* * * *
Ursula left Miss Muffet in the manor stables, and hurried on foot to the set, where the men had cleared the mosaic floor about half an hour earlier before returning to the manor. Conan was still there, however, and had now been joined by Theo and Eleanor, the latter having kept well out of sight while the men were present. The fully exposed floor was even larger than Ursula had thought, and quite magnificently well preserved.
Conan came toward her as soon as he saw her approaching. “Did you speak to Vera?”
“Yes.” She told them all that had happened.
“So we have our Black Druid?” Conan asked.
“So it seems.” Ursula surveyed the floor. “Have you found a clue?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She stepped gingerly onto the close-packed tesserae and tiptoed to the center, where as expected there was a likeness of Elen of the Ways. The figure had its hands cupped before it, as if holding something that was in the geometric center of the floor, but the mosaics depicting what that something was were missing. She glanced at Eleanor. “Have you any idea what was here?”
“No, because a statue of my father always stood there.”
Ursula gazed down again at the gap in the tesserae, and suddenly it seemed to her that the hole that they had left was very symmetrical. Too symmetrical to be accidental! She knelt down to scrape the earth away with her fingertips, and her eyes lit up as she realized there never had been mosaic in that particular spot. Rather, they had been set at a lower level, leaving a hexagonal indentation. She knew exactly what that indentation was for, and she turned excitedly to Conan. “Bring the chalice!”
“The chalice?”
“Yes. It is supposed to stand here.”
He brought the golden cup, and the others pressed around as she placed it in the indentation. Fifteen hundred years may have passed, but it still fitted snugly. “There!” she cried, scrambling triumphantly to her feet. “Don’t you see? It’s a huge sundial!”
“You’re right,” Conan breathed.
“And I’ll warrant that it is to be read on tomorrow morning! When the sun rises tomorrow, the shadow of the chalice will point exactly at the treasure. The valley lies almost directly from east to west, so it must be somewhere between here and Hazel Pool.”
But Theo was dismayed. “That’s all very well, but we need to defeat Taynton before midnight
tonight.”
“I know,” Conan replied quietly.
“And anyway, where exactly must we dig? It must be fifty yards or more to the water, and even if we cut a trench all the way, who is to say how wide the trench should be? Two feet? Three? Six? How can we possibly do that when there are trees in the way that couldn’t possibly have been there fifteen hundred years ago? Beeches aren’t long-lived like yews!”
Conan nodded. “Precisely. The top of the chalice lid is very like an arrow, so presumably it will mark the spot very precisely, without a tree trunk confusing matters. But even if we find the very spot, who is to say that is where the treasure itself will be? Maybe we will only find another clue.”
“I always hated schoolboy treasure hunts,” Theo said wretchedly, and Eleanor smiled wanly at him.
“Do not be defeated yet, my lord,” she said gently.
Conan drew a heavy breath. “I don’t know what to do next. If the chalice only indicates another clue, that clue might be very small indeed, and we could destroy it by digging hastily. It all depends on the angle at which the sun strikes the chalice, which might have a very short shadow if there is something in the way and the sun has risen a little before it reaches here. Conversely, the shadow might be very long if there is no obstacle and the sun touches the chalice directly it appears above the eastern horizon. I fear we need to know exactly.”
Theo’s spirits were still low. “It might rain, and we won’t get a sunrise anyway! Even worse, we won’t be around to do anything because Taynton’s damned spell will work between now and then!”
“I refuse to be that much of a pessimist,” Conan replied firmly.
Theo could not be encouraged. “Well, we await your inspirational lead,” he said a little sarcastically.
Eleanor reproved him. “Do not be so ungrateful, my lord, for everyone wishes this to go well.”
Instinctively, they all turned to Conan again, and after a moment he met their gaze. “I have an idea, but I do not intend to share it.”
Ursula was alarmed. “Is it something dangerous?”
He smiled and put his hand tenderly to her cheek. “Don’t fret, my love, for I know what I’m doing. I’m going to take you back to the manor now, and then I will leave you. As for you two—” He turned to the others. “I suppose you will remain here in the woods?”
They nodded. Then Theo said, “But I think I should be with you, Conan.”
“No. I need no help for what I have in mind.”
