The Dream Weavers Page 33

  He let himself through the gate at the end of the lane and walked out onto the hillside. The sky was overwhelming up here. So close. He stood staring up. He had been reading some of the Welsh legends about the constellations. The Milky Way was called Caer Arianrhod. The castle of the daughter of Dôn. Romantic. Recalling ancient stories, stories probably known by Elisedd and his lover. He found himself wishing that Bea was there with him. Last time they had stood here on this hillside they had had a frosty conversation. He regretted that now. All she had done was try and help him and Emma, and he had reacted with pig-headed obstinacy and refused to engage with her when, he had realised somewhat belatedly, she was genuinely troubled about the visions or dreams or whatever they were that Em was having. He walked on slowly, following the trackway through the grass, gorse bushes clearly visible in the starlight, their flowers luminous, the countryside opening up on either side of the ridge as though it was day.

  He heard the horse coming from far away, its hooves drumming on the dry ground. He wasn’t surprised. On a night like this it would be a joy to be out alone with the night. He stopped and turned round, trying to place the sound. And then he saw it, rider lying low on the animal’s neck as it galloped flat out towards him. He wasn’t sure if the man saw him but he seemed to be coming straight for him. Simon threw himself sideways behind some bushes as the horse passed within feet of him. He smelled the hot sweat, the tang of leather, he saw the rider, his cloak flying, leaning down, he saw the sword catch the starlight as it swung in his direction. The thunder of hooves, the rasping breath of the animal, the rattle of harness and then, as rapidly as it had appeared, it was gone. He climbed to his feet shakily and stared round. There was no sign of the rider. The night was silent again.

  Had that actually happened?

  He rubbed his elbow ruefully. If it hadn’t, what was it? Had it been a ghost? He felt a raft of goose pimples run across his back. Suddenly his midnight walk didn’t seem to be such a good idea any more. He turned back the way he had come as down in the lonely blackness of the woods below the ridge a fox let out an eerie warning bark. Maybe it would be a good thing to go out for the day to Worcester after all.

  33

  Simon waited until Tuesday morning to ring Bea.

  ‘How did your weekend go?’ she asked. ‘Did Emma and Felix enjoy their Easter Egg hunt?’

  ‘There wasn’t one, thank God!’ She heard the smile. ‘Actually it wasn’t too bad. We had a slap-up lunch and the kids seemed to enjoy it. And it was nice seeing Val so relaxed and happy. She is in her own comfort zone in a place like that. Big house. Lovely kitchen. Lovely city.’

  ‘Good.’ She ignored the wistful note in his voice. ‘And has everything calmed down now with Emma?’

  ‘She wants to see you. I said I would arrange something in the next couple of days. With Easter having been so late this year, they go back to school all too soon – from their point of view anyway.’ There was a pause. ‘I’d like a chat with you first. She heard the caution in his voice. ‘Can we arrange to meet somewhere without her? What about lunch at that pub near Leominster? The kids are sitting down to their books today. Val put the fear of God into them about revision and holiday work.’

  He was waiting for her outside the pub. After she parked her car on the village green and locked it, she stood still watching him. He was looking distracted, a faraway expression on his face.

  ‘Penny for them!’

  He jumped. ‘I didn’t hear you. Shall we sit outside?’

  He went in to buy them drinks and came back with two shandies and a menu. ‘I wanted to tell you in private, without Emma hearing, about something that happened to me.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Yes. I think I owe you an apology.’

  She listened to his account of the wild rider without comment, sipping slowly from her glass, her gaze fixed on his face. His expression was transparent as he explained what had happened and then went into more and more detail. The harness; the sword; the smell of horse; the heat coming from it in the cold of the night air.

  ‘And the man in the saddle,’ she said at last. ‘Did you see his face?’

  ‘Not really. It was dark. Wild and dark-haired Celt I would say, rather than helmeted and Saxon blond.’ He grinned.

  She had never told him about her own encounter with the horseman.

  ‘It was Elisedd,’ she said. ‘I’m pretty sure of it. I saw him as well.’

  She saw his face blanch. He drew his finger through the condensation running down the outside of his glass without seeming to see it, then at last he looked up. ‘As it happens, I was researching Elisedd just before this happened. Trying to find out if he existed. Really existed. As a historical figure.’

  ‘I did that too. I couldn’t find him. Did you?’

  He saw the sudden twitch of her lips as she suppressed a smile. He shook his head. ‘I haven’t found him as such, but it was obviously a family name. The kings of Powys supposedly traced their pedigree back several hundred years. Handily, it was all carved on a pillar near Llangollen. If he was a younger son, he wouldn’t have necessarily been mentioned in any records.’

  ‘Or on a pillar.’

  ‘A pillar dedicated to his namesake, who was probably his great grandfather.’

  It was her turn to grin. ‘Perhaps he wanted to prove his existence to you.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But you think he attacked you.’

  ‘He was brandishing a sword. But to be fair, he rode straight past me. Perhaps he didn’t know I was there. Perhaps I wasn’t, in his world. If I had to choose, for preference I would opt for your theory that he was only an echo.’ He sighed. ‘It isn’t just Em who needs your help, is it?’ He stood up wearily, gathered up the menus and went in to order their food, leaving Bea lost in thought.

