sadly.
“You are no longer alone on a farmstead,” she said aloud. “You have
healers and wise men and warriors in plenty here in Dun Garo. It is time
I became a priestess once more.” She rescued the cloak from the queen’s
nervous fingers and draped it over one arm.
“Most Druids live at chieftains’ duns, not at the school,” Boudica
replied. “If you want to cram wisdom into the heads of youngsters, stay
here and smack some sense into Rigana!” That morning the little girl
had managed to elude her keepers. Her short legs had carried her to the
blacksmiths’ enclave before they heard Bogle barking and found her
screaming because the dog would not let her reach the fi re.
“For the kind of warding she needs right now Bogle is a better
guardian than I could ever be,” answered Lhiannon. She bent to strap up
her bag. “My dear, this is not forever. I will visit, and when she is older,
you may send Rigana to be trained as you were trained . . .” If there is still
a school for her to go to, came the thought. But wasn’t she leaving so that she
might do what she could to preserve the life they had known?
“Yes, but . . .” Boudica’s words trailed off. Lhiannon looked up and
saw that the king had entered. The queen turned toward him as a fl ower
turns toward the sun. Ever since Beltane it had been so. The marriage
had at long last been consummated not only in the the flesh but in the
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spirit. The girl was become a woman, priestess to her husband as well as
queen.
No, I am leaving because she no longer needs me, Lhiannon admitted to
herself as Boudica moved into the circle of Prasutagos’s arm. What had
she hoped—that having lost the man she loved, she might find a substi-
tute in Boudica, and still retain her virginity? Lhiannon knew quite well
that it was not the physical contact but the emotional bond it created
that was the distraction for an oracle. By that alone she was disqualifi ed.
I must recover my own sovereignty.
“Lhiannon, are you ready?” Belina called from the doorway.
She picked up her bag. Prasutagos and Boudica came to embrace
her—together. They would always be together now.
“My lady, I thank you for all you have done . . .” murmured the
king.
“Lhiannon—” Boudica’s voice broke. “Take care! Take care!”
She had no words. She kissed them both and walked out into the
blinding light of the sun.
Boudica leaned on the rail at the top of the fence around the home
meadow of Dun Garo, watching Roud move gracefully across the grass,
her chestnut coat shining in the sun. The mare would pause to snatch a
mouthful, then flirtatiously switch her tail, looking back to see if the
king’s gray stallion was following. Boudica had not realized that the red
mare was coming into season. She wondered how long it would take the
stallion to get her in foal.
And how long will it take Prasutagos to do the same to me? At the thought,
she could feel the heat flushing her skin. Her recollections of the Beltane
rite were fragmentary, but to recall the authority with which her hus-
band had taken her every night since then left her liquid with longing.
And as if the thought had summoned him, senses she had never owned
before told Boudica that the king was approaching now.
She turned her head and smiled a welcome, wondering that she
could ever have watched that springy walk without wanting his strong
body close to hers, or looked into those rugged features without wish-
ing to make him smile.
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“Well met, my lady.” His lips quirked as he realized what was going
on. “The king and queen are expected to bring fertility to the kingdom,
but I had not supposed the eff ect would be quite so immediate.”
Laughing, Boudica twitched her hips as the mare was doing now and
took a step back so that her buttocks butted against his groin. She felt
him hardening against her and moved quickly away again. She had
danced naked before all the tribe at the Beltane rite, but she could not do
so here.
“That was . . . wise,” he said a little breathlessly. “The king should
demonstrate self-control as well as virility, and if I touch you, in another
moment I’ll have you on your knees in the grass . . .”
“Yes . . .” she said in a shaken voice, agreeing to more than desire.
He took a deep breath and met her gaze. They were no longer touching,
but she felt him as powerfully as if he had been inside her. This was not
lust, or not lust only. “What has happened to us?”
Prasutagos swallowed. Whatever it was, he, too, was its thrall. “Be-
tween a king and a queen there should be regard and respect,” he said,
as if it were a teaching he had memorized. “I never dared to hope . . .”
“For love . . .” she breathed, allowing herself to recognize and ac-
cept it at last. She saw his face grow radiant as he realized that for both
of them this was forgiveness for what had gone before and a promise for
what was to come.
I owe an apology, thought Boudica, to the spirit of the sacred spring . . .
L hiannon bent to fill her waterskin, suppressing an impulse to take
off her shoes and soak her feet in the pool. Her horse had gone lame that
morning and she had walked, leading it, for the rest of the day. A few
rags of cloth fluttered from the birch trees that grew around the water.
