Walls Came Tumbling Down

There was a small, fly-infested electric lamp, over the top of the front door. One of the bulbs had gone inside it. The resulting murky glow highlighted one half of a basket of hanging flowers, in purple and yellow; but its twin, on the opposite side of the door, was in darkness. Beyond this, nothing could be seen of the cottage, nor the mountains and the distant lake. The moon was behind a cloud. The night felt silent; still in a peaceful way, and softer than it had ever been back home. To park up and switch off the engine was to exhale, long and hard, with your shoulders sinking under it. Kiana spoke about natural spirits and Earth energies giving a landscape its personality, beyond anything that humanity could create. If that was true, then the soul of this place was gentle and calm.

Cumbria. The last place to fall to the invading Germanic tribes. A tragedy when it did, because it cut off Scotland from Wales, except for the sea routes. Divide and conquer. It gave the Saesneg territory from coast to coast. They could come in their bloodthirsty droves across the North Sea, into Angle Northumbria; then they could stream across the land and into the Irish Sea. Access there into Welsh Gwynedd, Ireland, Man and beyond the Pictish wall into Highland Scotland. Those slavering English did not care that this was proud, ancient Rheged.

This was the land that had born Taliesin; the most famous poet that Britain has ever produced, whose bardic skills still sing down the centuries. These mountains and valleys and great lakes had been the home of Urien and Owain and all those other brave heroes; they had held back the Germanic tide for so long. Their names survived, but not their legends. Dissociated, relocated, they became cameo bit players in the legends of Arthur; because when the orcish English swarmed, they wrote their enemies out of history.

To the invaders, this was merely some land of the native Celts - the brothers, the compatriots, the Cumbria. So close to Cymru, the name that the Welsh call themselves, for all the same reasons. Those ancient warriors, they gave their fellow Celts time to prepare; to save the language and the culture for all the generations, right up to the present day. Sovereignty may have been lost, but 'the harp of my country survives'.

The rest of the row of dull lights suddenly flickered and shuddered into being, illuminating the whole of the front of the cottage; give or take another three patches of shadow, where more bulbs needed replacing. Two storeys, displayed as two rows of late Victorian windows. Six of them in all; utterly unremarkable, but for the fact that each had matching curtains. Bathroom, kitchen, living room, the bedrooms of each occupant, all with exactly the same curtains. Control freakery at its finest, as regards the lady of the house.

There was the second hanging basket. The blooms always looked vibrant and fresh. That was generally because they were. No other household had quite the talent for killing off plants like this one. Some passed into legend, like the cactus that died of dehydration, on the shelf above the kitchen sink. So the tiny purple and yellow flowers had almost certainly been bought from Tesco last week. They framed the sign. A foot long strip of black, Welsh slate, upon which a single word had been painted in white. Rheged.

The blue front door opened inwards and Salvo peered out, filling the doorway. There was no way of telling his expression. He was leaning into a spot of broken bulb, probably to encourage his night vision. A few seconds later, he stepped out fully; a giant amongst men, in his carpet slippers. "What are you doing sitting out here? I heard you come ages ago. I had the baby in the bath. I thought you'd be in with the kettle on by now."

Century opened the door of his Mini Cooper and unfurled himself onto the tarmac. "Sitting, I was, and thinking."

"It's a lot warmer thinking indoors." Salvo waited just a step or two beyond the porch. "Good journey?"

It had been a Hell of stalling at junctions; crunching gears with Saesnegs laughing at him; and lorry drivers, who thought they owned the motorway. Somewhere around Manchester, he had seriously considered abandoning his car and catching the train, with as much luggage as he could carry. Then he'd realised how little that would be, so braved the M6 again. By the time he'd seen the signs to Wigan, he had just wanted to die. Carlisle had been advertised way too soon. It had cruelly given him hope that he was nearly home. The last stretch, through the Cumbrian countryside, had nearly ended in disaster, when a badger had lumbered into the road. Century gave Salvo a withering look, as he moved into the light. "No."

Salvo looked shocked. "Fuck."

"What?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you seriously look like shit." Salvo couldn't stop staring. His eyes were passing up and down Century's whole form, as if he was eyeing him up. "Congratulations on passing your driving test."

Century's legs ached and his eyes throbbed with dryness, from all of the intense concentration. "Mention I had a heart-attack, did I?"

"Yeah, cariad, but you didn't send pictures." Salvo shook his head. "Go on in, I'll get your stuff."

"It'll wait until morning."

"Not if it's electrical stuff. Could get damp." Salvo held his hand out for the keys, which Century gratefully relinquished. "Go and sit down. Tiddler's in the front. I'll deal with this, if you keep your eye on him." Salvo was staring at him again. Century nodded, too tired to engage in too much conversation. "Hey man." Salvo stepped forward and engulfed him in a bear-hug. "We missed you. Never think that you're not welcome here. You don't need Fenian to check that one out. This is your home. Ok?" They gave each other hearty slaps on the back, then drew apart. "Chrissie agrees. It's not been the same without you trailing water out of the shower all the way through the kitchen. Too quiet, man. Way too quiet."

"Thanks." Century muttered and trudged off into the cottage. He didn't know why they persisted in calling it a cottage. It was patently a house. It might look like a rustic, rural idyll, but none of the fields outside were anything to do with them. It felt too weird being back. Like he was a stranger in a familiar place. He didn't know if he could fully relax. There was the sensation that this was somebody else's house and he was just a guest. Maybe he was just shell-shocked. The bone-tiredness left over from the epic drive here was taking him over. He homed in on the light of the living room and slouched through the door.

There was a crash of something plastic being dropped on a play-pen floor. "Tyn-Tyn!" A delighted cry welcomed him.

