The tunnel sloped upwards, not too steeply but enough to make the climb hard work. The roof was only just high enough for Nan to stand upright; Alec, though, had to bend. As they ventured further in, Tamzin saw that the walls to either side were not a natural shape but had obviously been cut. That must have been what Alec meant when he said the passage was man-made.
Then, ahead of her, the bobbing beam of light stopped moving for a moment before Alec raised the torch and shone it on the wall.
‘This is what I really want you to see,’ he told them. ‘Just there, in the middle of the light.’
Tamzin and Nan craned to look. There, on an unusually smooth patch of wall, a lot of marks of some kind had been carved or scratched into the rock.
‘They look as if they were made by a chisel,’ said Nan.
‘I think they were,’ Alec agreed. ‘But look closely. They’re very worn, but don’t you think they look like letters?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Nan exclaimed. ‘I can see them now. The words aren’t English, though, are they?’
‘No. They’re Cornish. I wasn’t sure at first, but then I came across this…’
He swung the torch to another part of the wall. Tamzin peered more closely – and gasped.
‘Nan, look!’
The letters were broken and uneven. But four words could be read. Tamzin had seen those words before.
They said: Gweetho An Men Ma. The same words that had been carved on the base of the Grey Horse statue.
Nan said, ‘Oh…’ very softly.
‘They mean: “Guard this stone”, don’t they?’ said Alec. ‘The first words of the rhyme that’s translated in your family bible.’
The complete rhyme ran through Tamzin’s mind then, and she shivered.
Guard this stone that prisons me,
For if it should be cast away,
Then I shall come from surging sea,
And turn your world to stormy grey.
It was the prophecy of the Grey Horse; a warning to beware, and to protect the statue that held the dark spirit captive. And here it was, carved into the wall of an ancient tunnel in the cliff.
‘I think’, said Alec, ‘this tells us something about the tunnel’s purpose. There’s a link with the legend of the Grey Horse. But the question is, what is that link?’
‘Have you been able to read any more words in the carvings?’ Nan asked.
‘A few. I wrote them down earlier, though I don’t understand what they mean. They could be the rest of the rhyme. But I don’t think they are, because they’re carved on another part of the wall. I think they’re something new to us. If we can translate them, they might give us a vital clue.’
‘I agree,’ said Nan, then checked her watch again. ‘We’d better go, or the tide will creep up on us.’ She paused, looking at Tamzin. ‘Are you all right, pet?’
Tamzin nodded. Truthfully, though, she wasn’t all right. She had got over her bout of nerves, but a new thought had occurred to her, and she didn’t like it. What was it Joel had said? ‘If the Blue Horse is gaining strength, the Grey Horse isn’t going to like it one bit. It’ll fight back.’ She had feared that something unpleasant might happen in the tunnel; but nothing had. This was an ideal place for the Grey Horse to strike back at them, yet it had done nothing. Why? she asked herself. And the only answer she could come up with was:
Because it’s planning something else.
Something far, far worse.
Suddenly she had to force back an overwhelming urge to run helter-skelter back to the tunnel entrance, through the pool and out of the cave as fast as she could. She battled against the feeling, but as they started back the way they had come she tried to make Nan and Alec walk more quickly. Hurry, oh please, Hurry, before something goes wrong!
She could have shouted with sheer relief when they emerged from the tunnel and splashed through the pool to the sand. Daylight still showed between the boulders at the cave mouth – Tamzin had had an irrational terror that they would find the gap had closed, trapping them – and she scrambled up to the cleft and wriggled through into the open air.
Nothing horrific greeted her. The tide was closer but still a long way from cutting them off, and there were no monstrous waves or rolling storm clouds or any of the other things that she had feverishly imagined might be ready to pounce. Nan and Alec were following more slowly, and as she waited for them Tamzin looked out to sea.
Then, as she looked, she realized something. A mile or so out, Lion Rock towered from the sea… and it was exactly opposite the cave mouth. The two were lined up so precisely that Tamzin was astonished not to have noticed it before. But perhaps the thing that made her notice now was the new stream that ran from the cave. It flowed across the sand, straight as an arrow to the sea’s edge. And straight as an arrow towards the rock.
It meant something. Tamzin was as sure of that as she had ever been of anything. The alignment of the cave and the rock, the unnatural straightness of the stream – they weren’t coincidence. And now, the messages Alec had found. Messages carved inside the stone of the cliff, waiting down the centuries for someone to find and understand them. Slowly but surely, the threads of the ancient mystery were starting to weave together.