The local people who had given them milk and cheese called the place
Vernemeton, the holy grove. It would not do to offend the spirit of the
spring.
She sat back, breathing deeply of the cool, damp air. There was
great peace here. She wished that she could stay for a while. She tried to
tell herself that it was because she was wearied by travel, but the longer
she journeyed in the company of Belina and the other Druids who had
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joined their party as they made their way across Britannia, the more she
remembered why she and Ardanos had been glad to get away.
The moon that had been waning when the little party of Druids left
Dun Garo had passed the full and was beginning to shrink once more.
In the old days it would have been a somewhat shorter journey, but the
Romans were patrolling the territory of their allies in the midlands
more closely than expected, in case Caratac and the Ordovice warriors
should attack again.
She sighed and got to her feet as Belina called her name. The others
had a fire blazing already. Lhiannon poured her water into the cauldron
and Belina dropped in the loosely woven bag of dried meat and meal.
Two of the Druids were arguing about ways to calculate the dates of the
festivals. They were both old men from newly conquered lands, leaving
the clans they had served for fear of the Roman ban. What would the
people do for spiritual leadership if all the Druids sought sanctuary on
Mona? What wou
ld the Romans do, she wondered uneasily, when they
realized that was where all the Druids had gone?
By the time the food was ready it was quite dark. The overgrown
ramparts of the abandoned hillfort above them loomed against the stars.
These days it served the region as a site for the seasonal fairs and festi-
vals. Lhiannon hoped that was all it would ever need to be. The last few
years had given her a distaste for hillforts—it was too easy for those
walls to trap those whom they were supposed to defend.
“And Lugovalos is certain that the Romans will not come to Mona?”
asked one of the men.
“Is anything certain, except, possibly, Helve’s prophecies?” asked
Belina. “But they can only come at us by the coast path, and that will be
hard to manage with so many men.”
“But if they do,” the old man persisted, “can the Arch-Druid defend
us? I have heard that his health has been poor.”
“The past few years have been hard on him, as they have been on us
all,” Belina said patiently, serving out the porridge.
“If he does pass, who can succeed him? Cunitor is se nior, but he is
not very forceful, as I recall.”
“I suppose the choice would fall on Ardanos, but we will hope that
the need is long delayed.”
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Lhiannon blinked as the world became a whirl of darkness shot with
fire. A burning pain on her thigh brought her back to awareness and she
realized that she had dropped her porridge bowl. She swabbed at the
mess rather clumsily with her sleeve.
“Lhiannon, are you all right?” Belina was beside her with a cloth.
“I’m sorry,” she said numbly. “I didn’t mean to waste the food.
Ardanos—” She drew a shuddering breath. She would not admit she
had thought him dead all this time. “I last saw him when the Dun of
Stones fell. I am glad . . . he escaped.”
“Oh of course, you have been so out of touch you wouldn’t know
that. He was wounded and left for dead, it’s true, but he is fi ne now.
He’ll be glad to see you,” she added brightly. “He went around with a
face like a sour apple for months, thinking you were lost. I had forgotten
that you two worked together when Caratac was leading the Durotriges.
I know you were quite close,” she chattered on.
Close . . . thought Lhiannon. As close as blood and breath. He is alive,
and I will see him soon!
As they rounded the granite cliff Lhiannon took a sharp breath,
shivering as the cold salt scent for a moment gave way to the sweet ver-
dant breath of the island beyond, a promise of sanctuary in the gray
domain of the sea. Past the trees she could see the blue waters of the strait
and the island of Mona, a magic island surrounded by magic, glimmer-
ing golden in the afternoon sun.
She shivered again as the wind grew stonger. Fits of trembling had
seized her at intervals ever since she learned that Ardanos was alive. Be-
lina had dosed her for the ague and Lhiannon did not gainsay her,
though she knew this was no illness of the body but a symptom of the
turmoil within.
Would Ardanos have changed? Would he look older? Would she?
They had lost so much time, wasted so many opportunities. She had
seen in the fulfi llment that Boudica had fi nally found what a true mar-
riage could be. She would be the Goddess to Ardanos, and they would
renew the world.
As one in a dream she reined her pony after the others down the
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path. A fl at-bottomed boat was drawn up at the landing. Lhiannon went
across with the second load. By the time they rode through the gates of
Lys Deru the entire community had gathered. There were more than
she remembered, priests and priestesses who had fled before the Roman
advance. She did not envy the job Helve must have to keep them all fed
and occupied.
