The Dream Weavers Read online

  She would stay for evensong, then she would go home. Perhaps God would speak to her during the service. Reassure her. Tell her how she could make it all better.

  Eadburh was exhausted but with gritted teeth she walked on in the young man’s shadow. He strode ahead with an easy confident stride, glancing round every now and then to make sure she was still behind him. ‘We’ll be there before dusk.’ He gazed up at the sun, westering now into the mist. Soon it would have disappeared behind those high dark hills.

  ‘Not much further.’ They had turned into a steep valley following the gentle course of a winding river, treading the damp meadowland. ‘The shrine is up ahead,’ he confirmed at last. ‘Do you see the hares in the field over there? It’s as if they know they’re safe here. The sisters allow no coursing dogs in this valley. It is a sanctuary for the creatures.’ He cast a worried look at Ava, who had stopped at Eadburh’s heels. The dog showed no sign of wanting to chase anything.

  Eadburh stopped, leaning on her staff, and gazed round. She had loved hunting in her youth and had watched the death of so many animals with equanimity, but here she could accept the peace and tranquillity of the sacred space and feel it wrap around her and she felt strangely certain that Ava understood and felt the same.

  She said nothing as their guide moved on, his calm demeanour seeming to transmit itself to the creatures who watched them from the gently swaying grasses, their enormous eyes fixed on the visitors without fear.

  They were welcomed by the small community of nuns who cared for the shrine and shown to the guest house. Now she was so close to finding him, Eadburh was reluctant to ask for Elisedd. It would only confirm what she already knew, deep inside herself. There was no point. He wasn’t here. It had all been in vain.

  It was late evening when at last they went into the shrine and Eadburh knelt before the statue of the saint. She had no money to give and could only present a posy of flowers to leave at the feet of the statue and light a candle to carry her prayers to heaven.

  Later, as she sat in the abbess’s presence, she found herself unable to ask the question she had been nurturing in her heart for so many years and she sat without words. It was the abbess who broached the subject. ‘Your companion told me you seek Tywysog Elisedd ap Cadell, my dear,’ she said. Her voice was gentle and spoke of long acceptance of her role. ‘I fear I have sad news. He died of a fever soon after he came to us, surrendering his soul to God with gratitude and acceptance. I spoke to him before he died and heard his confession and the message that he left for you, should you have survived your own trials and find your way here one day.’ She gave a serene smile. ‘He said if you came, he would know it, even in Heaven, and he would bless you with all his might and with all his love and when eventually you join him in paradise he will be waiting to guide you as he promised into the gentle mountains where the snow-white hares of winter roam.’

  Eadburh couldn’t speak. For a long time she sat without moving then at last she stood up. ‘Can I see his grave?’

  The abbess nodded. ‘Of course. It isn’t here at the shrine. He died as a hermit up in the mountains he loved and asked to be buried there. I will send one of the sisters to show you where he lies.’ She stood up and came over to put her arms around Eadburh’s shoulders. ‘I know this is not what you hoped, my dear, but comfort yourself with the thought that few people have been loved so much and so consistently. Whatever you do now, you keep him there in your heart forever.’

  Elisedd was buried on a plateau high above the river valley. Leaving Ava with Theo in the guest house, Eadburh followed a young sister up the hillside. There was no stone on his grave, no wooden cross. No one would ever know where the Prince of Powys lay, save the sisters of the shrine and now the woman he had loved and lost. The nun who had guided her here crept away, leaving her alone to mourn him in privacy as she threw herself down on her knees beside his resting place. When at last she stood up it was to look out across the immense distances towards the setting sun and let out a cry of despair.

  ‘Elise!’

  Simon opened the door and tiptoed into the church. It was long and narrow, the roof heavily beamed, and at once he saw the hares everywhere, small tokens and models and sculptures. At first he couldn’t see Emma, then he realised she was up beside the shrine itself, beyond the altar. Reconstructed from broken fragments that had been scattered at the Reformation, this little place of sanctity was the most peaceful, sacred space he had ever been in. The church was empty except for the two of them. Quietly he walked up the aisle to where Emma was kneeling. She had lit a candle.

