"Then the first of them, the one with the long lower lip, said, ‘I am hungry; what have you to eat?’ And they hastened to make her a pot of porridge; and she ate up the pot of porridge, and it was enough for a dozen men, and she cried out, ‘You are stingy; I hunger still.’
"Now on this night no request of a guest can be denied; and so the Queen set herself and her serving maids to make more porridge for her guests and put some oatcakes on the hearth to bake. But no matter how much food they set before the guest, she growled, ‘I am still hungry.’
"Then the second, the bearded one, complained, ‘I am thirsty.’ When they brought out a barrel of beer, she drank it all down at one draft and complained that she was still dry. And when they began to fear that the hags would eat all the provision for the winter to come, the Queen and the King went out and consulted together what they should do with their guests. And then one of the fairy folk appeared to them from out of a mound and gave the Queen good-day.
" ‘All the gods preserve you, good lady; why are you weeping?’ And the Queen told them of the three hideous hags and their fear that the creatures meant to eat them out of house and home, and then to eat the King and the Queen. And the Fairy Woman told her what she should do.
"So the Queen went in and sat down to her knitting; and finally the first hag asked, ‘What are you making, Granny?’
"And the Queen replied, ‘Knitting a shroud, dear Aunty.’
"And the second hag asked through her beard, ‘Who is the shroud for, Granny?’
" ‘Oh, for anyone I can find who is homeless this night, dear Aunty.’
"And after a while the third asked, kissing her pig, ‘And when will you be using the shroud, Granny?’
"And just then the King rushed in and cried out, ‘The black mountain and the sky over it are all on fire!’
"And when they heard that, the three hags cried out, ‘Alas, alas, our father is gone’ and rushed out of the door, and they were never seen again in that country by any living man; or if they were, then I have not heard of it.”
Dieda fell silent. After a long pause, while the wind wailed loudly around the building, Miellyn said, "I heard Caillean tell a story very like that, long ago; did you learn it from her?”
"I did not,” said Dieda. "I heard my father tell it once when I was a very small girl.”
"I suppose it is very old,” said Miellyn, "and of course he is one of the greatest bards. But you told it as well as any Druid. You or Caillean could head the College as well as he.”
"Oh, no doubt,” Dieda scoffed. "And why not make us judges as well?”
Why not, indeed? Eilan wondered. Caillean would have had an answer to that, but Caillean was not here.
THIRTEEN
Once Gaius had reassured Valerius that his kinswoman was safe in Eilan’s care in the Forest House, he made plans to leave again before his father could begin nagging him again about marriage. Since seeing Eilan, he was even more determined not to be married off to some Roman girl. Ever since the death of the Emperor Titus and the accession of Domitian everything had been unsettled, and Gaius knew that his father was looking about for alliances.
After a time he went out into the town. The morning had been warm and muggy, but now great clouds were building in the west, and he felt his hair ruffled by a cool wind. An old centurion had told him once that in this country there were two ways to tell the weather: if you could see the hills, it was about to rain; if not, it was already raining. The man had sighed then, homesick for the flat blue skies of Italia, but Gaius took a grateful breath of the damp wind. As the first drop of rain fell, the Romans began to scurry for shelter. But there was one man who stood still, as he did, turning his face to the sky.
Without much surprise, Gaius recognized Cynric.
"Join me for a cup of wine?” He gestured towards the wine shop where they had met before.
Cynric shook his head. "Thank you; I think I had better not. I’d rather that you could say that you haven’t seen me. As a matter of fact it would be much better for you if you could say that you don’t know too much about my comings and goings. That way I won’t have to ask you to lie.”
Gaius lifted one eyebrow. "Are you joking?”
"I wish I were. I shouldn’t even stand about talking to you like this; though you can honestly say you encountered me by chance.”