Still on her horse, Lhiannon searched the crowd for Ardanos’s gin-
ger head. The crowd was parting as the High Priestess herself came out
to welcome them, Coventa, taller but otherwise little changed, a half-
pace behind. And behind her a gaggle of others, but only one whose
face had meaning for Lhiannon. As Helve moved forward he stopped,
looked up, and met her searching gaze.
His lips moved, but there was no sound. All the color drained from
his face. A woman reached out to hold him as he swayed. But by then,
Lhiannon was off the pony and running toward him.
“Lhiannon,” came Helve’s voice from behind her. “What a miracle
to have you among us again! As you can see, our community has ac-
quired many new members. Ardanos—you must introduce your wife
and child . . .”
For the first time, Lhiannon looked at the woman who was support-
ing him. Long, fair hair was knotted underneath a scarf. A green tunic
covered a figure that had probably become more matronly with the
birth of the towheaded two-year-old who clung to her skirts.
“Nay, my man is too flummoxed to say a word, and he a trained
bard!” the woman exclaimed in the accent of the Durotrige tribe. “I am
Sciovana, and this here is our daughter, Rheis. He has told me so much
about you, my lady—I know it must be a wonder to him to see you
alive!”
That speech had saved both of them, thought Lhiannon as she
looked from Ardanos, who was fighting to regain his composure, to
Helve, who watched with what seemed a malicious smile. She could
not scream at this woman who was beaming at her with such wel-
come, and she would not afford Helve the satisfaction of knowing that
her little surprise had wounded Lhiannon as deeply as she could have
desired.
Coventa came up beside her. “Lhiannon, you must be exhausted by
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your journey,” she said softly. “Come, we should put your things away—
after dinner will be time enough to catch up with old friends . . .”
It was true that it was easier to face most things on a full belly,
thought Lhiannon, though she had not expected Coventa to know
that.
“I am surprised you are still in plain linen.” She indicated the un-
dyed maiden’s tunic that the girl wore. “I would have expected to see
you in priestess-blue by now.”
Coventa shrugged. “I am ready, but Helve has judged the roads too
dangerous to make the journey to my homeland after the ceremony at
Avalon. Perhaps next year, if things settle down.”
Well, that might be the reason. But there could be others. Coventa
had always been delicate. Now she looked positively ethereal, as if she
would not need to be in trance to visit the Otherworld.
“Have you been well, child?” she asked.
“Oh, safe as I have been here on the island, how could I be other-
wise?” Coventa said cheerfully. “It is you who have been having the
adventures . . .”
She had made up a bed for Lhiannon in the House of Priestesses
and helped her to arrange her few be
longings, and she had brought a
bowl of barley and greens from the central fire so that she could eat in
peace.
“When you are in the midst of the story, the danger is more appar-
ent than the adventure,” Lhiannon said wryly. “Such moments are much
better experienced secondhand in a bard’s tale by the fi re.”
“Not all the good stories are about terrors,” observed Coventa. She
sat down cross-legged on the end of Lhiannon’s bed. “Tell me all about
Boudica. I miss her so much. Is it really true that she ran away from her
husband on their wedding night?”
Lhiannon shook her head in wonder that the tale should have trav-
eled this far. “She did, but they are very happy together now—”
She sighed, reminded that for a few short days she had hoped to fi nd
a similar joy, and as if the thought had summoned him, she heard Arda-
nos’s voice outside the door.
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“Is Lhiannon there? Is she rested enough to come for a walk
with me?”
Coventa looked inquiringly at Lhiannon, who got to her feet and
reached for a shawl. She had known they would have to have this con-
versation sometime. Afterward she could forget her dreams, or if that
proved impossible, throw herself into the sea.
The sun had set, but so close to midsummer the sky still glowed
with no visible source of light. It reminded her of the light in the Faerie
world. As they crossed the fire circle Lhiannon saw that more huts had
been built around it. The carved gateposts were the same, like the trees
that arched over the path to the Sacred Grove. And yet to her they
looked strange, as the man who walked beside her was a stranger, limp-
ing a little as they moved down the path.
“Your child is very sweet, and your wife seems both good-natured
and kind,” she said politely.
“Lhiannon, I thought you were dead!” Ardanos answered the ques-
tion behind her words. “Swords were swinging all around you, and then
I was struck down. I thought I was dead myself. The Romans thought
so, too, or I would be a slave in Gallia by now. They tossed me on a
heap of corpses, and if I had not been found by people from the nearest
farmstead looking for some of their own men I would have been food
for the ravens.”
She said nothing. The Sacred Grove lay before them. By unspoken