The Warrior’s Princess. Barbara Erskine

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      In less than an hour Jess had taken a long relaxing bath and fallen into bed. Almost before her head touched the pillow she was asleep. But her sleep was restless and it wasn’t long before she woke suddenly and lay staring into the dark. Her head had been full of music. Elgar. The voice of Rhodri Price, filling the dark spaces of her brain. Except it wasn’t Rhodri Price, it was Caratacus.

      * * *

      Tall, his strong weather-beaten features drawn with pain, his hair threaded now with silver amongst the thick auburn locks, he was standing in the doorway, his shoulder and upper arm still bandaged from his battle wound, his wrists shackled with heavy iron manacles, staring in towards his wife and daughter. ‘Where is he?’ he asked. ‘Where is my son?’

      Cerys clasped her hands in anguish as he stepped into the room. Behind him the guard slammed the door and they heard the bolt slide across.

      ‘We searched. We searched everywhere. The Romans searched. They put the whole legion to the search –’ Her voice rose in anguish. ‘Eigon hid them in the wood above the battlefield. To keep them safe. But when we looked they had gone.’

      Eigon had started to tremble. She stared at her father in terror, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I told them to hide. I told them not to come out.’

      For a brief second his face was consumed with anger; with an enormous effort he controlled it. ‘They told me. Can we hope our own people found them? Can they be keeping them safe?’

      ‘That is my prayer,’ Cerys said softly. ‘I pray every day to the goddess Bride to keep them safe. You must not blame Eigon. She did what she thought was right.’ Her voice was softened by a smile as she turned towards her daughter but there was a hard edge of pain to it that Eigon heard with a small whimper of unhappiness.

      Caradoc studied his wife’s face. ‘I had no intention of blaming her. Come here, child.’ He held out his arms, awkward because of the chains and Eigon ran to him, leaning against his knees, worming her way into his embrace. ‘You did what you thought was right, sweetheart, and you were very brave.’ He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘And who knows,’ he glanced up at his wife, his face strained. ‘It may be that Togo and Glads are the ones who will survive to fight another day.’

      The music faded and Jess slept again. Next time she woke she went and stood by the window looking out into the darkness, listening to the noises of the night. Her window faced away from the noisy street outside. From somewhere she could hear a tinkling of water, but behind it there was still a distant subdued hum of traffic. She smiled to herself. The Eternal City. She remembered how excited they had all been when Kim had announced her engagement to her Roman aristocrat. They had all vowed to keep in touch for ever, vowed with her, to learn Italian. Jess grimaced at the memory. Kim had become fluent over the years, of course she had. Her own and Steph’s attempts at the language had flagged almost at once. Her promises to herself that she would one day read La Commedia Divina in the original had been ignominiously shunted aside, along with her recognition that her mastery of the language would probably be limited to a few useful phrases mostly involving food.

      When she woke again it was late and she lay staring with delight round the large room to which she had been shown the night before. Too tired to take much notice of the room lit only by a shaded bedside light, she had taken in very little of its detail beyond the fact that it was comfortable and had its own en suite bathroom. Now she found she was lying in a baroque four-poster bed, its curtains open, tied back against the posts with brocade swags; at the windows the threadbare damask curtains were only half-drawn and sunlight poured through onto exotic old rugs filling the room with rich warm light. Climbing to her feet she went over to look out and found she was staring down into a courtyard garden somewhere in the quiet inner heart of the palazzo. The tantalising sound of water she had heard in the night, came, she discovered, from an ornate fountain at the centre of an intricate pattern of formal beds and gravelled paths.

      ‘Are you awake?’ Steph appeared in the doorway behind her. She was carrying two cups of coffee.

      Jess turned away from the window and faced her, pushing her hair back from her face with both hands. ‘This is heaven! I hope Kim really doesn’t mind me turning up at such short notice.’ She realised that for the first time in ages she felt completely safe.

      ‘Kim is delighted. She rattles round in this apartment.’ For a second Steph frowned. ‘I think she is genuinely lonely, you know. It was fabulous when Stefano was alive but now I suspect she only has a few real friends here and most of them bugger off in the summer to go somewhere cooler. I met some of them the other night but most of them were about to leave Rome for the holidays.’ Cradling her own cup she sat down on the bed, swinging her legs. Her feet were bare. ‘I am so pleased you decided to come, Jessie. We’re going to have such fun.’

      Jess eyed her sister speculatively knowing it was only a matter of time before the cross questioning started. Ruefully she was remembering her recent enthusiasm for Wales, her pleas to go to Ty Bran, her longing to paint, knowing how illogical her sudden arrival in the middle of the night must seem. One thing was certain. She was not going to tell Steph and Kim the true reason.

      ‘So, what changed your mind? Why did you decide to leave?’ Steph had leaned back on her elbow amongst the pillows as she sipped her coffee, noting how pale and strained her sister looked.

      Jess set her own cup down on a console table by the window. She rubbed her face with her hands. The music from her dream, from the long car journey was still there, at the back of her brain. She was not going to mention Dan, but she could tell them about Eigon. ‘Did you ever hear a child’s voice at Ty Bran, Steph? Eigon’s voice.’

      Steph sat up again. ‘A voice?’

      ‘Eigon. The daughter of Caratacus!’

      Steph looked confused.

      ‘The ghost! The little girl who haunts your studio.’

      ‘Ah.’ Steph stood up. She paced slowly over to the window and stood looking out. ‘Is this why you changed your mind about staying up there alone? You got spooked.’ Her voice was casual but Jess heard the tension there.

      ‘I suppose I was,’ she acknowledged cautiously. Better by far for Steph to think she had been chased out by ghosts than to know the real reason.

      Steph retraced her steps to the bed and climbed onto it once more, sitting cross-legged against the pillows. ‘Ty Bran is haunted. There’s no doubt about it. I’ve often heard things, sensed things. Not really seen anything.’ She picked idly at the silvery embroidery on the pillow case. ‘But it’s never frightened me. If it had, I would have warned you. I don’t mind at all being up there alone. At least –’

      ‘She didn’t frighten me.’ Jess sat down on the bed next to her. ‘Not once I got used to her. But she made me sad. She is so lonely, so needy. Do you know the story? Eigon was captured by the Romans with her father and mother. And brought here. To Rome. They were prisoners in chains. But her baby brother and sister were lost in the woods at Ty Bran.’

      ‘Lost?’

      Jess nodded. ‘They were hiding from the soldiers. They captured Eigon, but they never found the other two. At least, I don’t think they did.’

      ‘And you think she is still looking for them?’ Steph shook her head. ‘God that sounds awful. How do you know all СКАЧАТЬ