The Dream Weavers Barbara Erskine (e ink ebook reader txt) 📖

this was the sky which the men and women of history had seen routinely. This was the vast storyboard with which they grew up as children and lived and beneath which they died before heading off into some vision of heaven above their heads. Unless they knew they were bound for hell.

He shivered. He ought to go back indoors to retrieve his jacket before he set off on a stroll up on the hill. His head was full of Welsh history and it seemed somehow appropriate that he walk beneath Welsh stars. Something was impelling him to turn westward, towards the vast distances lost in the darkness of the night. Forgetting the jacket, he made his way down to the gate and let himself out into the lane.

He had looked up Elisedd. It was a name that appeared several times in the story of the royal house of Powys, over several generations. The first to appear was Elisedd ap Gwylog who had reigned from about 725 for about twenty-five years. There was a famous monument known as Eliseg’s Pillar at Valle Crucis near Llangollen which he promised himself he would visit. The pillar, all that was left of the great cross after which the valley and the abbey nearby took their name, had been inscribed with the family pedigree going back to Vortigern and Magnus Maximus. Quite a pedigree. It had been erected by his great-grandson Cyngen, who reigned from about 808 – too late to have been the king during Offa’s time. Between Eliseg – a ‘miscarving’ of the name Elisedd, apparently – came two other kings, either of whom would have fought Offa – Brochfael ap Elisedd and Cadell ap Brochfael. Ap, he had already established, meant ‘son of’. Both of those kings would have had sons and daughters, and both could and likely would have had a son called Elisedd after their illustrious ancestor. Eadburh’s Elisedd, Emma’s Elisedd, was obviously a younger son and as there seemed to be no record of him that Simon could discover in his first cursory scan of the internet, he had not inherited the kingdom or merited a mention in history. All that remained of this handsome young man was an echo on the lips of a lost woman wandering the hills for twelve hundred years.

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