It had been hard to part from her, but he could see she had more than enough to deal with without him irritating her further. Did he irritate her? He had thought so. Now he wasn’t sure. One moment he thought she liked him and the next…He wasn’t even sure where she was. She had murmured at one point that she might go straight back to Cambridge to see if her father was all right, though Ben had frowned and shaken his head and said, ‘Not yet’. So she was presumably still at Woodley. Waiting. He stared thoughtfully into the flames. Perhaps it was time for an attempt to consolidate brotherly reconciliation. And before that, perhaps, one more journey into the past in the hope of finding Flavius.

Abi had unwrapped the stone and was looking at it a little quizzically. Outside it was dark; the rain had not stopped for three days. Already the levels were flooding. Downstairs in the kitchen Mat and Cal were sitting by the fire with their cocoa and the dogs but she had pleaded exhaustion and come upstairs to bed. Her thoughts kept turning to Justin. He had been disappointed in her determination not to go on with her quest, she could see that, but just for the moment she hadn’t been able to face it any more. She was prepared to leave it to him. Until now. Until, realising that if she wanted to see him again she would have to come out of her seclusion and face the unravelling of the story. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the stone and stared into its face.

‘So, Mora. Where did you get this thing?’ she said out loud. ‘Who gave it to you? Who showed you how to use it?’

‘Sorcha?’ Mora looked up at the figure in the doorway with an incredulous smile of joy. ‘I thought you were dead!’

Sorcha came into the house and, at Mora’s gesture of welcome, sat down near the fire. She shook her head sadly. ‘I should be. I should have stayed. I loved them as though they were my own, but when he killed Gaius, stabbed him in cold blood in front of lady Lydia, I fled.’ Tears gathered in her eyes.

‘You couldn’t have saved him, Sorcha.’

Sorcha shook her head. ‘He chose a time when there was no-one there. The men were in the fields or hunting or down to the eel traps. He murdered his own brother with a knife in his chest.’ Her voice was husky with pain. ‘The lady Lydia is still crazed with grief.’ Lydia and Petra were living now in a house in the small settlement of Glaston at the far end of Ynys yr Afalon. It was too soon, Fergos Mor had said, for Petra to decide if she still wanted to train as a druid. He wanted mother and child to have time to recover, to reclaim their lives. ‘Lydia’s punishment, Flavius told her, was to live, while Gaius died. To remember forever what had happened.’

‘Punishment!’ Mora echoed. ‘For what did he think she needed punishing?’

‘She chose his brother.’ Sorcha shrugged. ‘I have come to ask you to tell the gods what he did. To tell them of the injustice. To tell them of the evil and to ask them to punish him in his turn.’ Her face flushed with anger. ‘I want his name to echo down the centuries with the story of his betrayal.’

Mora gave a wry smile. ‘God,’ she hesitated, ‘the gods, will know already, Sorcha. They know everything. But my father has told me to tell no-one. He feels we should keep all this to ourselves. For the sake of Yeshua.’

Sorcha shook her head stubbornly. ‘No! That is what Flavius wants. He tried to kill Petra so that no-one would know what an amazing healer Yeshua was. If we keep Yeshua’s name secret we are doing exactly what Flavius wants.’

‘But I can’t defy my father,’ Mora said anxiously.

Sorcha stared at her. ‘Write it down then.’

Mora shook her head. ‘You know that is not our way. Everything must be committed to memory.’

‘And so, one day, if something happens to this place, all this will be forgotten?’ Sorcha stared down at the fire for a moment then she looked up. ‘I saw Yeshua. I watched as he healed Petra. He is a great man. Someone so special.’ She clasped her hands to her heart. ‘And yet in a hundred, a thousand years, people will know nothing of his visit to this land. That’s wrong. He chose us. He chose you. He chose the druids to live with and study with from all the people in the world.’ She shook her head. ‘You cannot allow him to be forgotten, Mora.’ She hesitated. ‘My aunt lives near the great caverns in the hills. There are stones there which can hold memories. They have been used from ancient times as talismans and sacred tools.’

Mora nodded. ‘My father has one,’ she said quietly. ‘They are as you say objects of great power.’

‘If you come with me to my aunt’s we will find you one and you can tell it your story. You would not be disobeying your father, but you would be preserving the memory of everything that happened here.’ Sorcha smiled. She held out her hand. ‘Please. So that one day someone will know the truth.’

‘So, that was it,’ Abi addressed the crystal in her hand. ‘You came from Wookey Hole or Cheddar Caves. Somewhere up there they found a seam of natural crystal in the limestone, and people knew exactly what its properties were.’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘You’re not even a magic Atlantean stone from deep within the Tor! It wasn’t magic at all. They had invented the precursor to the crystal set; the CD; the mobile and two thousand years ago they were calling it an ancient art!’ She glanced at the table where her mobile lay amongst the clutter of books. At last she had an excuse to ring him.

He came the next day. They agreed to meet in Glastonbury and Abi chose the coffee shop with the green sofa. ‘Of course, as we discussed, there is huge controversy about what exactly a druid’s egg was.’ Justin was sitting at the table, turning the Serpent Stone over in his hands. He smiled to himself. He was still surprised how much he had missed her and how natural it felt to have her there with him again. They were comfortable together. ‘I think this is one. I did wonder if it could have referred to some kind of natural crystal. There are so many theories about it – the main being that it was some kind of whelk egg case! But I can’t help thinking this sort of thing is more likely.’

‘It would be something of immense power; something to keep very secret, so no-one was supposed to know what they were,’ Abi put in. ‘Fergus obviously had one, as well. Perhaps the druids used them to store their secrets and if someone finds one, one day, all their hidden teachings will come to light.’ She glanced at him. ‘I spoke to Bishop David this morning. There is no change in Kier. He is stable and doesn’t need a life support machine or anything.’

