“Oh indeed, that’s easy enough to say—” Dieda turned on her. “But you take lives, not give them. You fed on Caillean’s wisdom, and sent her into exile when you had drained her dry. You stole my reputation, and walked away with your honor as bright as a newborn babe’s. And now you have taken the life of the only man I ever loved! Your Roman was lucky to be rid of you! Eilan the inviolate! Lady High and Mighty! If only they knew!”
Eilan said wearily, “None of us held a sword to your throat to bid you take vows here, Dieda. When it was clear they had chosen me, you could have been released, and when you went to Eriu, no force was used to bid you return. I have said this before, but I suppose you could not hear.” She tried to speak calmly, but the other woman’s words struck harder than Cynric’s blow.
“I told you once to beware if ever you betrayed our people. Was Cynric right, Eilan? Have you been working for Rome all along?”
Eilan lifted her head and, trembling, stared into that other face, so like her own. “I swear…that I have served the Goddess as well as I could,” she said hoarsely, “and may the sky fall and cover me, the earth rise up to swallow me, if I lie.” She took a deep breath. “I am still High Priestess of Vernemeton. But you may go to Caillean, or wherever else you will, if you feel that you can no longer serve the Goddess in my company!”
Slowly Dieda began to shake her head, a sly expression that Eilan liked even less than her rage creeping into her eyes.
“I won’t leave you,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t leave now for the world. I want to be here when the Goddess strikes you down!”
Senara was already waiting outside the hut in the forest when Gaius arrived, her bright hair like a flame against the dark trees. “I see you have come,” he said softly.
Senara turned and, although she had expected him, gave a small startled cry. “Is it you?”
“No other,” he said, almost gaily, “in spite of the evil weather. I dare say we shall have rain, and that speedily.” He looked at the sky. “What, think you, would Father Petros say to lending the shelter of his roof to a couple of wayfarers?”
“For converts I think he would be delighted. I do not think he would do so to pagans,” she said reprovingly.
They moved inside together. The hermit’s furnishings consisted of some dilapidated benches and, against the wall, a clumsy box bed. But where, this evening, was Father Petros? Outside the storm broke with a rattle of wind and a slam of rain. Gaius winced, listening to the thunder.
“You see, we made it here just in time,” he said. “Bellissima!”
“You must not call me so,” she said timidly.
“No?” he queried, watching her carefully. “But I thought truth was one of your Christian virtues. The Stoics say so, and even among the Druids, I have heard, truth-telling is valued. Would you have me lie to you, then?”
“You know how to best me with words,” she said crossly. “We came here to speak of the state of your soul.”
“Ah, yes, a thing that I am not yet convinced I possess.”
She said, “I am no philosopher. But do not even the Stoics whom you have mentioned, speak of that part of a man which deals with the evidence of that which you can neither see nor feel?”
“They do; it is that which convinces me that of all women you are the most desirable.”
He knew that he was pushing the girl, but the storm, rather than relieving the tension, seemed to have filled him with its own intensity. He had spent the days since his meeting with Eilan in turmoil, alternately raging and in despair. He would have taken her away and done his duty by her, but she had denied him. Julia too had forfeited her claim to him. Surely he was free now to seek comfort elsewhere! And when he told Senara she was beautiful, he had not lied.
She blushed and said timidly, “It is not well done of you to speak so to me.”
“On the contrary, I think it is very well done, and you would have me speak the truth. And for what else were you created as a woman?”
Now she was on familiar ground, having listened to many catechumens. “Scripture tells us,” she replied, “that we were created for the purpose of giving worship to the Creator.”
“How dull for him,” Gaius answered. “If I were a god, I would ask more of men than that they should spend their leisure in worshipping me.”
“But it is not for the Created to question the ways of the Creator.”
“Why not?” Gaius pursued.
“Is there anything better to do than worship God?” she demanded, raising her eyes to his. Flushed, like this, she looked still more beautiful.