It was late afternoon, and Ursula was alone in her room at the manor. She was wearing a peach muslin gown, and her hair was tied up with a light blue ribbon. Her mother’s manuscripts were spread around her again as she tried to occupy her mind with finishing the translation of Macsen’s story.
She didn’t know where Conan had gone, or what he was doing, for he had obstinately refused to divulge what his idea entailed. Such reticence had only fueled her anxiety over his safety. Where someone like Taynton was concerned she knew it did not do to take risks. Yet that was what Conan was taking, she knew it as surely as she knew her own self. She wished her father had come home, but he had sent word from Stroud that things were so bad at Fromewell Mill that he needed to stay another night.
There seemed to be worries on all sides, each one with a doubtful outcome, and since dwelling on what might go wrong was never advisable, she forced herself to look at the manuscripts. To her astonishment, after a while she managed to concentrate sufficiently to continue writing the translation in her notebook.
The Emperor Macsen entered the castle with the two ladies, and there discovered the very scene of which he had dreamed. The maiden was more beautiful by far than he had dared to believe, and her elder cousin Kynan did indeed bow his head in resignation. Her other cousin Cadfan, however, was even more angry than Macsen had dreamed, casting the game board aside so bitterly that it broke in two. The fallen pieces were scattered to the corners of the great hall, where they turned into animals, squirrels, dogs, and horses, which all went to gather around the maiden. The High-King Eudaf Hen hid his head in his hands in sorrow as Cadfan ran from the hall, but there was nothing that could be done. Macsen was enraptured with Elen of the Ways, but still could not touch her. He learned that she would become his true bride when he married her before the Black Druid. The chosen place for the ceremony was the sacred yew, and the vows were taken as May Eve turned to May Day. Only Prince Cadfan cast a shadow over the land, for he swore to be avenged for the cruel injustice that had denied him his rightful place in line of succession. It was feared that he would roam throughout eternity, seeking his heritage, but never finding it.
There, it was finished. Ursula pushed the manuscripts aside and rose from the chair to go to the open window. The sun was warm, and the valley seemed almost hazy. She looked toward the Green Man, unable to help a sneaking sympathy for Cadfan Meriadoc, who by the standards of his day had indeed suffered a wrong. It hadn’t been his fault that Eudaf Hen decided to import a fine Roman husband for Elen of the Ways, or that Conan’s previous self had loyally stepped aside in favor of the newcomer. As far as Ursula could see, Cadfan was not entirely unjustified in resenting the abandonment of the true male line of succession. Eudaf Hen had a lot to answer for.
She stared out of the window, wishing she knew where Conan was and what he was doing. The hours were ticking relentlessly away toward the turn of May Eve to May Day, at which point anything might happen. As she looked, Bran suddenly bounded up the opposite slope of the valley toward the inn. A pang of alarm struck through her. What was happening? She wanted to go there too, but had given her word to Conan that no matter what, she would stay at the manor. The wolfhound disappeared into the inn yard, and it was all Ursula could do to honor her promise.
* * * *
At that moment Conan was lounging comfortably on a mound of hay in the stables of the Green Man. He had found a quiet corner where a knothole afforded an excellent view of the inn. So far, however, there had been no sign of Bellamy Taynton.
The reason for this was known to one and all, for the innkeeper and Vera had remained tucked away in his private quarters ever since she returned from her meeting with Ursula. The tightly drawn curtains at the window facing the yard had been the cause of much amusement among the men, and much annoyance among the kitchen staff, who seemed to be totally adrift without Vera’s confident hand to steer them. But both she and Taynton stayed where they were, regardless of what was going on elsewhere in the Green Man. A number of stagecoaches had arrived and departed, some with regular passengers who grumbled a great deal about having to wait for food that wasn’t up to the usual standard, but even then Taynton did not emerge. For the moment Conan was content to leave them, because while Cadfan Meriadoc was busying himself with the Lady Severa’s charms, he wasn’t up to mischief elsewhere!
Conan stretched and put his hands behind his head. He was sure he was on the right path with what he intended to do. It was a matter of instinct—of knowing one’s own brother. Paws pattered suddenly, and Bran was there, covering his face with licks. “Get off me, you great fool,” Conan complained, fending off the hound.
Bran whined and sat down, tail wagging.
“Why have you come here?” Conan wondered aloud, sitting up and stroking the hound’s head.
