Shaking, Gaius pulled himself upright and plucked the weapon from his enemy’s nerveless fingers. He bent over to finish the job he had begun and found himself staring into Cynric’s dazed eyes.
“Don’t move!” he said in British, and the other stilled. Gaius looked quickly around him. “I can save you—they’re beginning to take hostages. Will you surrender to me now?”
“Roman.” Cynric spat, but weakly. “I should have left you in the boar pit!” It was then that Gaius realized the other man had recognized him as well. “Better for me…and for Eilan!”
“You have as much Roman blood as I do!” Guilt added venom to Gaius’s reply.
“Your mother sold her honor! Mine died!”
Gaius found himself pushing down on the blade, and at the last moment realized that was what Cynric wanted him to do.
“You saved my life once. Now I give you yours, and Hades take your damned British pride! Surrender, and another day you can fight me.” He knew this was foolish; even lying in his blood Cynric looked dangerous. But saving him was the only thing he could do for Eilan.
“You win…” Cynric’s head fell back in exhaustion, and Gaius saw new blood seeping from the gashes on his arms and thighs. “…Today…” Their eyes met, and Gaius saw the hatred still burning in his eyes. “But one day you will pay…” He fell silent as the wagon that was picking up the wounded creaked towards them.
Gaius watched two battered legionaries load him in with the others, his satisfaction in the Roman victory dissipating as he realized that he had lost his friend as surely as if he had seen Cynric die before his own eyes.
With darkness Agricola called off the pursuit, not wishing to risk his men on unfamiliar ground. But for the Caledonians who survived it was not yet over. Far into the night the Romans could hear women calling as they searched the battlefield. Over the next few days returning scouts reported an ever-widening circle of devastation. The land that had once supported a thriving people was now a silent world in which the bodies of women and children killed by their own men to save them from slavery gazed blankly at the heavens, and the smoke of burned housesteads darkened the weeping sky.
When the numbers were finally tallied it was estimated that wounds or battle had accounted for ten thousand of the enemy, while only three hundred and sixty Romans died.
As Gaius rode along the column of men marching south to winter quarters, he remembered the words of Calgacus: “To ravage, to slaughter, to usurp under false titles they call Empire; and where they make a desert, they call it peace.”
Certainly the North was peaceful now, the last hopes for British freedom as dead as the men who had defended it. It was this, more than the fact that the despatches he carried included a very flattering description of his own conduct on the battlefield, that made Gaius realize that he must become entirely a Roman now.
NINETEEN
Despite Agricola’s hopes, the pacification of the North was not to be neatly accomplished with a single battle. And though the people of Rome danced in the streets when the triumphant account of Mons Graupius was proclaimed, a great deal remained to be done to secure the victory. The despatches that Gaius bore southward included an order for him to return as soon as his wounds were healed, for the Governor was not inclined to let so useful a young man go to waste in Londinium.
One of Gaius’s assignments was to visit the compound where they were keeping the more important prisoners. Cynric was still there, scarred and embittered, but alive, and grimly triumphant that Calgacus had not been captured to grace Agricola’s triumph in Rome. Indeed, no one seemed to know what had happened to the British leader. There were rumors that the Druid Bendeigid was hiding out in the hills.
“I was taken in arms, and expect no mercy,” said Cynric in a momentary softening, “but if your general has any regard for you, ask him to pardon the old man. I pulled you out of the boar pit, but he saved your life. For that, I think you owe him something, don’t you?”
And Gaius had agreed. In truth, his debt was greater than Cynric knew, and since it could not be proven that Bendeigid had fought against Rome, Agricola was willing to let word be circulated through the North that the Druid could safely return home.
In the event, it was not until the Governor himself headed south to prepare for his return to Rome that Gaius was given leave to do the same. And so it was the end of winter by the time he found himself on the road to visit his father in Deva, free at last to follow the instructions Julia had given him months before to make his peace with Eilan.
Winter in the North had been black and chill, with bitter winds and nights that seemed to have no end. Even this far south the air was brisk, though the first buds were beginning to tip the branches with green, and Gaius was glad of his wolfskin cloak. In Britain even the deified Julius had sometimes worn three tunics, one above the other, against the cold.
It felt strange to ride through a country that was at peace. It seemed to Gaius that everything must have changed since last he saw it, as if he had been gone for years. But as he neared Deva, the raw wind that blew in off the estuary was the same, and the dark mountains that hung on the western horizon were the brooding shadows that had haunted him since he was a child. He rode past the mighty embankments of the fortress to the main gate, and found the timber stockade that crowned them only a little more weathered than he remembered. It was he himself that had changed.
His footsteps rang on the stone pavement of the praetorium as he strode towards his father’s office. Valerius looked up as he entered, frowning for a moment until Gaius began to strip off his wrappings. Then he grinned. But it was when Macellius emerged from the inner office that Gaius realized he was not the only one to have grown older.
“Well, my boy! Is it you indeed? We had begun to fear that the Governor would take you back to Rome with him. He wrote very favorably about your work up there, lad, very favorably indeed.” Macellius held out his arms, and clasped Gaius in a hearty embrace, cut short, as if the older man were afraid to betray himself if he held on to his son for too long.