Certainly there is, Gaius thought, and I would rather be doing it with you. If there was a god, he had created women’s beauty, and Gaius could not believe he would condemn any man for appreciating it. But it was not yet time to say so.
“Tell me, then, about this Creator.”
“Almost every faith—except perhaps that of Rome who worship only their Emperor who is all evil—speaks of a Creator. It was He who made all things that were made, and He placed us here to worship Him.”
“Properly speaking, it is the genius of the Emperor that we honor, the divine spark that guides him, and through him, the Empire, not the man. That is why those who will not burn incense are prosecuted as traitors.”
“There may have been good Emperors, though some of the priests would not believe it,” Senara conceded. “But even you will own that Nero, who burned so many Christians in his arena, was an evil one.”
“I will grant you Nero,” Gaius said, “and Caligula. And there are those in Rome who feel that Domitian in his hubris has gone too far. When that happens, those who made a man Emperor have the right to replace him.” And soon, he thought, shivering. September was passing quickly.
“You are very proud of being a Roman,” she said then. “I do not know very much about my mother’s family and have always wondered what it would have been like to be raised that way. Were you born in Rome?”
He grinned at her. “Indeed not; I am half British, just as you are. My mother was a royal woman of the Silures. She died when I was very young, bearing my little sister.”
“Ah, how sad for you.” Her eyes suddenly overflowed; he had not noticed that they were so blue. “What did you do then?”
“I stayed with my father,” Gaius told her. “I was his only son, so he had me well educated by tutors, and taught to read Latin and Greek; then I went into the Legions. There is really nothing more to tell.”
“And were there no women in your life?”
He could see her fighting this purely worldly curiosity; but he thought it a good sign that she wanted to know.
“My father arranged my marriage with Julia when I was very young,” he said carefully. One day she would have to know about Eilan and their son, but not yet. “And as you may know, my wife has taken a vow of chastity, which means I am alone,” he said sadly. Outside, the thunder crashed.
She said, “I should not say this, and I am certain Father Petros would not approve, but that seems not fair dealing. I know that a vow of chastity is supposed to be the best of all ways to live, but when she has pledged herself to you—”
“If you were married to me, would you take such a vow?”
She flushed again, but said seriously, “I would not. The learned Paulus wrote that those who were married should continue in that state, and those who were not married should not marry.”
“If I had married you, you would have taken your vows more seriously than Julia,” he said softly.
“I could never be untrue to a vow to you.”
“And you have not taken vows in the Forest House?” She was still looking at the floor, but Gaius moved a little closer, feeling the blood run faster beneath his skin.
“I have not,” she said. “They have all been very kind to me, and asked very little, but I cannot serve their Goddess without giving up my Roman heritage. I will have to decide soon.”
“There is another alternative.” His voice g
rew hoarse as he took in the sweet scent of her hair, but he kept it low. “Julia has forfeited her rights as my wife by her vow of chastity, and we were married by Roman, not by Christian rites. I would marry you, Senara—or Valeria, as your mother called you. Your uncle Valerius is a good man; he would be happy if I were to take you away from here.”
He heard her breath catch. She was like some bright bird hovering almost within reach of his hand, like Eilan when she came to him at Beltane, so many years ago. But Eilan and Julia had rejected him; they were shadows, banished by the living reality of this girl who stood so close to him now.
“If only it could be,” she whispered. “Where would we go?”
“To Londinium, or even to Rome. Great changes are coming. I can tell you no more, but there is nothing we might not do, together, if you would come with me!”
Not to touch her then seemed the hardest thing he had ever done, for he was mad now with uncertainty and need. But he knew that if he did he would lose her. Senara looked up and he faced her, letting the ardor that filled him glow in his eyes.
She did not flee. Trembling, she said softly, “I wish I knew what to do.”
