit of the farmhouse and its outbuildings confirmed the fact that the place was empty. Driven by hunger, she opened one of the old freezers which sat in a shed behind the barn and was confronted by a frozen mountain of various cuts of lamb. With a shudder she closed it. Megan’s kitchen garden was much more help. Late raspberries and strawberries, blackcurrants, peas and a carrot or two brushed free of mud, restored her strength and confidence and by the time she had eaten her fill she had worked out a plan. She would go home, retracing her steps until she could look down at Ty Bran from the woods on the hillside above. If Dan was still there she would bypass the house, make her way down towards the road and the distant village.

      Perched on the hillside above the house she had a good view of the courtyard and the lane outside the house. There was no sign of Dan’s car. Cautiously she made her way down towards the gate and paused, scanning every corner of the yard, every tree and bush, every angle of the house. The place felt empty. The lean-to garage was empty. Her own car still stood uselessly in the middle of the courtyard. There was nowhere else his car could be. No space round the back; no hidden places up on the track. He had gone. She was sure of it. The blackbird was on his favourite perch on the roof of the studio. She smiled. If anyone had been here in the last few minutes the bird would have flown away, surely. As quietly as possible she pushed open the gate and tiptoed around the courtyard. The front door was closed. Silently, flattened against the wall, she edged towards the kitchen window and after a moment’s hesitation, peered in. The room was empty. Ducking under the window she made her way round the side of the house. To her surprise the back door was ajar. She shrank back, frightened, and waited, holding her breath. Was he still there after all? It was a long time before she crept forward again and cautiously pushed the door open as far as it would go. There was no sound from inside. It took a lot of courage to go in; more to search the house. He had gone. There was no sign of him anywhere save the broken window in the dining room where he had forced his way in.

      Her heart thudding with fear she stood in the kitchen again, trying to decide what to do. She couldn’t stay here now. She was too much of a threat to him. She frowned. Where had he gone? Why had he left? Had Nat phoned him and demanded he go back? Perhaps his alibi had run out. She gave a grim smile at the thought, but she wasn’t going to stay and wait for him to come back. He must realise she would tell someone about his threats. Or was he going to bluff it out; tell the world she was deluded. After all, he was right, there was no proof of what had happened, either yesterday or back in London. No proof at all. She had told no one. There was no evidence, she had seen to that. Miserably she paced up and down the floor, aware in some part of her that the blackbird was still singing outside from the studio roof, his reassurance her only comfort.

       Where are you?

      The words floated through the window suddenly, a child’s voice from far away.

      Jess shivered.

       Where are you? Don’t leave me!

      ‘Oh God! I can’t stand this any more!’ Her mind made up, Jess turned towards the door.

      Her handbag, the bag that Dan had presumably rifled through, was sitting on the kitchen table. She glanced through it. Her mobile was in there. He had put it back in the bag. And her passport, tucked into a side pocket. He had moved nothing. She found the name of a builder on Steph’s list of emergency phone numbers and picked up the phone to get him to come and fix the window. The phone was still dead. Her mobile battery was still flat. Dan had unplugged it from the charger. Swearing, she tore off the piece of paper and put it in her pocket. She glanced round the house one last time to make sure she had forgotten nothing, as an afterthought scooped up Rhodri’s CDs and tucked them into her bag, then she went outside, banging the door behind her. Unlocking the car she pulled one of her cases towards her. She needed a few things. She would put them in a carrier and lug them down to the village where she would find someone who would let her borrow their phone. It hardly seemed worthwhile to try to start the car again but she did it anyway.

      It started first go. With a sob of hope she slammed the door and began to ease the car out of the yard. Pulling out onto the track she put her foot down and headed downhill. If Dan was still lurking in the lane and about to accost her as she drove past she intended to be travelling so fast he couldn’t catch her. The car bucked and groaned as it lurched through the potholes but the engine seemed fine. She glanced in the mirror back towards the trees. The sun was glinting on the puddles, slanting through the branches throwing a network of shadows across the deep ruts.

      ‘Goodbye, Eigon, Glads, Togo,’ she whispered.