  ‘Did she find him?’ Simon asked quietly.

  ‘No. She was too late.’

  ‘Is that why she still calls for him?’

  Emma nodded. ‘She was never reconciled to his loss.’

  He sat down on one of the seats nearby. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘I don’t know. What was there left for her? Perhaps she stayed here and died near him. Perhaps they buried her with him.’

  ‘That would be a lovely ending to such a sad story.’

  Emma stood up and came to sit beside him. ‘But then, if she had done that, she would have found him, wouldn’t she. She would have joined him in paradise.’

  ‘Perhaps she wasn’t allowed? She was a cold-blooded murderer, after all.’ He could have bitten his tongue. If he could have taken back the words he would have done so, but it was too late. He glanced at her sideways and to his surprise saw she was nodding. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Just because that’s a neat romantic ending we would all love so much, it doesn’t make it right, does it. I suppose she is at best in purgatory. Did the Anglo-Saxons believe in purgatory?’

  ‘I’m not sure I know. I suppose so. They were good Christians by this time.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should light a candle for her too, Dad. Every candle must help her journey onwards towards the light.’

  Simon didn’t argue. He stood up and reached up to the basket on the windowsill for a tea light and a lighter. He touched the flame to the wick and bowed his head. ‘God bless you, Eadburh,’ he whispered, ‘and may you rest in peace.’

  They bought a guidebook and some postcards and Simon found her a little statue of a hare, leaving the money in the box provided, and then at last, reluctantly, they wandered outside. ‘It’s a long drive back to the cottage,’ he said as they climbed back into the car. ‘We’ll find somewhere nice for supper and then you can sleep on the way.’

  He gave her a quick look as she was fastening her seat belt. She was thoughtful. As he reached forward to start the engine he wondered if she was thinking, as he was, that this was not the end of the story. Eadburh was not at rest.

  49

  Bea was looking out of the window. Across the grass of the Close the cathedral was a huge black silhouette crouching against the clear dawn sky. At this hour there were no people about. She had crept out of bed without waking Mark and headed down to the kitchen. Only then did she check her phone. There was a text from Simon: Emma safe. We are back at the cottage. Will phone you tomorrow.

  The text had been sent just before midnight.

  ‘Thank God,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you, Nesta.’

  She had watched Eadburh, her Eadburh, weary from her long walk across the empire of Charlemagne and then on across the kingdoms of England and across Offa’s Dyke into Powys, standing at last on the hillside high above the little stone church, heard her cry of distress echo down the centuries, seen Nesta, leaning on a tall staff, her hair blowing in the wind, standing behind her. She had watched as Eadburh stood up, her eyes blind with tears, and reached out to the woman. Briefly they stood there together, hands clasped, then Nesta had left her and walked alone up the mountainside and across the moorland, her skirts dragging in the heather. There was another younger, more naïve Eadburh there now, the version of Eadburh from the woman’s own dreams, Emma, lost there in the twenty-first century in the darkness of the mountains, who was, without knowing it, looking to
wards the distant grave.

  Nesta approached the girl and put her arm around her shoulders and Bea, watching from unimaginable distances, saw the woman press something into the girl’s hand. From the safety of the future she saw the wolves prowling the high moors, knew there were wild boar in the remote forests on the steep hillsides, saw a herd of wild cattle plodding slowly along the shadowy valley floor. None of them came near the girl. Only a lone hare stood up amongst the tall grasses and watched over her with huge unblinking eyes.

  ‘Bea?’ Mark’s voice made her jump. ‘You were up early.’

  She smiled. ‘I was thinking.’

  ‘Any news of Emma?’

  ‘Simon texted me. She’s safe. He’s taken her back to the cottage.’