Be mine, he said silently. Help me to raise my son! Surely, she would accept Gawen. That was why he needed her, after all, and not some wealthy Roman maiden who would despise Gawen’s British blood. It was for the sake of the boy…
Now, at last, Gaius dared caress her; she did not pull away, but he felt her tremble at his touch. Afraid to frighten her, he lifted his hands.
“Oh, what shall I do? God help me,” she whispered, turning her head so that her cheek lay against his hand.
“I think,” he whispered into her ear, “that it must be your God who has brought us together.”
“God grant you are right.”
“I will go to your uncle and get his authority to take you from the Forest House. Be ready to leave when I come for you,” he said. “By the time the next moon has waned you will be on your way to Londinium with me.”
Once again, with a great effort, he did not touch her. He had his reward when she shyly stood on tiptoe and whispered, “My brother, let us exchange the kiss of peace.”
“Ah, Valeria, it is not the kiss of peace I want from you,” he whispered into her fine-spun hair. “And some day you will know it.”
She broke away from him; and with a new wisdom—or guile—he let her go. Just in time, for in the next moment a step sounded, and the hermit, Father Petros entered. Senara, he was surprised to see, greeted the hermit without a blush. Had all women that trick of hiding their feelings on the instant? He remembered with what swiftness Eilan, too, had been able to conceal her emotions.
She said, “Rejoice, Father. Gaius Macellius has promised to take me from the Druid temple and find me a new home, perhaps even in Rome.”
Father Petros looked sharply at Gaius; he was not as naive as the girl. Gaius said, “Senara has been trying to show me, Good Father, why I ought to become one of your congregation.”
“And will you do so?” The priest regarded him suspiciously.
Gaius said quietly, “She has certainly been most persuasive.”
Father Petros positively glowed. “I will welcome you to my flock as a son,” he said fulsomely. “You will set a fine example for the others of your class.”
Indeed, thought Gaius, a Roman nobleman with my connections would be a good catch for this fisher of men. So much for the idea that Christians were no respecters of persons. But there must be some good in it, to have attracted a girl like Senara.
TWENTY-NINE
“Eilan! Eilan! The Emperor is dead!” Senara burst through the door, then stopped short, trying to assume the dignity with which the High Priestess of Vernemeton should be approached.
Smiling, Eilan set her spindle on the little table beside her and invited the girl to sit down. With Caillean gone, Miellyn suffering from one of her periodic bouts of depression, and Eilidh busy supervising the maidens, she found herself depending more and more on Senara for company. Dieda had not spoken to her since Cynric died. At least they had managed to bury him without arousing comment. Two of the Druids had come by night and taken the body to the ancient mound on the Hill of the Maidens. Perhaps Cynric’s death had been without honor, but he had a hero’s burial.
“The man that brings us fresh eggs heard the news in Deva,” said Senara, her eyes wide with excitement. “He was assassinated a week ago, just before the equinox, and the world from Caledonia to Parthia is buzzing like an overturned hive! Some say that a senator will be the next Emperor, and others think one of the Legions will elevate their Commander to the purple. More likely still, several will claim it and there will be civil war!”
“What is happening in Deva?” Eilan asked when she could get a word in.
“The men of the Twentieth are uneasy, but so far they have stayed quiet. The Commander has ordered a great feast for them, with unlimited wine and beer. Lady Eilan, what do you think will happen now?”
Eilan sighed. “No doubt the Roman Commander is hoping that they will all get very drunk, and awaken too sick to make trouble for anyone.” If they were lucky that was how it would go. If the drink sent the legionaries fighting mad instead, there was no knowing what they might do.
Senara giggled and shook her head. “I meant about the Emperor. Do you think the senators will take power and Rome will go back to being a Republic again?”
Eilan stared at her, wondering why the child was worrying about events in Rome. Of course she was half Roman, like Gaius, but she had never seemed much concerned about that side of her heritage.
“I am a great deal more concerned about what is going to happen in Britannia,” she said grimly. “Cynric was not the only one who would see this as a golden opportunity to raise the tribes, and then we could have a civil war here, too!”
