“But we must know!” said the Druid who was attending him. “Who will you choose?”
“Peace!” Ardanos said with sudden strength, as if he were ordering them to be silent. “Peace…” The word whispered away on a dying gasp; the breath rattled in the old man’s throat, and then he was still.
For a moment no one moved. Then Garic reached down to take Ardanos’s pulse, waited, counting, and let the limp hand fall.
“He is gone!” he said accusingly.
“I am sorry,” said Eilan. “What will you do?”
“We must summon the other members of our order,” said one of the others, already taking charge. “Go now, Lady. Your part is done. We will inform you when the gods have led us to a decision, since they did not see fit to inspire Ardanos with their word.”
As the fifteenth summer of the Emperor Domitian’s reign passed, the weather stayed close and still, as if a storm were brewing somewhere just over the horizon. Gaius, riding through the streets of Deva, found himself constantly listening, waiting for thunder. And he was not the only one. The voices of the vendors in the town grew shrill and angry; there were more fights in the barracks and wine shops, and rumors of risings or mutinies abounded. Even his horse seemed to have picked up the tension, prancing and sidling nervously.
The ides of September…the ides of September… The words beat at his awareness every time his mount’s hoofs struck the hard ground. Since Macellius had told him the date set for the rising, sleep had eluded him. His father believed that the tribes would support them, but Gaius was not so sure. If the Eagles of Rome fought each other, the only victor might be the Ravens. Was it worth the risk of a general insurrection even to unseat Domitian?
When this is over I will be happy to spend the rest of my life running my farm, he thought as he rubbed his eyes. I was not cut out to be a conspirator.
And this was the moment that the Arch-Druid, who in his way had been a force for stability, had chosen to die. If Gaius had believed in the Christian hell of which Julia spoke, he would have cursed the old man to its flames for his timing. Mithras alone knew who the Druids would choose to succeed him, but even if his successor was friendly, it would take time to establish the kind of understanding Ardanos had had with Macellius. But at least the news had brought Gaius to a decision. The question of adoption no longer mattered. If the country was about to explode in revolution he had to make sure that his son was safe. His father’s informants had confirmed that the current High Priestess was still Eilan. Armed with an official message of condolence from the Legate, he was going to see her.
He had dressed carefully for the occasion, in the Roman style but with a Celtic sense of display, in a tunic of saffron linen embroidered with acanthus leaves at the hem over dark red doeskin breeches, and a mantle of light-weight maroon wool held by a golden brooch. At least no one could expect him to wear a toga when he was riding. But despite his fine clothes, as he turned his mount up the avenue of trees leading to the Forest House Gaius realized that he was nervous. He had just pulled out the first grey hairs at his temples. Would Eilan still find him handsome?
They led him into a garden where someone shrouded in a blue veil waited beneath a shady arbor covered with eglantine. He knew she must be the High Priestess because the same dolt of a bodyguard who had fainted when the cattle stampeded at Beltane all those years ago was standing near by, glaring at him. But he found it hard to believe that this erect, veiled figure was Eilan.
“My Lady…” He paused, and compelled by something he did not understand, bowed. “I have come to offer the condolences of the Legate at Deva on the death of the Arch-Druid, your grandfather. He will be greatly missed. He was…” he thought for a moment, “a remarkable man.”
“Our loss is great indeed,” she answered, and though her tone was colorless, his pulse quickened. “Will you take some refreshment?”
In a few moments a maiden in the drab garb of a novice was setting down a tray with honey cakes and a flagon of some drink made with herbs and berries and water, he supposed, from the Sacred Well. He drank, trying to think of something else to say and, looking down, saw that the fabric of her veil was trembling.
“Eilan,” he said in a low voice, “let me see your face. It has been too long.”
She gave a little laugh. “I was a fool. I thought it would be safe to see you again.” She shrugged then and pulled back the veil, and he saw that her eyes were wet with tears.
Gaius blinked, for Eilan looked not older so much as more like herself, as if the girl he had known had been only a blurred sketch of the woman she was to become. Despite the tears and the neck that seemed too slender for the weight of the golden torque, she looked strong. And why not? he thought then. In her own sphere she has wielded as much power as any legionary commander, these past years. This woman could not be the Fury who had so frightened him. His vision blurred with old memories. He wanted to throw himself at her feet and declare his love for her, but that lout with the spear would be on him in a minute if he moved.
“Listen, for I do not know how long I can stay here,” he said quickly. “War is coming—not because of your grandfather’s death, but because of events in Rome. I can tell you no more, except that there will be a rising against the Emperor. Macellius hopes the British will support us, but there is no telling which way things will go. I must get you to a place of safety, Eilan, you and the boy.”