  Their plates were delivered to the table as he talked on about his research into the royal family of Powys, about the shadowy details of early Welsh history that had opened up to him, about how the experience had suddenly altered his point of view of the history he was exploring. ‘I have never been in any doubt that Offa was a violent, unprincipled man, but he was a man of his time. I considered his politics and his military strategy, but beyond exploring his daughters’ marriages as part of his master plan, I had not really gone deeply into the human side of his machinations. They don’t really have much place in a history book – there’s too much speculation involved. But now, I’m not sure my approach is the right one.’

  She pushed the remains of her salad aside and picking up her glass, turned on her seat to face away from him across the village green. He went on eating, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘You know I told you I thought I was dreaming Eadburh’s story,’ she said at last. ‘Elisedd is the missing segment. And this is the bit you can’t put in your book, you’re right. What if they are still searching for one another?’

  He pushed his plate aside and leaned forward, his chin supported on his cupped hands. ‘Go on.’

  ‘That’s it. That is my theory. He went home without his promised bride – if indeed she ever had been promised, which I doubt – and he died on his way home, either by accident or he was murdered. She was sent, much against her will, to Wessex to marry another. When Beorhtric died, at her hand, either deliberately or not, she seems to have been exiled to the court of Charlemagne.’

  ‘That bit is true and it will be in my book. There isn’t much in history about her fate but Bishop Asser, who wrote a biography of King Alfred in 893, that’s about a hundred years after Offa’s death, tells us what happened to her, or what he had heard happened to her. He was very biased, as you can imagine. He thought she was a thoroughly bad lot.’

  She gave a wry smile. ‘He wasn’t entirely wrong. She did poison her husband.’

  ‘Even Asser says that was a mistake. Which makes sense. To be a queen was about as good as it gets.’

  ‘Until your husband dies.’

  ‘So
you wouldn’t kill him, would you?’ He thought for a moment. ‘You said you were following her story. How far have you got?’

  ‘After Beorhtric died she seems to have been deported. Sent to France. In my dream I saw her almost literally loaded into a sedan chair type thing after she was separated from her little girl, and sent on her way. But they didn’t send her penniless. She had a huge train of ox-carts which I gathered were full of treasure. Her dowry, I think it was said, which she was allowed to take with her.’

  ‘Who sent her? You said “they” sent her.’

  ‘A chap called Wigfrith. One of Beorhtric’s senior advisers, I assume. And his henchmen. They didn’t use force, but I got the feeling that they would have if she had protested.’

  ‘Wigfrith?’ Simon murmured. He groped in his pocket for a notebook. ‘My God, Bea! Then what?’

  ‘She left Nesta, that was the herb-wife who had given her the poison for her husband’s lover, to carry the can. But Nesta was too quick for them and vanished into the forest. The next bit was a bit blurry – I had sensations of travel by land and then by sea; I think she was seasick because she felt ill and I saw huge rollers going past the ship. It was rowed by dozens of men, the ship didn’t seem to have had a sail, then they landed on a beach near a fishing village and reloaded her treasure on to new carts and then the story jumped to the palace of Charlemagne. A much larger palace than Offa’s at Sutton, but the same sort of thing. Great halls with carved beams, decorated with swirls and figures and dragons and crowds of people – the same cooking smells from the bakehouse and kitchens, and smoke from huge open fires, but these buildings were joined by covered passages rather than open walkways, so it was much more like one great building.’

  ‘And Charlemagne?’ Simon whispered.

  ‘And Charlemagne. He beckoned her over to sit with him and he knew exactly what had happened. She didn’t think he would and was ready to lie about why she was there, but obviously the news had got there before she arrived. I should imagine he had a pretty efficient spy network. He mentioned the death of her husband.’

  ‘What did he look like?’ Simon had leant forward towards her. He was holding his breath.

  ‘He was a large man, tall, but big in every way, with huge muscular arms and a thick neck, and he was wearing a coronet I suppose you would call it. A breastplate type thing with a heavy cloak trimmed with white fur. He had faded reddish hair – he wasn’t a young man by any means – and was dripping with jewels. Rings on every finger. He spoke, they all speak – English – my English. At least, I understood everything they said. His voice was loud and confident and his eyes were blue and he was prepared to play with her a bit – tease her. But there was no question of his power. The hall was full of armed men. There were women there too, but mainly men.’

  Simon was staring at her, speechless.

  ‘Does that sound like him?’ she prompted.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said at last, ‘but there are descriptions I can check. I do know he was the most powerful man in the western world at the time. He had an empire that included most of modern France and Germany and Holland and parts of Italy, but it all fell apart eventually after his death and no one managed to even try to replicate his power till centuries later.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what happens in my story. Not yet.’

  ‘I’m not sure anyone knows what happened to Eadburh, apart from what Asser tells us, which was that at some point she disappears from history.’ He sat back in his chair and stared at her. ‘I can’t believe I’m even listening to this, but after my experience with Elisedd, if it was Elisedd, I don’t know what to think any more.’