Century stepped over several piles of papers, all relating to some trial in Chad, then rounded the edge of the bulky, red settee. There he gaped. He had only been gone for two months, but the baby looked like he'd had a year's worth of growth. Not that Century was an expert on such matters. This was the first infant he had really been in contact with. "Hai, Luleka! Miss me, bach?"

Luleka crouched down, then stood to offer a large plastic duck for inspection. "Tyn Tyn Tyn!" He dropped the duck over the edge of the play-pen and bent to retrieve a cuddly panda bear, that was bigger than him.

Century sat perched on the end of the settee, feeling his spirits starting to thaw. Once he had caught his breath, he reached in and scooped Luleka out into his grasp. The kid squealed with excitement, pointing to his toys, most of which were now in a sprawling pile outside his pen. Century carried him to the middle of the settee and sank gratefully into it. "Duw, that's good."

He heard Salvo, out in the hallway, hauling another cargo of luggage inside. Luleka squirmed. "Papi!"

"Oh no!" Century stared. "They've gone and taught you French and Congolese! Say 'tada', not 'papi', 'tada'."

Salvo appeared in the doorway. "Matt is going to kill you. For the record. I know you said you'd taken some computers. You didn't say it was a whole lab's worth."

"Fenian kept putting them in."

"Papi!" Luleka bounced, standing on Century's thigh to gain a vantage point of his father. "Tyn Tyn!"

"Necessary for evidence or opportunism?" Salvo gently cupped his son's head in a huge hand. Century shrugged. "You look even worse in the light. Chrissie is going to freak when she sees you."

Century supported Luleka, as the infant tried, with both hands, to dangle from his father's arm. "It's been..." Century shook his head to convey how incommunicable the horrors of his absence would be. "Hell, it was down there."

"I'm sorry that your home country let you down." Salvo extracted his hand. "I'll finish getting this in, put him to bed, then we'll chat. Unless you want to crash. You look fit to drop."

"Alright sitting here, I am, for now." Century sat quietly, getting to know his sort of nephew again. Luleka had been stunned to the point of seeming about to cry, when his father had gone outside again. But it was quickly over, when an emergency game of Pat-a-Cake was devised. He heard the car door shut, as Salvo brought in the rest of the luggage. "Ok, bach. Need to do something before you're abed." He rose hurriedly, swinging Luleka up with him. The infant found the simple act of being lifted highly hilarious. He looked exactly like someone who would not be going to sleep any time soon, however optimistic his father was on the subject.

Salvo came in. "I've come to the conclusion that your Mini is a TARDIS. You must have been driving with the bottom scraping the floor. Have you seen how much stuff you packed?"

"Fenian." Century replied, like that explained everything. "I need to reclaim something before I do anything else." He shrugged off his long coat and dropped it on an armchair, passing Luleka from arm to arm to manage it. The baby squealed, enjoying this immensely.

"Sounds ominous." Salvo turned to survey the hallway again, through the door behind him. "If you point out what you need urgently tonight, I'll drop that up into your room. The rest will be fine there until tomorrow." By which he meant that it would live there, being taken up piecemeal over the coming days, until it was all gone or Chrissie returned home. Whichever happened first.

Century wasn't paying attention. He placed Luleka carefully back into his play-pen and returned some of the fallen toys. The infant promptly threw them back out again, so Century gave up on that idea. He left Luleka to it and headed through the second door, at the back of the room. Here was a smallish room, running behind the central staircase, which Chrissie called the parlour. He and Salvo called it 'the triffid room'. Century reached through the rubber plant to switch on the light. It was the only flora to have survived them. It had come with the house, probably because it had outgrown the capacity to get through any door and it was currently in the process of colonising the ceiling. It already had one whole wall and half of the next.

But he wasn't here for the rubber plant. He was here for the piano. Century lifted the lid and contemplated the keys. There was a night, in the old manor house in Aber, when Mello had pointed to a piano and told him to just play anything. Century had stupidly played Muse. They were the best band ever; but twice, when they came onto his iPod, he had been close to panic attack. He wasn't letting Cardie ghosts and Wammy power trips take Muse off him. He had only survived his PhD by listening to 'Absolution' on repeat, with occasional forays into 'Resistance' and 'Origin of Symmetry'.

There was movement in the doorway. Salvo, with Luleka, come to see what was going on. Century glanced at him. "Mello stole Muse. I'm stealing them back."

"Ok."

"And stop telling Fenian that I'm having a nervous breakdown."

"I didn't. He told me."

Century sat on the stool and let his fingers warm up with a few quick scales. "Not going to be perfect. Tired, I am, and my hands are cold. But I have to do it."

"Fair enough." Salvo pretended to bite at the fingers that his son was intent on putting into his father's mouth. Luleka alternated between laughter and seriousness, playing chicken with those bites. "I've got the kettle on."

Century didn't reply. He just launched into 'Sunburn', the song that he'd played back there. He took the intro around a few times to ensure that he wasn't going to panic or hurt his heart. It wasn't even his favourite song, but it was the one he had picked that night. He started to play it straight, cautiously, but that wasn't how it was meant to be played. At least not by him, on his own piano, in his own triffid room. He wanted musical passion, but what came out transcended even that. It was raucous and raw, at times discordant, but he always pulled it back. He over-played the middle eight, until Luleka cried and Salvo took him out again. Century played his terror and his hiraeth; his fear of failure and his fear of the future. He struck back at the heart attack and the injustice. He played until he wasn't even sure what he was playing anymore, then he brought it back to 'Sunburn' and let it finish.

He was sweating. Droplets of it fell onto the keys. Century sat panting, but he felt better for it. It wasn't a miracle cure. He didn't suddenly have a new heart and the solutions to all of the world's mysteries. But he felt like a boil had been lanced and he had got Muse back. It was a good start.