Curse of the Celts Clara O'Connor (new reading txt) 📖

somewhere in the mountains. And an Anglian, Lord Montgomery, who had been visiting Emrick when the summons had arrived. Two more days passed waiting on the druids even though they were nearby at Anglesey, the approaching solstice the likely cause of the delay. The arrival of the High Druid elicited a great deal of fuss. I watched her arrive from my window. Garbed in the same long cloak as the others I had met so far, she looked like something out of myth with her long, fine white hair and a flowing white dress.

When I went down to dinner later, I discovered to my delight that the High Druid was none other than the wisewoman Fidelma. She caught my eye as I went to greet her, shaking her head slightly. It would be better if our acquaintance was not common knowledge; I nodded faintly in compliance if not complete understanding.

The High Druid had not travelled alone; there were several white-robed druids seated at a high table in the hall, one of whom caught my attention and who I definitely was not going to pretend not to know.

Having spotted her first, I made my way around to her table. When I was at her shoulder, I leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Hello, Marina.”

She let out a squeal and quickly extricated herself from the bench before wrapping herself around me, her delight abundant.

“Cassandra! Oh, I wanted to come and find you straight away but Fidelma said it wouldn’t be the thing to wander around the castle and we were waiting and waiting for you to come down, but you didn’t. But you’re here now.”

“We?” I asked, bemused.

“Me and Oban.” Her older brother was hovering behind her, looking a little disquieted at the amount of attention we were attracting. I hugged him and he smiled back at the warm reception.

I took them both in, Marina in a green version of the druid’s robes and Oban in a plain but immaculately cut tunic in the Celtic style.

“You came with Fidelma?” I took in Marina’s flushed, healthy colouring and her lustrous hair swept up in braids. “You look wonderful.”

“Yes, I’m a novice now but I’m training to be a druid.”

“In Anglesey?” I asked, struck by the coincidence that they had also ended up in this corner of the wilds.

“No, we’re in Glastonbury. Fidelma was visiting the Holy Isle for the harvest when the summons came. Druid John remained at the Holy Isle for the winter solstice so we came to Conwy instead; she’s more important anyway. She was supposed to be back for solstice at Stonehenge but she said we would come here instead. I really wanted to see Stonehenge, but obviously it’s so much better to see you here instead. Have you ever seen such a place? It’s huge, isn’t it?” She indicated the castle, her eyes wide in appreciation.

“Damp though.”

“It does rain a lot.” Marina sighed heavily.

“What do you mean, Fidelma is more senior? Isn’t she just a wisewoman?”

“No,” Marina laughed. “She’s the High Druid at Glastonbury Tor. She’s like the boss.”

“She’s healed you?”

Marina frowned. “I’m way better. Did you know that the Mallacht – that’s what they call it here – has been around for ages? It’s a curse caused when the energies of the earth aren’t cared for. That’s what druids do. Not the curse – though apparently that’s what the Romans say – but they know the old ways and they look after the land. I’m taking some of the medicine that Druid John produces so mostly I feel better but I can’t take it while I’m training because then I can’t sense the ley. But I can’t train on the road anyway.”

“But when you aren’t taking this stuff, you still have the illness? The Mallacht?”

“Yeah, but I ain’t dead,” she pointed out, winking.

I smiled back at her. It was unspeakably good to see them here. I was so tired of being surrounded by new people. And Marcus should be able to do better for her. He was showing the druid here his technique and Marina could be added to those he was using to demonstrate to Ewan and Madoc how he cured the Mallacht.

“How are you?” I asked, turning to Oban, giving the high table a glance over my shoulder; my presence at Marcus’s side was overdue.

“I’m well, my lady,” he said politely. I frowned at his polite response. “I… uh, I’m well enough,” he said. “P’raps not as useful in a druid community as I might be elsewhere.”

I surveyed their companions’ simple robes. “No, I suppose not. But if you’re looking for an occupation while you’re here, I could do with some help,” I said, indicating my plain woollen dress.

Oban grinned, his pleasure at being able to make himself useful evident. “Can do.”

At the high table, there was no real discussion of anything more than the recent harvests and the spread of illness in their communities. It was as if Devyn didn’t exist. Marcus, of course, was of great interest to the new arrivals, and they went to a good deal of trouble to engage him and solicit his thoughts on any and all topics that arose. Marcus was used to being the centre of attention in most gatherings in Londinium, so he took it in his stride and was effortlessly charming in return.

I, on the other hand, had little desire to charm anyone. Even my lifelong training to be the sociable beauty on Marcus’s arm wasn’t enough to entirely mask the dread that leached out of my sullen mood.

Chapter Twenty-One

The trial began on the evening of the day after Fidelma’s arrival with a great deal less ceremony than a Mete occasioned in Londinium. Each day, after the evening meals, tables were pushed back, Devyn was brought in, and was made to stand alone in the centre of the room.

He was never afraid. Every evening, for an hour or so, he calmly answered their questions about his life following his departure from Carlisle. According to