As he spoke, the shadows of two men darkened the stable entrance, and Conan got up warily, for they clearly knew he was there. “Who are you?” he demanded, reaching for an old coaching whip that must have hung on the wall for an age if its drapery of cobwebs was anything to go by.
“You won’t be needing that, Sir Conan,” Gardner’s voice replied. Then he came farther into the stables so that Conan could see his face.
“Why on earth—?”
The coachman held up a reassuring hand. “I don’t know what all this is about, sir, just that I had to be here. It just came over me, a need to come to this inn, where I knew I would find you. Then Daniel Pedlar was waiting for me and, well, here we are.”
Conan smiled a little. “The Black Druid, I believe.”
“That is so, sir, and Gardner ‘ere was once your faithful squire.”
Well, that explained the coachman’s remark the previous night, Conan thought.
Daniel bent to stroke Bran, who had gone to him. “And this ‘ere was Lord Macsen’s favorite ‘unting dog,” he said. “Weren’t you, old boy? Eh? Eh?” He ruffled the wolfhound’s coat, and Bran stood up on his hind legs, looked him in the eyes, and proceeded to smother his face with very wet licks.
“Don’t either of you know why you’ve come?” Conan asked.
Daniel pushed Bran away and gave a grin. “I do. I’m yer in case that toad Taynton cuts up rough with you, and Gardner yer ‘ave been summoned to ‘elp. I ‘ad this dream, you see.”
“Not another dream ... ” Conan groaned inwardly.
“Shook me up sommat rotten, it did,” Daniel said. “Anyway, Gardner and I ‘ave to ‘elp should you need us. This ‘ere ‘ound’s ready too. ‘E’d just love to take a piece out of Taynton’s back end, wouldn’t you, boy? Eh?” He ruffled the wolfhound’s head, and Bran’s tail wagged nineteen to the dozen.
Daniel turned to look across at Taynton’s window, and as if on cue Vera suddenly flung the curtains back. She looked directly at her father and gave a single nod. Daniel glanced at Conan. “ Tis time to go to it, sir,” he said quietly.
Conan dropped the whip and brushed some straw from his clothes, then left the stables.
Vera was waiting for him in the hall. There was a new glow about her and a light in her eyes that certainly had not been there before. “He’s still in his rooms,” she said, “and he doesn’t know you are here.”
“He soon will,” Conan replied.
Anxiety touched her. “You ... you will not harm him, will you?”
“He is the one doing harm,” Conan reminded her.
“I know, but he has now told me all that happened in the past, and I cannot point a finger at him and say he is wrong. The High-King chose wisely in Macsen Wledig, but might not you or my lord have been as fine a choice? You were both cast aside for a stranger, and although you could accept the king’s decision, my lord could not. I do not know that I could have done either. My lord may be the villain now, but the injustice he has borne these past fifteen hundred years was to some extent more than warranted.
Conan hesitated. He didn’t want to concede it, but two women has now said the same, Ursula being the other. Maybe they were right, poor old Cadfan was due a little sympathy. Except that it was rather difficult to sympathize with someone who resorted to dark magic!
Vera could read some of the expressions that passed across his face. “Please don’t condemn him out of hand, sir,” she begged, “for I love him so very much that I could not bear it if anything truly bad happened to him.”
Conan took her gently by the arms. “Vera, I will do what I can, but
I
am not the sorcerer. Believe me, if anyone is in danger now, it’s me, not him.”
Taynton lay stark naked on the crumpled bed that was still warm where Vera had lain. He felt better than he had in, oh, one thousand five hundred years! He smiled sardonically, for he had to admit that although Eudaf Hen’s decision had been basically wrong, there had been some compensation in the resulting situation. Macsen Wledig had been obliged to go here, there and everywhere defending his British realm as well as trying to keep a firm grip on the reins of Rome, so much so that the term being run ragged occasionally sprang to mind. Taynton smiled again. It served the usurper right! Still, midnight tonight would be what might be called just deserts. Macsen, Kynan,
et al
would be brought up sharply for their former misdemeanors. The eyes of the otherworldly innkeeper watered, but not with tears of sorrow for his enemies; instead it was his cold. He sneezed several times, blew his nose on a large handkerchief. Vera was taking a plaguey long time over that rum gruel!