"Don’t worry,” said Gaius, looking around him. A gust of wind sent raindrops spattering across the road, sending up little puffs of dust as they fell. "All the good Romans are safe under cover, and won’t care about two fools standing out in the rain! Listen, Cynric, I need to talk to you about Eilan…”
Cynric grimaced. "I beg of you, don’t speak of that. That was quite the biggest mistake I’ve made this year; Lhiannon was furious with me. No real harm was done, but don’t try to see my foster sister again.” He looked nervously around him. "Even if you can afford it, I should not be seen talking to an officer of the Legions in full uniform. In fact, you’d better pretend you don’t know me if we meet by accident again.”
He added, "I won’t be offended. Somebody finally figured out that I was still working for the Ravens, and it occurred to them that serving with the auxiliaries put me in a prime position to make trouble when the time comes. So they’ve proscribed me, and if I’m spotted within twenty miles of the Roman town, I could be sentenced to the mines—or to something worse—if there is anything worse. Farewell!” Cynric turned away.
Gaius blinked, realizing suddenly that Cynric no longer wore the insignia of Rome. That must be why he was willing to speak so plainly. He was still trying to think of something to say as his friend slid into a side street and disappeared, leaving him alone with the rain. Gaius checked the impulse to follow him. If Cynric were truly an enemy of Rome, even a quick death would be better than sending him to the Mendip lead mines.
"Don’t try to see my foster sister again.”
Cynric’s words echoed in his head. Was this, then, the end to his hope of contact with Eilan? No doubt Cynric and his father were right. But as he pulled the garnet-colored folds of his military cloak over his head and started down the street, the moisture on his cheeks was not entirely from the rain.
Caillean paused in the doorway of the main hall, wincing as the cackle smote her ears. After more than two moons alone, she had forgotten how much noise women could make when they were all cooped up together. For a moment she wanted to turn and flee back to the solitude of her hut in the forest.
"So, you’re back,” commented Dieda, finally noticing her. "I wonder why, after the way Lhiannon has treated you. Having got free of us, I should think you would have kept going!”
"And why are you still here?” stung, Caillean replied. "The man you loved is away in the North with the Eagles after him. Is your place then not by his side?”
For a moment anger flared in the younger woman’s face, to be replaced in a moment by something closer to despair.
"Don’t you think I would have been away in a moment if he had asked me?” she said bitterly. "But his loyalty is given to the Lady of Ravens, and if I cannot be first with the man I love I will take the final vows of a priestess and not have one at all!” Her voice faltered as the other women turned, and Caillean gazed at her with reluctant pity, grateful that she had never been tempted to love.
"Caillean—” Eilidh hurried towards her. "I was hoping you would return today. Lhiannon is in her rooms. Go to her now. She never complains, but I know that she has missed you.”
And well she might, thought Caillean wryly as she crossed the courtyard, pulling her shawl over her head to keep off the rain, since it was she who sent me away!
As always after an absence, Caillean was struck by Lhiannon’s fragility. She will not make old bones, she thought now, looking at her. There was no obvious sign of illness, only an increasing translucence, but an instinct honed by years as a priestess told her that the older woman was being consumed from within.
"Mother, I am here,” she
said softly. "Were you wanting to see me?”
Lhiannon turned, and Caillean saw that her faded eyes were glistening with tears. "I have been waiting for you,” she said softly. "Will you forgive me for sending you away?”
Caillean shook her head, feeling her own throat tighten, and crossed the room swiftly to kneel beside the High Priestess’s chair.
"What is there to forgive?” she asked brokenly, laying her head on the older woman’s knees. She felt her own tears begin to fall as Lhiannon touched her hair. "I should never have become a priestess, such a trouble to you I have been!” Suddenly, by that tender touch on her brow, a barrier that had begun to crack when she poured out her heart to Eilan so long ago was swept away.
"I never could tell you,” she whispered, "at first I did not understand, and then I was ashamed. I am no pure maiden. In Eriu, before you found me, I was used by a man—” Her voice choked. There was a silence, and then the thin fingers began once more to stroke her hair.