  Mark came to stand beside her. ‘Thank God for thati’ he said fervently. He stood silently for a while beside her, looking out into the garden. ‘I wonder what they’ll do,’ he said at last. ‘Will she go back to finish her exams, d’you think?’

  ‘He said he would phone me later.’

  ‘Good … I’m off to morning service. I’ll be back for breakfast.’ He bent to drop a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I’m so glad he found her.’

  She turned to him with a smile. ‘Scrambled eggs for brekkie?’

  He laughed. ‘That would be perfect.’

  When he came back later, he had news. ‘Sandra was at the service. You are not going to believe this. She admitted that she had dabbled in the occult, but she knew now it wasn’t real. She confessed, more or less, there and then, that she realised it had all been her imagination. So, she has decided to go on a pilgrimage. She said it would give her a chance to rethink her life and to make up for the awful things she might have done.’

  Bea had been stirring the eggs. She spooned the mixture onto their plates and put toast and coffee on the table before she sat down opposite him. ‘You have got to be joking!’

  ‘No. She cornered me and I was all set to give her a not-too-gentle ticking off when she burst into tears and begged my forgiveness. What else could I do? It was then she blurted out her news.’

  ‘So, where is she going on this pilgrimage?’

  ‘The Camino.’

  ‘She stared at him. ‘In Spain?’ She was incredulous.

  He nodded. ‘She came to evensong last night, apparently, and had some kind of revelation. She said she thought about it all night and then looked it all up on the internet. She’s going to fly out to France and join a group there, and do the whole thing, over the Pyrenees, along northern Spain, and walk the whole way, with the last bit to St Iago de Compostela barefoot.’

  Bea sat back in her chair. Words had failed her.

  ‘I told her I thought she was being extremely brave and that it would be a wonderful thing to do.’ He grinned as he picked up his knife and fork. ‘And do you know, I almost envy her.’

  But it was real. What she did was real. She had real power. And what about what she did to me?

  Bea wanted to say it out loud, but somehow she prevented herself. She had, after all, done the unforgivable and retaliated. She thought guiltily about her little mirror, the instinctive gesture she had barely been conscious of making. Was that retaliation? Or did it count as self-defence?

  ‘So, what happened to make her see the light?’

  Mark gave a rueful smile. ‘Apparently it was a paramedic.’

  Mark drove Bea up to the cottage that afternoon. Emma, white as a sheet, with great dark rings under her eyes, seemed overwhelmed with exhaustion. Bea followed her out into the garden at the back of the cottage while Mark and Simon sat out in front on the terrace.

  ‘It must have been very frightening, all alone on that hillside in the dark.’ Bea went straight to the point.

  Emma nodded. She sat down on the wooden bench under the apple tree, leaving room for Bea beside her, then she groped at the back of her neck to unfasten the gold chain she wore there. ‘Look at this. Dad went and bought me a chain this morning.’

  Bea looked down at the little cross in her outstretched hand. She could feel an ice-cold halo emanating from the gold. ‘That was what Nesta gave you?’

  Emma looked at her, astonished. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I saw her. She was there for you, to keep you safe.’

  Emma swallowed hard. She closed her fist over the little ornament, letting the chain dangle through her fingers. ‘And you were watching over me too.’ She turned towards Bea and clutched her hand tightly. ‘This little cross feels weird. It’s holding me there, close to them.’

  ‘Then why have you kept it on?’

  ‘Because I want to. Because I don’t dare take it off. It’s to protect me, to save me from her.’

  ‘From Eadburh?’

  Emma nodded. ‘She screamed when she knew he was dead.’

  Bea nodded. ‘I heard her, sweetheart.’ No one could forget that level of despair, echoing down the centuries.

  ‘If she knew I had made love to him, she would kill me.’

  Bea looked at her sternly. ‘But you were her, Emma. You were not yourself. You and she were woven into a dream together; it was never a reality. You dreamt her dream and she dreamt yours.’

  ‘And if I dream it again?’

  ‘I don’t think you will.’