  ‘Don’t put it in your book as gospel.’

  ‘No. I won’t,’ he said with fervour. He sighed. ‘How does Em fit into all this?’

  Bea hesitated. ‘I have my theories, but they don’t necessarily fit into my experiences. I’m not sure exactly what it is that she has picked up, and I don’t want to commit myself until we have done some more work together. I only hope she will allow me some time before she has to go back to school.’ She paused. ‘Has this ever happened at home, Simon? Does her mother know about these moments when she is distracted, or perhaps abstracted is a better word, somewhere else in her thoughts?’

  ‘Don’t all children do that to some extent?’

  ‘Yes, but this would have been different, different enough for her to notice and have some concerns.’

  ‘Val’s never said anything to me. I think she would have told me if anything like this has happened in front of her. I …’ he grimaced, ‘I haven’t mentioned any of this to her. Emma has begged me not to, and I think she’s right. Val is not …’ he hesitated again, ‘not a particularly sensitive type. She is down to earth. A realist, like me. The trouble is, she even finds my fascination with history difficult to cope with.’ He stopped abruptly.

  ‘That must be very hard,’ Bea said gently.

  ‘Indeed. Most of the time we’re fine. We cope. As you know, I do a lot of my writing in private places.’

  ‘Where you can feel the spirit of the place,’ she said with a smile. ‘I remember you using that phrase when we first met.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘A Freudian slip perhaps.’ She laughed. ‘But I do see that you wouldn’t want your wife to hear about Eadburh and Elisedd.’

  ‘Completely off limits. Both the kids are well aware of their mother’s trigger points and are circumspect with all the wisdom children have about these matters.’ He hesitated. ‘Val and I have a complex relationship, Bea. We need to be apart, but we need each other too.’ He looked away as though considering what he had just said.

  Bea nodded slowly, then tactfully changed the subject. ‘Will you ask Em to ring me? I would like at least one more session with her before she goes home.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And Simon, if you need help, let me know. I’m not convinced we are done with the royal family of Mercia yet.’

  He nodded. ‘I ought to go. I’m not super convinced they will stick to the revision plan if I’m not there. Felix doesn’t seem to think he needs to revise at all, and only time will tell, but for Em the stress of these wretched A levels is not helping with this one bit, though she’s bright enough. She should walk it, but this extra distraction worries me.’

  ‘I’m sure she will cope.’ Bea reached into her bag for her car keys. ‘I’ll come to you if Emma allows. I want to walk out onto the hill with her. Elisedd has appeared to us both up there. Let’s see what happens. No,’ she interrupted his objection before he voiced it, ‘I won’t let it upset her, I promise. If he should appear, I will know what to do.’

  She didn’t wait to say goodbye, heading for her car before he had even scrambled to his feet. He sat still, watching her pull out of her parking space and turn her car round. In a few seconds she had gone.

  Thoughtfully he headed back into the pub and reappeared a few minutes later with a second glass of shandy. Then he pulled out his notebook again. He needed to get back to the kids, that was true, but first he had a lot of details to write down before he forgot them, and names to check. The kids would be all right on their own for a while yet. In fact, perhaps the longer he was away the better. They might actually get some work done.

  34

  ‘Dad’s been altering his book.’ Felix sat back and pointed at the screen. ‘Take a look. See. He’s using the review tools so one can see what he’s changed.’

  Emma peered over his shoulder. ‘All this red bit?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He folded his arms. ‘He’s added in a bit about the kings of Powys. Quite a big bit.’

  There was silence as she read, leaned forward to scroll down, then read on. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Quite. Wow. Do you think this stuff is kosher? I mean, it’s quite a different style to the rest of his book.’

  Finishing her scrutiny of the extract, she stood back. ‘Some of that sounds a bit like guesswork. Maybe that’s why it’s in red. He’s got to c
heck it.’

  ‘What do you make of this place, Em? Really.’ Felix stood up and closed the laptop. They trailed into the kitchen. Felix opened the door of the fridge and brought out two cans of cider. ‘You really are experiencing all this stuff? You’re not making it up to get out of the exams or anything?’

  ‘Get out of the exams?’ she echoed. ‘Hardly. They’re important.’

  ‘How does it feel when you do it?’

  ‘It?’

  ‘Well, what do you call it? Time travel.’

  ‘I don’t feel anything. I’m just there.’

  ‘And you were a queen?’

  For a moment she looked uncomfortable, then she grinned. ‘What else, bro? I would hardly be a serf, would I!’ Her grin faded. ‘It was a bit scary, actually. I wasn’t her and I wasn’t me, but I was there and I felt lost. Trapped. I was looking out through her eyes so I must have been her. Mustn’t I?’

  He didn’t reply immediately, thinking it through. ‘What does Bea say?’

  ‘She gave me all these exercises to practise being safe.’

  ‘And have you done them?’

  It was her turn to remain silent.

  ‘Oh, Em!’ He stood up and shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, standing in front of the window much as his father did at home when he was about to deliver a lecture. ‘What is the point of her taking all this trouble if you don’t do it?’