"Ah, little one, is that what has troubled you? I thought there was something, but did not want to ask. You were not even a woman yet when I took you from Eriu. How could you sin? It is only that we do not speak of such things, because there are those who would not understand. We must preserve appearances. That is why I punished you for helping Eilan. But listen, Caillean, my dear one—whatever befell you before you came here is of no importance, not to the Goddess, and certainly not to me, so long as while you dwell in Her House you serve Her faithfully and well!”
Still weeping, Caillean reached up to clasp the older woman’s arms. Despite occasional exasperation, she realized then that what she felt for Lhiannon was surely as deep as any love she might have had for a man, though it was different in kind. And she loved Eilan, whose sympathy had first enabled her to face these memories. But at least neither of these loves would ever conflict with her vows as priestess.
There had been moments, during the days of Caillean’s exile, when the raindrops that fell from the eaves of the Forest House had seemed to strike Eilan’s heart. Gaius was gone, and she would not see him again, that much had been made clear. It was a relief to have those thoughts interrupted when Caillean summoned her.
"You’re back!” she exclaimed as she pushed through the woolen hangings at the door of Caillean’s chamber. "No one told me! How long have you been here?”
"A day only,” said the priestess. "I was with Lhiannon.”
Eilan embraced her and stood back to look Caillean up and down. "It’s done you no harm, anyway.” She looked brown and healthy, and the little line that sometimes marred the blue crescent tattooed between her brows had smoothed away. "Have they quite forgiven you for my crime?”
Caillean smiled. "It is forgotten. And that, child, is why I sent for you. You have been here for three years now and done well in your studies. The time has come for you to decide if you wish to become truly one of us and take your vows.”
"Has it been so long?” It was hard to believe that Mairi’s daughter was already a thriving toddler three years old, and her older child nearly five. And yet at the same time it seemed to Eilan that she had always been here. Her old life was forgotten, and when she dreamed of Gaius it was always of his arms around her and his voice murmuring in her ear. She could not imagine living with him in the Roman world.
"Is Dieda to take her vows now too?” They were all aware of Dieda’s bitterness over what she saw as Cynric’s defection, and now that he was proscribed, who could say when it would be safe for him to return? His commitment to the training of a warrior and his vengeance still commanded his first loyalty. Like the loyalty that holds Gaius to his father’s world, Eilan thought.
"That is between her and the Goddess,” Caillean said sternly. "Now we are speaking of you. Is it still your wish to persevere among us, little one?”
Dieda will make her vows, and so shall I, Eilan thought. Why not, when neither of us can ever have the man we love?
"Yes, it is. At least”—she hesitated—"if the Goddess still wants me, knowing that my love was first given to a man.”
"That does not matter,” Caillean smiled radiantly. "The Goddess no longer regards anything that happened to you before you made your vows. I have finally told Lhiannon what happened to me, and she has assured me that is so. I owe that blessing to you, my dear, and I am glad to be able to pass it on!”
"There are some who would not see it that way,” Eilan said bitterly.
"You must not let them trouble you.” Caillean set her hands on Eilan’s shoulders and stared into her eyes, and it seemed to Eilan that the dark eyes of the priestess were like the sacred pool, in which past and future could be seen.
"Listen, little sister, and I will tell you the truth at the heart of the Mysteries. All the gods, and all the goddesses too, are one, whether we call her Arianrhod or Cathubodva or Don. The Light of Truth is One, but we see it as light reflects through crystals or prisms, in many colors. Each of the ways in which men and women see their gods—or their goddesses—has a part of that truth. We who live in the Forest House are privileged to see the Goddess in many ways, and to call Her by many names, but we know this first and greatest of all secrets, that the gods, whatever they are called, are all one.”
"Then does this mean that the gods of the Romans are the same gods and goddesses we serve?”