  Emma’s gaze was so full of doubt, Bea felt a shiver run down her spine. She reached down and took the cross out of Emma’s hand. She had an eerie feeling she had seen this cross before. In another dream she had seen Elisedd give it to Nesta. She would never know for sure. None of this made sense, but for Emma it was a treasured amulet to keep her safe and that was all that mattered. She kissed it with a silent prayer then reached out to fasten it back round Emma’s neck. ‘Take it off when you want to. Don’t feel trapped by it. Appreciate its blessing.’

  Emma reached up to touch it. ‘I slept in the car on the way home last night, but the moment we were here I felt more and more cold. I slept with it in my hand. It kept me safe. It’s strange though. Out here, in the garden, in the sun, it’s worse.’ She bit her lip. ‘I wanted you to tell me what’s wrong. I’ve never liked it out here at the back. I’ve never been able to sit under this tree. On the terrace it’s fine and the house is fine, but here?’

  Here, where Bea had seen the figure of Eadburh, a shadow under this very tree on that first day she had come up here alone to find out why Simon thought his holiday home was haunted.

  And suddenly she knew why. She looked at Emma, still seated on the bench beside her, and she nodded. ‘But you know why too, Emma. This is your dream. Tell me what is wrong out here. This is an important lesson for you. Close your eyes. Let the story come.’

  ‘You will be here? You won’t let me go?’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  Eadburh left the convent of St Melangell as the winter snows receded, the hares began to lose their white winter coats and the first brush of spring touched the high mountains of Pennant. She kissed the abbess goodbye and with sturdy shoes and staff and a new leather scrip stitched for her by one of the novice nuns she set off for the south. She was alone this time but for her beloved Ava. Theo had returned with the young monk to Meifod before the snows had set in and planned to become a novice there. She needed no one with her as she headed back towards the court of the King of Mercia. She seemed to be guided every step of the way. He was at Sutton, a larger palace by far now, so she had heard, than in her father’s day, with rich stone buildings and verdant fields and it was her plan to demand her right as a Queen of Wessex and Princess of Mercia to a place at his table.

  Perhaps she had always meant to turn off her path and head for the high ridge where she and Elisedd had trysted under the summer skies. Last time she had come here on horseback; this time it was as a penitent on foot. She was very tired as she toiled up the long track and stood at last on the summit of the ridge, gazing down across the hazy distances the way she had come from the heart of the kingdom of Powys. She had met no dragons, but she had seen the shrine of
the hares as he had promised. She stood for a long time watching as the sun moved lower in the sky and settled into a crimson haze. Slowly the light faded, until there was nothing left but a narrow line of dull red cloud along the far horizon and all at once it was gone.

  She turned and made her way in the dark towards the sheepfold where they had made love. There, behind the wall, she found a pile of dry leaves, blown by the wind. Rolling herself in her cloak she lay down with Ava beside her, cuddled up close as the icy rain started to fall. In her dream as she slept Eadburh was once more in the warmth of Elisedd’s embrace. The dog woke, and feeling her mistress had grown cold, snuggled up more closely as far away a wolf began to howl.

  When the shepherds came to gather in the sheep before the autumn storms arrived they found their bones, stripped of flesh by the creatures of the night, and they buried what was left of the woman and her dog where they lay.

  The shepherds did not return to the hafod. Nor did anyone.

  For generation after generation the story remained potent of the ghost of the woman on the hill who cried for her lover and of the great dog who ran at her side. Time passed. Anglo-Saxon and Celtic rulers were replaced by Normans. Welsh princes and English kings disputed the borderlands as again and again this Marcher country changed allegiance. Plantagenet, Lancaster, York. A man called Owain Glyndŵr, descendant of the Welsh princes, tried and failed to take back his country. The Tudors came and Welsh blood again ruled over the ridge but by now the legend was forgotten. There was no one there to hear the woman’s cries. Three hundred years later men came and seeing the heaped stones of the fallen walls built a farmhouse for a new generation of hill folk.