My father, for instance, she thought with an inner shudder. What in the name of the Goddess was she to do when he began making demands on her with both the power of the Arch-Druid and a father’s authority? Once more she wished desperately that she could discuss this with Caillean.
Senara’s eyes widened. “What should we do?”
“There is something you can do,” Eilan said thoughtfully. “Take the new lengths of linen over to the house of the Druids—you are not under vows yet, and they will not think it odd. Ask, in all innocence, if they have heard the news, and let me know what they say.”
Senara gave her a conspiratorial grin and jumped to her feet. In another moment she was gone, leaving Eilan to envy her energy.
What indeed should I do? she wondered then. Perhaps she ought to have taken Gaius up on his offer, but from the sound of it, he must have problems of his own by now. The existence of Gawen had been Ardanos’s weapon against her. She had thought that with her grandfather dead, she would be free, but though her father did not know her secret, Dieda did. How long, she wondered, before Dieda’s hatred gave the new Arch-Druid a power over her he would not hesitate to use? Unless, of course, he killed her out of hand?
She rested her head in her hands, feeling the beginnings of the headache that had troubled her increasingly during the past few days. How can I deal with this? Goddess help me now!
One day, when they all knew why she had done what she had—when all this land was at peace and there was neither Roman nor Briton—ah, then she might be forgiven! She shook her head in anguish, seeing nowhere to turn.
And at that moment, pain like a bolt from Heaven lanced through her temple. From what seemed a very great distance, the thought came, But I shall be long dead by then…Then consciousness fled.
When Eilan came to herself she was slumped over her table. She felt curiously drained and at peace, but with an inner certainty she knew that something had changed. She had always been aware that some of the herbs in the sacred drink she used before giving the Oracle could dangerously thin the blood, and sometimes cause a weakness in the brain. Perhaps that was what was happening now.
; “When it comes to you,” Caillean had told her once, “you will know.” A lingering death like Lhiannon’s was unusual. Old Latis had said once that most of the High Priestesses died suddenly. But not, Eilan suspected now, without warning.
Is this my warning? she wondered. But my work will not be finished.
“It is finished.” Awareness came once more, as in trance when the Goddess spoke to her.
But who should succeed her at her work, declare the Oracles in her stead? She must not leave matters in confusion as Ardanos had done.
“It does not matter.” With the words came calm. The Goddess had spoken. What was to come was in Her hands, and not Eilan’s concern any more. If she died, it would be a bolt of mercy, not of vengeance, that would strike her down. Caillean had been correct. The Druids had no right to declare how the priestesses should live. What mattered was that she try her best to do the Lady’s will.
In autumn the mists rose thick above the marshes of the Summer Country and wreathed around the Tor. On such mornings, when Caillean made the climb to the standing stones that crowned it for her morning meditation, it seemed as if the Tor were an island indeed and she was gazing out over a rolling grey sea. But as the year drew on toward Samaine, she found herself thinking quite obsessively of Eilan.
At first, she dismissed these thoughts, knowing it was not good for Eilan to cling to her, nor for herself to be distracted. But as the days darkened, the other woman’s face appeared in her visions with a frequency she could not dismiss. Eilan had grave need of her, and it was perilous to ignore such messages.
At last came a morning when she woke with words ringing in her ears:
“Here we stand in darkness and under the shadow of death we call on Thee, O Mother, Sisters and more than Sisters…
And she knew that by oaths which she and Eilan had sworn together, not only as priestesses of the Sacred Grove, but from life to life before that, she was bound to go to her.
But it was not until two weeks before Samaine that she was able to arrange matters so that she could go back to the Forest House. One advantage of her position in the new temple, she thought, was that it was taken for granted that whatever she chose to do was well done; her every act was assumed to be directly inspired by the will of the Goddess, as Eilan’s was at Vernemeton. The drawback, of course, was that she was responsible for seeing that all her duties would be taken care of while she was gone.