Justin nodded his head slowly. ‘I have made enquiries.’ He glanced at her. ‘Over there, where he has gone.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I have reason to believe he would not want to be called back, even if we could. He will return in his own time, be that a week or a month or twenty years.’

She stared at him in horror. ‘And there’s nothing you can do?’

‘It is his choice, Abi.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Would you deprive him of the chance to meet Jesus?’

She chewed her lip for a moment. ‘I just feel so guilty, as though somehow his unhappiness and panic and unpredictability were my fault.’

‘They weren’t.’ He reached forward and laid his hand over hers. She was going to snatch hers away, then she changed her mind and left it there. For a moment they were silent, then he moved his hand and casually reached for his cup. ‘I want to go back to Woodley,’ he said at last. ‘See if I can’t make things up with Mat and there is something we need to do there.’

She glanced at him enquiringly.

‘The orchard. I’ve talked to Greg about it. Romanus needs to be set free. Greg agrees you should do it with me.’

‘Me?’ She scanned his face thoughtfully and he nodded. ‘Prayer. Incense. Druid and Christian together. Let the poor boy go.’

‘With Cynan?’

‘You think Cynan is still there too?’

She shrugged. ‘He felt responsible. Besides Woodley was his special place. Or at least, St Mary’s island was.’

He nodded. ‘You and I would make a good team, Abi.’

For a moment she froze. She didn’t know where to look. He saw her embarrassment and smiled. ‘In a spiritual sense, of course. Ghostbusters to the gentry.’

‘And to the church?’

‘If you say so.’

The orchard was wet and windy, yellow leaves whirling in the air. Mat and Cal had watched them walk across the lawn from the kitchen window then they had turned back to the fire. The meeting with Mat had been fine if a little restrained. The two men had shaken hands and Cal, with a little more colour in her cheeks than was normal had smiled and hugged them both.

Justin took his drum out of his shoulder bag and then a candle holder and a small incense burner. ‘I expect wind and rain in my job. More often than not I need several matches.’ He grinned at her. ‘Say and do whatever you feel is right, Abi. There are no rules for this kind of occasion.’

She reached into her pocket and drew out the Serpent Stone. ‘I went up and fetched it before we came out here. I thought it might help to contact them.’ She was aware of the rustle and hiss of leaves around them. She watched as, sheltering the flame with the flap of his jacket, he lit the little charcoal block under the incense and sprinkled on a few grains of resin from a small jar. The blue trail of smoke was whipped away from them. She could smell nothing. As her hand went to the little cross around her neck she closed her eyes.

Romanus was tall for his age and thin, a good-looking boy with brown eyes and a gentle intelligent face. She could see the streaks of blood down his cheek, the worse, more terrible stains on his tunic. Cynan had the druidic tonsure, he was taller, more solid, a sadness in his eyes as though he had always known what his own terrible fate would be. ‘Flavius.’ She heard the name as a hiss of rain, a rhythm in the gentle drumbeat. ‘Flavius must not be allowed to continue his persecution. He must be stopped.’

She stared round. The apple trees were gone. Instead she was standing in an olive grove. She could smell warm earth and fragrant sunshine. Flavius was standing alone with his back to her. Beyond him she could see the red terracotta tiles of a roof and somehow she knew it was his father’s house. He had returned home. As he swung to face her she saw the haunted eyes, the face grey with exhaustion and she knew what he was going to do even before he drew the short sword. He held it up. Had his father guessed what he had done? Was the guilt of the blood of his own brother and his brother’s son too much to bear? He was hesitating. He was thinking of his duty to his Emperor. His knuckles whitened round the sword hilt as he lowered it, the blade flashing in the warm Etruscan sun. His doubt was going. She saw his jaw grow firm, his eyes hard.

‘Do it,’ Abi whispered. ‘The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth from the ground!’

She saw his eyes widen as he looked round. The olive leaves rustled in the wind and small dust eddies rose and spun around his sandaled feet.

‘Who’s there?’ he called. The sword was raised again now, pointing towards her although she didn’t think he could see her. Then she realised he could. He was remembering the days of his youth when he had consulted a sibyl near the Temple of the Vestals in Rome and bought charms to win Lydia and then curses when they didn’t work. When he had gone to ask for his money back she had spitefully told him that she had seen in her scrying bowl his doom in a woman’s eyes, the eyes which were now gazing at him from a different time and place.

‘Lydia?’ he called. His voice was harsh with terror.

Abi felt herself take a step forward and she saw his face freeze. ‘Mora?’

‘Do it!’ She wasn’t sure if she had spoken or if the voice was someone else’s, but the words seemed to come from her. The voice of thy brother’s blood is crying out for revenge.’

He gave a sob. ‘No!’

‘Do it!’

Behind him she saw a man’s figure through the trees. Flavius turned and saw it too. ‘Father!’ It was a broken whisper and in it Abi knew his father had discovered what he had done to his brother. ‘I’m sorry.’

His movement was almost too quick to follow. He reversed the sword, gripped the hilt in both hands, and drove it with every last ounce of strength he possessed into his own stomach. For a moment he stood, his face wiped of expression, his eyes huge and glassy, then he fell forward onto the blade.

The wind had grown stronger. She could feel the rain, cold, on her face. The drumming had stopped and slowly she realised that Justin had taken her in his arms. ‘I killed him,’ she whispered. ‘I killed him.’

He shook his head. ‘He killed himself.’

‘You saw?’ She stared at him. She had begun to shiver violently.