If anyone except a girl as pretty as this one had brought up such a subject to Gaius, he probably would have laughed in her face. Julia’s talk of such things bored him almost to tears. Instead he answered more gently, “If you have a care for my soul, you will simply have to help me save it.”
She said doubtfully, “I think Father Petros could help you a good deal better than I can.” They had reached the entrance to the avenue of oaks that led to the Forest House, and she stopped, frowning. “I can find my way from here; and you should certainly not come any closer. You might be seen, and then I too would be caught and punished.”
He seized her shoulders and said, half jocularly, half pleading, “Will you let me go with my soul unsaved, then? We must meet again.”
She looked troubled. “I should not say this,” she said abruptly. “But I take food to Father Petros’s hermitage at noon of every day. If you happened to be there…I suppose…we could talk then.”
“Then you shall certainly save my soul, if it can be saved,” Gaius replied. He did not care a pin about his suppositious soul; but he knew he wanted to see Senara again.
“I will never see you again—” Eilan turned abruptly away from Caillean and stared into the garden.
“That is foolish!” exclaimed Caillean, the stab of fear those words gave her turning to anger. “Now it is you who are having the foolish premonitions. It was you yourself who wanted me to go!”
Eilan’s thin shoulders quivered. “Not I, not I. It was the Goddess speaking through me, and I know we must do Her will. But oh, Caillean, now that the time comes, it is hard!”
“Hard indeed!” Caillean spat back at her. “But it is I who must leave you and everything that I have loved. Are you sure it was the Goddess speaking and not Ardanos whispering in your ear? He has wanted to separate us ever since I made him let you keep your son!”
“I suppose this does please him,” whispered Eilan, “but do you truly believe it was his doing? Is everything I have tried to do here a lie?”
Caillean heard her pain and could maintain her own anger no longer. “My dear one—my little one.” She laid a hand on Eilan’s shoulder and the other woman turned into her arms. She made no sound, but her cheeks were streaked with tears. “We must not fight like children when there is so little time! There are moments when the power of the gods burns like the sun, and then it grows dark and the light seems only a dream. It has always been so. But I believe in you, my love.”
“Your belief has sustained me,” Eilan murmured.
“Listen,” said Caillean. “This is not forever. One day, when we are old women together, we will laugh at our fears.”
“I know that we will be together,” said Eilan slowly, “but whether it is in this life or another, that I cannot see.”
“My Lady.” Huw spoke from the gate. “The bearers are waiting.”
“Now you must go.” Eilan straightened, becoming the High Priestess again. “We must both serve the Lady in the places where She has called us, no matter what we feel.”
“It is all right. I will return, you’ll see,” Caillean said gruffly, giving her a last, swift hug and releasing her.
She went away then, knowing that if she looked back at Eilan she would weep herself, and she must not, not before the young priestesses and the men. It was not until the curtains of the litter closed around her that she gave way to her tears.
She spent most of the rainy, dismal journey to the Summer Country brooding. Her mood was not improved by the fact that they had to travel by litter, a form of transportation that she detested.
She was accompanied by the priestesses chosen for the new establishment. They were mostly young, and all virtual newcomers to the Forest House who were too awed even to address her in anything but the barest commonplaces. Caillean had little to do except to nurse her rage.
It was nearing dusk when the little procession wound through the gap in the hills and transferred to barges to cross the shallow marshes that surrounded the Tor. It stood stark against the fading sky, crowned with a circle of stones, and even from here she could feel its power. The roundhouses of the Druids clustered on its lower slopes. In the hollow beyond, she could just make out a scattering of smaller beehive huts that must belong to the Christians Ardanos had allowed to settle here. A fragrance of some scented wood, perhaps apple, hung in the air.
They were met at the foot of the hill by the young priests set to watch there, who greeted her with many expressions of deference and good will, although they appeared somewhat uncertain about why she had come. Despite her anger she found herself amused by their confusion, and began reluctantly to come to terms with the inevitable. For better or worse, the Druid priesthood had sent her here, and even they were only instruments of the Goddess, who had commanded her presence here in no uncertain terms.
When they reached the shrine itself, it was full dark. The priests greeted them politely, if not cordially—but, then, Caillean had hardly expected to be welcomed. If this was exile, at least it was an honorable exile, and since she could not alter it, she might as well make the best of it.
After the ceremonial greetings, she found her women huddled in wide-eyed confusion by the bonfire. One of the young priests conducted them to a low, thatched-roof dwelling that, as they said apologetically, was not in any way suitable for the housing of a priestess, let alone one of her status. Still, where to put women was not a problem they had had to deal with until now. Since the Arch-Druid had commanded it, however, they were swift to assure her that a suitable house would be built for their use as soon as she made their requirements known, and such attendance as she and her women desired should be secured for them.
By the time Caillean had made sure that all the young women were safely bestowed in the hastily vacated dormitory which had housed the youngest novices, and was able to seek her own bed at last, she was ready to drop from fatigue. Though the bed and the place were strange to her, to her surprise she slept through the night peacefully and woke while dawn was still reddening the sky. She dressed herself without waking her women, and went out alone into the early morning. Streaks of rosy light were just beginning to flush the sky. The path before her led up the hill.