But Gaius had felt how his father’s fingers gripped him, as if he needed to reassure himself that his boy was there in the flesh, alive. He had no need to ask if Macellius had been worried; he did not think that settling the petty squabbles of men in winter quarters and tallying up stores had put the new gray in the Camp Prefect’s hair.
“So how long are we to have the pleasure of your company before they need you back in Londinium?”
“I have a few weeks of leave, sir.” Gaius forced a smile. “I thought it was time I came home for a while.” With a pang he realized that Macellius had not said a word about his wedding. The old man must realize that I have grown up at last!
But Macellius no longer needed to ask about it. Since the battle of Mons Graupius Gaius had somehow begun to take his marriage to Julia for granted. But now that the familiar hills of Deva were bringing back old memories he wondered. Could he really go through with it, and if he did not, what would he do?
But Gaius had found out one thing about himself in these last months: he was ambitious after all. Agricola was a great man, and he had been an excellent Governor, but who could say whom Domitian would send after him? And there were things about this land that even Agricola could never understand. The old Britannia of the tribes was dead. Its people would have to change and become Romans, but how could some Gaul or Spaniard understand them? To make this country the gem of the Empire could require the leadership of someone both British and Roman. Someone like himself, if he made the right moves now.
“…invite a few of the senior officers to join us for dinner,” his father was saying. “If you’re not too tired?”
“I’m fine.” Gaius smiled. “After the roads in Caledonia, it was a pleasure to ride here.”
Macellius nodded, and Gaius could see the pride radiating off of him like heat from a fire. He swallowed, suddenly realizing that Macellius had never before given him such unqualified approval—a
nd how much he needed to see that glow in his father’s eyes.
It was usual for the High Priestess to spend some time in seclusion after the great festivals, recovering from the ritual. The women of the Forest House had become accustomed to this when Lhiannon ruled them, and no one thought it odd that after Eilan’s first appearance as High Priestess her recovery should be protracted.
And once she was up and about again, they might have been disappointed that she did not participate much in the life of their community, and so often went heavily veiled, but they were not surprised. Lhiannon was the only High Priestess that most of them had ever known, and during her last years she had kept mostly to her rooms, served by Caillean, or by her chosen attendants. In any case a period of retreat was required so that the new Oracle could commune with the gods.
And the reclusiveness of their new High Priestess was less intriguing a topic of gossip than the disappearance of Dieda. Some were sure that she had gone voluntarily, angry because she had not been chosen High Priestess. Others suggested that she had run away to join Cynric, whom several had seen when he visited the Forest House in the company of Bendeigid.
But when someone heard from a woodcutter that a pregnant woman was living in the hut in the forest, the solution to the mystery became appallingly obvious. Dieda must be with child; she had been sent to live in the isolation of the forest until she should be delivered of her shame.
The truth, of course, was so impossible that no one guessed it. In the event, Dieda’s part in the deception was not even very taxing, for after the battle of Mons Graupius the Governor had forbidden all public assemblies lest they spark unrest. This far south they had heard only rumors of the destruction; for most folk, getting in food for the winter was a more pressing concern. At the feast of Samaine folk had to make do with the little divinations of apples and nuts and the hearthfire, for there was no fair or festival, and no Oracle.
As for Eilan, she spent the winter snug in the round hut in the forest, visited from time to time by Caillean, and attended by an old woman who did not know her name. She made a little altar to the Goddess as Mother by the fireside, and as she watched her belly ripen, she wavered between joy in the new life that was growing within her and anguish because she did not know if she would ever see her child’s father again.
But it was the natural course of things that even the longest winter should one day give way to spring. Though there were times when Eilan had felt that she would be pregnant for ever, the feast of Brigantia was approaching, when her child should be born. A few days before the festival Caillean appeared in the doorway, and though these days she came easily to tears or laughter, Eilan felt so glad to see her that she thought she would weep.
“There is fresh oat bread that I baked this morning,” she said. “Sit here and join me in my noon meal—” She hesitated. “Unless you feel that I contaminate you by my forsworn presence?”
Caillean laughed. “Never,” she replied. “If it had not been for the snows, I would have come before.”
“And how are things in the Forest House?” Eilan asked. “How does Dieda in my place? Tell me everything; I am very dull here, growing like a vegetable!”
“Surely not.” Caillean smiled. “Perhaps a fruit tree come to harvest not in autumn but spring. As for Vernemeton, Dieda performs your duties faithfully, though perhaps not as well as you would do. I promise you I will come when your child is born. Send me word by the old woman when the time comes.”
“How will I know?”
Caillean laughed, not unkindly. “You were present when your sister’s second child was born. How much do you remember?”
“What I remember of that time is the raiders, and how you carried fire,” Eilan said meekly.
