The Warrior’s Princess. Barbara Erskine

seemed an age before she dared to move. Beyond the trees the sky was flooding with a colour wash of crimson and scarlet shot with green, silhouetting the distant hills. Cautiously she moved forward through the trees towards the house again, her eyes straining into the shadows until with a gasp of fear she saw his car below her, looming out of the darkness of the lane. She was far too close, coming out above the lane, much nearer to the house than she had expected and Dan was obviously still there. Somewhere. Her hope that he might have given up and driven away was a vain one. As silently as she could she melted back into the shelter of the trees and found her way back to the track. What now? There was only one option. To try and find her way across the fields to the Prices and pray that Rhodri was still there.

      She glanced up at the sky between the branches of the trees. There was still a glimmer of light in the north west but down here amongst the trees it was growing pitch black as the sun slid behind the rim of the hill leaving nothing but a red glow on the highest branches of the summit trees. She glanced behind her. Was Dan following her or had he gone back into the house to wait for her? She didn’t have the courage to retrace her steps to try and find out.

      All day she had kept the idea of Rhodri, with his broad shoulders and his deep strong voice in her mind, hoping against hope that just by conjuring him in her imagination she could bring him physically back to Ty Bran. It hadn’t happened, but he would protect her if she asked. Just by being there he would protect her from the madman in her house.

      With a shiver she knew she dared not wait any longer. Carefully she began her descent of the steep escarpment, sliding through the soft leaf mould, clinging to the branches, feeling her way between tree trunks rough with lichen, protecting her eyes with the crook of her arm against sharp twigs and whipping saplings.

      At last she reached the fence that bordered the wood. She felt along the barbed wire cautiously looking for the wooden footrail of the stile and finding it at last, climbed over, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. The clouds had rolled back and the night was bright with stars. On the horizon there was still a bright green line of reflected light, the last trace of the dying sun. Far behind her a pheasant launched itself suddenly out of the treetops with a deafening squawk of alarm. She held her breath. Something up there in the wood had scared it. She listened, her fingers still clutching the top rail of the stile.

       Togo? We’ve stopped playing now. Where are you?

      The voice echoed softly through the trees, barely a breath in the wind.

      The moss under Jess’s fingers was damp. She could feel the moist warm velvet oozing under her nails. For a moment she clung tightly to the rail, paralysed with fear, then with a deep breath to strengthen her resolve she released it and set off across the field. It was rough under her feet, strewn with stones, uneven tussocks of grass and mudslips with here and there a patch of rushes catching at her ankles as she slid down into deeper puddles.

      She felt horribly exposed as she crossed the field, but at least she could see in the starlight. As she reached the far side she found herself once again in the dark under the branches of a stand of ash trees as she made her way cautiously towards the gate.

      She didn’t know how long it was before she finally found her way to Cwm-nant. Almost weeping with exhaustion, she pushed open the heavy gate and let herself into the farmyard. The farm was in darkness. As she hammered on the back door she realised suddenly that the dogs were not there. Nor was Rhodri’s car.

      ‘Oh no!’ She knocked again, beating on the door panels with her fists. ‘Please, please be here!’

      She already knew he wasn’t. She was too late. He had gone. Too tired to do anything else she sank down into a huddle there in the porch, with tears of despair and exhaustion rolling down her cheeks.

      Eventually she pulled herself together enough to climb to her feet and circle the house checking for open doors or windows. Rhodri had done a good job locking up and the dogs had gone. Feeling her way through the darkness into an outbuilding on the far side of the farmyard, she found some old sacks in which she could huddle as exhaustion finally overcame her. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that at least here Dan would not find her.

       8

      In Rome the morning was bright and already very hot. Steph stood for a moment at her open window, staring down at the street below, then with a sigh she reached out and closed the shutters against the heat. Still wearing her white cotton nightdress she padded barefoot down the corridor. ‘I’ve tried to phone again. The line is still dead.’ She found Kim in the kitchen. ‘I’m going to phone the police.’

      ‘I still think that is over-reacting. Call one of your neighbours. They won’t mind now it’s daytime, surely.’ Kim poured a second cup of coffee for herself and then as an afterthought one for Steph as well. She pushed her tousled hair back off her face. ‘You’re fussing too much, Steph. She’s a grown woman, for God’s sake!’

      Reaching wearily for the coffee, Steph sat down at the table opposite her. ‘I know. And she’ll be furious. It’s just – I’ve got this feeling. And after last night –’

      ‘Did you call the Prices?’

      Steph nodded. ‘No reply. Which is weird. How can a farm be empty? There has to be someone there for the animals.’

      ‘Don’t you know anyone else round there, Steph?’

      Steph laughed. ‘Of course.’

      ‘Then ring them. Then you can relax.’

      It was an hour and a half later that Sally Lomax rang Steph back from her car outside Ty Bran. ‘Just to let you know that all is well. I have just talked to a nice chap who said he was called Will who is staying here with Jess. They know the phone is out of order and it has been reported. I didn’t see Jess myself, but her car is here and he said he would get her to ring you this evening. Hope that puts your mind at rest.’

      ‘There!’ Kim grinned at Steph triumphantly when the message was relayed back to her. ‘What did I tell you? And she’s back with Will! That is fantastic news!’

      * * *

      Asleep in the outhouse Jess moved uncomfortably on her makeshift bed of sacks. Her eyes were flicking back and forth under her eyelids. They were leaving the lost and frightened children behind. This couldn’t be. They had to look again.

      But once the decision had been made there was no delay. A wagon was provided for Cerys and her daughter with an escort of fifty men. Many of the captives from the battle had already left on their way east; the remainder were being marshalled in chains to follow them, defeated, wounded, some half dead from illness and near starvation. Scapula watched as the woman and child were brought out of their tent and steered towards the vehicle. Cerys walked with stately dignity. Only her fists, clutched into the folds of the Roman tunic and mantle in which she was dressed betrayed her tension. Drawing opposite her captor she stood still. ‘Promise me you will continue to search for my children.’ Her voice trembled slightly as she held his gaze.

      He nodded. ‘We will continue to search.’ They both knew he was staying to consolidate his victory and take the battle deeper into the mountains. There would be no time to search for children.

      ‘Thank you.’ The single austere phrase was all she said. She turned to the wagon, allowing one of the soldiers to take her arm and help her up the step. Eigon followed her, her face white and tear-stained. ‘Mam, what about Togo and Glads?’ She clung to her mother’s skirt.

      ‘The soldiers will look for them, child.’ Cerys sat down on the bench which ran lengthways down the side of the wagon beneath the leather hood. She put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. ‘We must pray to the goddess to take care of them.’ Her voice faded to a whisper as she fought back her own tears. As the wagon lurched into motion they both looked through the double line of marching men