Tamzin scanned the horizon, where the sea met the sky. Dark clouds were gathering again, and the sight of them made her think of a cauldron beginning to bubble. Something was brewing; she was certain of it. But what?
She heard voices, and turned to see Nan and Alec climbing down the rocks from the cave entrance.
‘Whew!’ Nan was out of breath. ‘Well, Alec, you really have set us a puzzle now!’
Alec smiled. ‘Time for some research in the nearest library, I think,’ he said. ‘Just so long as the floods don’t stop me getting there.’
‘Talking of floods,’ said Nan, ‘I don’t like the look of that sky. Come on – let’s hurry back to the car before we all get a drenching!’
The weather forecast that evening came as an unpleasant surprise. As if there hadn’t already been more than enough rain, another downpour was expected tomorrow – and this time, it looked set to be truly colossal.
Tamzin listened to the broadcast with growing alarm. The announcer was talking of ‘freak’ conditions, and widespread flood warnings were out. Nan still said that Chapel Cottage would be safe, but Tamzin was finding that harder to believe. ‘And turn your world to stormy grey…’ The words of the ancient rhyme ran through her head again and again. Was this the Grey Horse’s doing? Was it the beginning of a new attack? The worst of the terrible weather was concentrated on this one small area, and she couldn’t shake off the fear that she was its target.
Nan knew Tamzin was afraid, and knew why. They didn’t talk about it, though she put an arm round Tamzin’s shoulders in a small, private gesture of comfort. Alec had rung before lunch, to say that he had managed to get to Redruth and was beginning his research in the Cornish Studies library there, but they hadn’t heard from him again. They were both waiting anxiously for a second phone call. By nightfall, though, it had not come.
It drizzled that night, but nothing worse, and by morning the drizzle had stopped, though the sky was very ominous. Then, as Tamzin and Nan were about to sit down to breakfast, Tamzin’s mobile rang.
It was Joel – and he sounded worried.
‘We’ve just heard the latest weather forecast,’ he said. ‘It sounds like we’re really in for it this time, and Dad reckons we’re going to get flooded out for certain. Our fields aren’t safe; we’re going to have to move all the horses to higher ground. Can you come up here and help?’
As soon as she learned what Joel had said, Nan was on her feet. ‘We’ll both go,’ she declared. ‘I might not be much use with the horses, but I can help at the house and stables. The Richardses are going to need every pair of hands they can get!’
They hauled on Wellingtons and waterproofs, and hurried to Nan’s car. The car was reluctant to start (‘It’s the wet,’ Nan said. ‘It gets into everything’), but eventually it coughed and spluttered into life and they set off.
As the road climbed up beside the valley and the land opened out, Tamzin was dismayed to see huge, still sheets of water covering all the lower-lying ground.
‘I didn’t know it was this bad!’ she said to Nan, aghast.
‘It’ll be even worse further inland,’ Nan told her. ‘And if we get more later… well, it almost doesn’t bear thinking about.’
The road route to the Richardses’ was much longer than the valley path, and by the time the house and stables came in sight Tamzin was keyed up with nervous impatience. Mrs Richards was in the yard, and another car was already there too.
‘Oh, thank you so much, Mrs Weston!’ Mrs Richards said with relief when she heard that Nan had come to help. ‘We’ve got enough people to cope with the horses, but there’s the house, too – we need to get as much ground-floor furniture as we can upstairs.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Nan. ‘Tell me what to do, and I’ll get started.’
‘Well, if you can help my husband indoors, that leaves me free to be in charge of the horse movers.’
Nan strode away towards the house, and Tamzin and Mrs Richards ran to the stables where Joel and two of the riding school’s regular customers were getting the horses ready.
‘Right!’ said Mrs Richards. ‘Luckily, a farmer neighbour has offered to lend us a barn and field on higher ground. The horses will be safe there. It’s four miles away by road, but only two across country. So we’ll ride there by the shorter way, and everyone will lead two more horses. If four of us go, that’s twelve horses at a time, so we can do it in two journeys. Denise,’ she added to one of the customers, ‘would you mind staying here and seeing to the second batch of horses, while the rest of us take the first?’
Denise, whom Tamzin had vaguely met before, seemed quite relieved to be staying rather than riding, so within a few minutes Tamzin found herself mounted on Moonlight, with Lark and stolid Pippin on leading reins beside her. Joel rode Jester, Mrs Richards was on piebald Dandy, and the other customer, a middle-aged man, took the big chestnut Mischa. The twelve horses stamped and pawed, and the riders gathered up their reins.
‘All ready?’ said Mrs Richards. ‘Right – let’s go. And hope the rain doesn’t start before we’ve finished!’