Caillean smiled. “Well, I think it will not be long now. Perhaps you will deliver on the Feast of the Maiden—your hands were busy this morning, and such restlessness is often seen when a child stirs in readiness to be born. And I have brought you a gift, a garland of white birch twigs, sacred to the Mother. See—I will hang it above your bed that it may bring you good fortune at Her hands.” She rose and drew the wreath from her bag.
“The gods men follow may seem to shun you, but the Goddess cares for all Her daughters who stand where you stand now. After the festival I will come again, though it will be no pleasure seeing Dieda in your place there.”
“How delighted I am to hear your opinion,” someone said from the doorway, the sweetness of her voice intensifying the sting of her words. “But if you do not like me in the role of High Priestess, surely it is a little late to be saying so!”
A figure heavily veiled in dark blue was standing there. Eilan’s eyes widened and Caillean flushed angrily.
“Why have you come here?”
“Why not?” Dieda asked. “Do you not think it gracious of the High Priestess to visit her fallen kinswoman? All of our dear sisters are aware that someone is living here, you know, and have concluded it is me. I will not have a shred of reputation left when I eventually ‘return.’”
Eilan’s voice shook. “Did you come only to gloat over my shame, Dieda?”
“Strangely enough, I did not.” Dieda put back her veil. “Eilan, in spite of all that has been between us, I wish you well. You are not the only one who is alone. I have had no word of Cynric since he went north, and he has sent no word to me. He cares for nothing but the fate of the Ravens. Perhaps when this deception is over I should go north instead of to Eriu and become one of the warrior women who serve the goddess of battles.”
“Nonsense,” said Caillean tartly. “You would make a very poor warrior, but you are a gifted bard.”
Dieda shrugged helplessly. “Perhaps, but I must find some way to atone for serving Ardanos’s treachery.”
“Do you truly call it so?” asked Eilan; “I do not. I have had time to think, living here, and it seems to me that the Lady has allowed this to happen to Her Priestess so that I may understand the need to protect all the children of this land. It is peace, not war, that I will work for when I return.”
Dieda looked down at Eilan. She said slowly, “I never had any wish for a child by Cynric or any other man. And yet I think that if I were bearing a child to Cynric, I might feel as you do.” Her eyes were glistening with tears and she dashed them angrily away. “I must return before busy tongues have time to spin too many tales. I came only to wish you good fortune; but it seems that even here, Caillean has forestalled me.”
She turned, pulling her veil over her face once more, and before either of them could find words to reply, was gone.
Every day, it seemed, the light lasted a little longer. The branches blushed with returning sap and the swans began courting in the marshes. Though winter storms might still come to lash the land, there was a sense that spring was coming. The men who worked the land took down their plowshares from the rafters, and the fishermen began to caulk their vessels, and the shepherds stayed out all night on the cold hillsides with the lambing ewes.
Gaius rode out, listening to the sounds of new life all around him, and counted the days. It had been Beltane when he and Eilan lay together, and since then nine moons had passed. She would be giving birth soon now. Women died in childbirth sometimes. He watched returning waterfowl unraveling across the sky and knew that whether he married Julia or not, he had to see Eilan once more.
The higher he rose among the Romans, the more he could do for Eilan and their child. If it were a son, perhaps Eilan would let him raise him. She certainly could not keep him in the Forest House. It did not seem so unlikely; his mother’s people had been willing enough to give him up completely into his father’s hands.
As he rode back to the fortress his thoughts went round and round. It would be hard to tell her that they could not be married, at least not yet. If Julia did not give him a son, well, he sometimes thought divorced couples were more common than married ones in the Roman world. When his position was assured perhaps they could marry; at least he could give his
child a good start in the world. Would she believe that? Would she forgive him? He bit his lip, wondering what he would say to her.
But mostly his heart beat hard simply at the thought of seeing Eilan again, even at a distance; just to know that all was well with her.
Of course, there was still the problem of how he was going to get in to see her. At length he realized that he would have to trust to the gods to help him.
The Legate who commanded the Second Adiutrix Legion had retired the preceding winter and it was just at this moment that his replacement arrived Gaius knew that his father would have more than enough to do helping the new Commander settle in. When he announced he was going off for a few days’ hunting, Macellius hardly had time to say farewell.
It was at the festival of the goddess the Britons called Brigantia that celebrated the end of the winter that Gaius rode once more past the Hill of the Maidens, just at that time when the young men dressed in costumes of straw and carried an image of the Lady from house to house to give Her blessing in exchange for cakes and ale. But here, he had heard, the priestess who was the Voice of the Goddess came out to proclaim the coming of spring to the people. In the wood outside the village Gaius changed into the British clothing he had brought along. Then he joined the others who were gathering to await the priestesses. From conversations overheard around him, he learned that this year the crowd was bigger than usual.
“The old Priestess died last autumn,” one of the women told him. “And they say that the new one is young, and very beautiful.”
“Who is she?” he asked, his heart beginning to beat heavily in his breast.
“The Arch-Druid’s granddaughter, I am told, and some whisper there was more than chance in her choosing. But I say that the old blood is best for the old ways, and who should be better fitted for such a task than one whose fathers and mothers before her have served the gods?”