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

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