As the light grew, Caillean studied her surroundings carefully. To what, in this remote country, had her destiny led her?
As the sun rose, she could see that the Tor looked out over a vast expanse of wild country entirely surrounded by heavy mists that drifted from the great sheet of water; they had arrived so late the night before, that she hardly noticed, in her fatigue and exhaustion, that the final stage of the journey had been made by barge. The wooded slopes of other islands poked their blackish-green and forested summits through the mist. It was very silent, but as the sun rose and Caillean studied this strange country, she heard the faint murmur of chanting, from somewhere not very far away.
She turned; the sound came from a small structure at the very top of the hill. She moved higher to hear it more clearly. The music was soft and slow, the deep resonance of men’s voices strange to her ears after so many years among women. After a time she made out words in the flow of sound; it seemed to her that they were singing in Greek.
Kyrie eleison, Criste eleison. She had heard that this was how the Christians addressed their lord; this must be the community of refugees the Arch-Druid had given leave to settle here. These days all sorts of strange religions were breaking out all over the Empire.
Presently the sound faded, and she saw a little old man, stooped as if with great old age, regarding her. She blinked, for she had not seen him approach, and that was unusual for a priestess of her training. As she looked at him, he dropped his eyes. He must be one of the Christian priests indeed; she had heard that many of their priests would not look upon a strange woman.
But apparently he was allowed to talk to her. He said, in the market-Latin that served as a dialect all over the Empire, “A good day to you, my sister. May I ask your name? I know that you surely are not one
of our catechumens, for we have not for many years had any women among us except the venerable ladies who came with us long ago, and you are young.”
Caillean smiled a little at the thought that anyone could consider her young, but the priest was white-haired and frail as a fallen leaf. At least in years, he might have been her grandsire.
“I am not,” she said. “I am one of those who worship the forest god. I am called Caillean.”
“Is it so?” he asked her politely. “I know something of the brothers among the Druids, and I knew not they had women among them.”
“Those who dwell here have not,” she replied, “or at least not until now. I was sent here from the Forest House in the North, to establish a House of Maidens. I came up the hill to see to what place the gods had led me.”
“You speak as one who holds some acquaintance with the truth, my sister. Surely then you know that all the gods are one God…” He paused, and Caillean completed, “…And all the goddesses one Goddess.”
His ancient face was altogether kindly. “It is so. Those to whom our Lord came as God’s Divine Son would not see the Godhead in anything female, so to them we speak not of the Goddess, but of Sophia, the Holy Wisdom. But we understand that the Truth is One. So, my sister, to me it seems very fitting that you should establish here, a shrine to the Holy Wisdom after the manner of your people.”
Caillean bowed. His face was very deeply wrinkled, but it no longer seemed ugly, for it positively glowed with benevolence.
“What a splendid work to which to devote the remainder of this incarnation, my sister.” He smiled, then his gaze went inward. “It feels right for you to be here, for it seems to me that we have served at the same altars before…”
Not for the first time in this strange encounter, Caillean was amazed. “I had heard that the brothers of your faith denied the truth of incarnations,” she volunteered. But what he had said was true. She did recognize him, with the kind of certainty she had felt when she met Eilan.
“It is written that the Master himself believed,” said the ancient priest, “for He said of the Way-shower, whom men called Jochanan, that he was Elijah reborn. It is written as well that he said there was milk for babes and meat for strong men. Many of the babes among us, new in faith, are given such food as is right for spiritual infants, lest they neglect to amend their lives, in the belief that indeed the Earth shall abide forever. Yet the Master said that this generation shall not pass away before the Son of Man cometh; therefore am I here, that even the folk at the end of the world shall hear and know the Truth.”
Caillean said quietly, “May the truth prevail.”
“Success to your mission, sister,” the old man replied. “There are many here who would welcome a pious sisterhood.” He turned as if to go.
“Is it permitted to ask your name, my brother?”
“I am called Joseph, and I was a merchant of Arimathea. There are holy ladies still living among us who looked upon the Master’s face in life. They will welcome the company of enlightened women among us.”
Caillean bowed once more. She found it a strange but good omen that she should find, among these Christians who did not readily embrace women, a better welcome than her Druid brethren had offered. Servant of the Light…The title rang in her awareness from some place before memory. As the ancient priest moved down the hill, her hands moved in a gesture of reverence more ancient even than the Druids. If such a soul could ally himself to the Christians, there must be some hope for them after all.
As he disappeared inside the little beehive church, Caillean found herself smiling. She knew now that the Goddess would favor her work and that she had indeed been sent here with good reason. She would begin this very day.