"Indeed—that is why they carve their images with the attributes of both when they build their votive altars here. But it is true that while we in the Forest House know the identity of all gods by whatever name we may call them, we believe that we serve the Goddess in perhaps Her purest form, as the divinity in all women. And so we pledge ourselves to serve Her as Mother, Sister and Daughter. This is why we sometimes speak of seeing the Face of the Goddess in the face of every woman.”
For a moment the exaltation in Caillean’s words held her, then Eilan felt a sudden spurt of anger. Why had they all been so angry at her interest in a Roman if their gods were all the same? Caillean had been present when she spoke with Gaius and knew how she felt about him. How could she say that those feelings would no longer matter once she had taken her vows? They were a part of her, as holy as the ecstasy she had felt sometimes when the presence of the Goddess filled her like moonlight glimmering on the sacred pool.
"What will be required of me?”
"You will take a vow to remain forever chaste unless you should be chosen by the god. And you will pledge that you will not speak foolishly of temple secrets to the unsworn, and that you will strive always to do the will of the Goddess and of anyone who shall command you lawfully in any of Her names.”
Caillean paused, watching her and Eilan reflected on how much she loved her, and had come to love the other women and the life they had there. She met the priestess’s dark gaze. "To all this I will willingly swear…”
"And you will demonstrate that you are mistress of the skills we have taught you, and that the Goddess is willing to accept you? You will understand that I cannot describe it—indeed they say that for each candidate the ordeal is different, so even if my oath did not forbid it I could tell you nothing more.”
Eilan suppressed a shiver of anxiety. Living in the House of Maidens she had heard rumors of candidates who had failed and been sent away, or worse still, disappeared. "I understand, and I am willing,” she said quietly.
"So be it, then,” said Caillean. "In Her name I now welcome you as a candidate priestess.” She kissed Eilan on the cheek; and Eilan remembered that one of the younger priestesses had done this when first she came to the Forest House. For a moment the two kisses blurred; she blinked, dizzied by the sense that she was repeating a moment she had lived many times before.
"At the full moon before Samaine, then, you shall speak your vows in the presence of the priestesses. Lhiannon and your grandfather will be greatly pleased.”
Eilan stared at her. She was certainly not doing this for their sake! Caillean had asked her to choose, but had her decision in fact been molded by her family’s ex
pectations and perhaps other forces dimly hovering in the shadows beyond perception?
"Caillean—” she whispered, reaching out to the priestess. "If I vow myself to the Goddess, it will not be because I am the daughter and granddaughter of Druids, or even because I will never see Gaius again. There has to be something more.”
Caillean looked at her. "When we first met it seemed to me you had a destiny among us,” she said slowly. "I feel it even more strongly now. But I cannot guarantee that you will be happy, child.”
"I do not expect to be—” Eilan caught her breath on a sob. "So long as there is some reason, some purpose, in it all!”
Caillean sighed and held out her arms, and Eilan leaned against her, feeling the tightness in her throat ease as the other woman stroked her hair.
"There is always a reason, my dear, though it may be long before we understand it—that is all the comfort I can offer you. If the Goddess does not know what She is doing, what meaning is there in the world?”
"It is enough,” whispered Eilan, hearing the other woman’s heart beating, steady and slow, beneath her ear. "If I also have your love.”
"You do…” Caillean’s voice was almost too low to be heard. "I love you as Lhiannon has loved me…”
The full moon looked down from the heavens like a watchful eye, as if Arianrhod had personally decided to observe the ceremonies. As the chanting of the priestesses who had brought her here faded to silence, an inner chill pebbled Eilan’s arms, though the night was warm. Had she been hoping for rain? It would have made no difference; if the Druids had allowed the weather to affect their rituals they would not have had much of a religion. She knew she should be glad that the skies had chosen to bless her initiation, but the moonlight made her uneasy.
At least the brightness should make it easier to follow the path, and all the priestesses had asked was that she walk through the forest back to the temple, which did not seem a great ordeal. Eager for it to be done, Eilan hurried into the shadows beneath the trees, away from the moon’s implacable gaze.