As Caillean breakfasted with the other women it occurred to her that in this new home, where they were all far from every familiar thing, she could not quite maintain the aloofness that Lhiannon and then Eilan had observed within the Forest House. She made her first decision: they were not to be served by outsiders. It was the first step in determining just how much contact they would have with the male priesthood. An easier decision was to appoint one of the tallest and strongest of the young novices to locate a site suitable for a garden and to sow it as quickly as might be done with as many vegetables as practicable. Some food would, of course, be provided by the local population, but she wished it clear from the very beginning that they would not be in any way dependent upon the Druid priests. The priests would have not the shadow of an excuse for claiming control over the lives of the women there.
She chose another young woman—probably the least intelligent of her subordinates—to be in charge of the cooking and serving of the food, promising her as much assistance as she desired. Later that day she spoke with one of the priests, and established that a building should be completed before the winter snow grew deep that could house four or five times their original number. Politely, but adamantly she discarded the old priest’s suggestion that their present accommodations might suffice at least through the present winter.
When she finally dismissed him he looked rather stunned. She suspected that he was probably feeling like someone who had been rolled over by a team of big horses, and felt that for the first time she could have her own will done. It was not at all an unwelcome feeling. The Goddess was at work here indeed, for the Lady could now make use of her talents to their fullest, and that had never been true before.
She missed Dieda; she could have used the younger woman’s help with the maidens and in teaching them singing. But, she thought, she was better off without hostility among her associates, especially since they would have been thrown into such close contact. Here there was no one to protest whatever rules she might make. She resolved to choose the woman most experienced in singing or chanting to learn to play upon her own harp, and perhaps even teach her the art of fashioning such instruments.
When she finally laid herself down to sleep, after an evening spent grouping the women together for their first lesson in memorizing the unwritten lore of the Goddess, she could hear the sweet sound of chanting coming once more from the distant church. It was to the renewed chant of “Kyrie eleison” that she fell into sleep, more content with the spot to which the Goddess had led her than she had ever imagined she could be. That night she dreamed of a shrine served by maidens, of courts and halls upon the holy Tor, which might one day rise here. It might not be in her own lifetime; but it would come.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The days waxed longer after Beltane; the cattle were driven to the hill pastures, and in the fields men tended the grain. Midsummer came, and for the first time Ardanos did not try to instruct Eilan before the ritual regarding the Oracle. When she saw him at the ritual, he seemed very frail. They told her afterward that the Goddess had foretold a time of disasters and changes, but promised peace to follow. Indeed, the whole land was full of rumors, but no one could say from what direction the danger might come.
Eilan had meant to visit the Arch-Druid after recovering from her own part in the ritual, but at this time of year there was much to do in the Forest House. The days went by and still she did not find the time. In high summer, even the maidens of the Forest House went into the fields of Vernemeton to help with the haying. Eilan supervised those who wove linen for the priests, and worked over the dye pots, preparing fabric for new robes, but it was Caillean who was missed most sorely, for she had always been the most skillful of the women at dyeing cloth. No law required Eilan to take her turn at this menial work but it seemed to her that as long as she had a responsibility for their little community, it was up to her to participate in it.
She was in the dye sheds, her sleeves rolled above the elbow and her forearms splattered with blue dye when a shadow fell across the doorway. A ripple of scandalized excitement ran through the women as they realized it was one of the young Druids, flushed and perspiring in his white robe. For though the shed was not within the sacred precinct inside the walls, where only the highest
of the priests might enter, they were not used to seeing men.
“The High Priestess,” he gasped. “Is the Lady Eilan here?” All the women turned to look at Eilan, and as the boy’s flush deepened she realized that he had never seen her without her veil. He swallowed. “Please, Lady—the Arch-Druid has been taken ill. You must come!”
Eilan stopped in the doorway of Ardanos’s chamber, shocked in spite of having been warned. She heard a little gasp from Miellyn, who was attending her, and motioned her to stand with Huw at the door. Then she sat down beside the bed of the dying man. And indeed there could be no doubt that he was dying. At each breath air rattled and sucked in Ardanos’s chest, and she could see the skull beneath the sallow skin. With a pang she remembered how he had sat with Lhiannon during her illness. Even though at times she had hated him, she hoped that his passage would be an easy one.
“He collapsed at dinner and lay unconscious until a little while ago,” said Garic, one of the older priests. “We have sent for Bendeigid.”
She put back her veil and reached out to take his hand. “Ardanos,” she said softly. “Ardanos, can you hear me?”
The papery eyelids fluttered and after a moment of confusion, he focused on her face. “Dieda,” he whispered.
“Grandfather, do you not know me even now? Dieda is in the South, testing maidens who wish to join us as priestesses. I am Eilan.” She was bitterly amused that he should still be confusing them after all these years.
His gaze focused on the ornaments she had taken the time to put on and he sighed. “You were the right one…after all.”
“Ardanos,” she said firmly, “as High Priestess it is my duty to tell you that you are dying. You must not depart without naming your successor. Tell us, Arch-Druid, who shall bear the golden sickle when you are gone?”
His eyes fixed on her face. “Goddess, I did the best…I could,” he whispered. “The Merlin knows…”