Eilan looked at him, and her changeable eyes went flat and hard. “Let me be sure I understand you. Now, when the Imperium is about to tear itself apart, you want to offer me Roman protection. After all these years! Isn’t it rather more likely that if there should be trouble during the coming weeks I will be safer here”—she indicated the walls and the hulking figure of Huw with a graceful wave of her hand—“than you and yours are likely to be?”
Gaius flushed. “Are you so sure your own people will never turn on you? Your Oracles have been a force for peace with Rome—and now that your grandfather is not here, whom do you think people like Cynric will blame if things go wrong? Can’t you see that you must come with me?”
“I must…?” Her eyes flashed. “And what does your Roman wife say to this fine plan? Has she tired of you after twelve years?”
“Julia has become a Christian and sworn an oath of chastity. That is grounds enough for divorce in Roman law. I could marry you, Eilan, and we could be together. If you will not, I can formally adopt our son!”
“So kind of you!” Eilan’s face was now as red as it had been pale. She rose to her feet suddenly and started down the path, her skirts sweeping the gravel behind her. Gaius and Huw jumped up, both of them, it seemed to him, equally taken aback, and followed.
At the end of the garden was a hedge, just low enough for Gaius to see over it to a flat space between the buildings and the outer walls where several children were playing with a sewn leather ball. After a few moments it became clear to Gaius that one boy was the leader, a lad as leggy as a young colt who was just beginning to grow into his bones. His curls were tawny on top from a summer in the sun, but underneath they were dark, and as he turned to shout to one of his team-mates, there was something so like Macellius in his expression that it stopped Gaius’s breath.
Eilan had begun to speak again, but Gaius’s gaze was on the boy. His heart was hammering so hard he thought they must hear it in Deva, but the child, intent on his game, never looked around.
“When I bore him in that hut in the forest, where were you?” Her voice, low and furious, was pitched for his ears. “And when I fought to keep him with me, and all these years when I watched over him in secret, never daring to admit he was my own? He does not know I am his mother, but I have kept him safely. Now, when he is almost come to manhood, you would step in and take him away? I think not Gaius Macellius Severus Siluricus!” she hissed. “Gawen knows nothing of Rome!”
“Eilan!” he whispered. Gaius had thought what he felt for this child the one time he had held him had been some fancy;
but he could feel it again, a longing that shook his bones. “Please!”
She turned her back and began to move back down the path. “My thanks to you, Roman, for your sympathy,” she said loudly and clearly. “It was kind of you to come. As you say, the death of Ardanos has been a great loss. Do take our respectful greetings back to the Legate and to your father.”
Gaius saw Huw looming towards him and, still looking over his shoulder, started to follow her. For a moment Gawen turned towards him, head tipped back, watching the ball. Then he dashed away. Gaius let the big man shepherd him back down the path, feeling as if all the light had gone out of the world.
Eilan had pulled her veil back down. His last sight of her was a shadow disappearing into a dark doorway. As Gaius let his horse choose its own way back down to the road he wondered how it could all have gone so wrong. He had been so relieved to find Eilan was unchanged, and he had meant to tell her he still loved her; but he realized now that she was something worse than a Fury: a woman like the old Empresses, or Boudicca, a woman warped by pride and power.
Abruptly a vision of Senara as he had last seen her gazing up at him overlaid his memory of Eilan’s rage. She was so good, and so innocent—as Eilan had been when first he knew her. Eilan had never truly understood him, but Senara was half Roman, as he was, and torn by the same conflicts and uncertainties. If he could win her, it seemed to Gaius he would be whole once more.
He was not yet beaten. One way or another, he would have Senara, and he would have the boy, though all the Legions of Rome and warriors of the tribes stood between.
Eilan spent the days after Gaius’s visit in seclusion. The priestesses thought that she was grieving for her grandfather, but although his death had left her shocked and startled, relief rather had predominated. Her reaction to Gaius, however, was another matter entirely. She herself had been as surprised by her own fury as he was. She had not realized how much she had resented his abandonment all these years. It was true that she had agreed to it, but surely he could have tried to contact her before now! How dared he think that he could walk in without a word of love and take her child away…
When her thoughts reached this point she would have to stop herself, walk a little or spend some time in the disciplined meditation Caillean had taught her, and try to recover her serenity. It was several days before she began seriously to consider what he had said to her. Who, indeed, would now feel himself privileged to instruct her in what she was to say in the name of the Goddess? The last she had heard, the Druids were still arguing. By now it had become clear that a new Arch-Druid would not be chosen until after Lughnasad, so she need not worry about preparing for the festival. But by Samaine, the new leader would be firmly seated in his power. And if it were someone like her father, he would demand that the Goddess call the tribes to war.
When Dieda returned to the Forest House and came to see her, Eilan found her own offers of sympathy quickly shrugged off.
“Ardanos is no loss,” said her kinswoman callously. “My father was always in the hands of the Romans. I wonder who will give the orders to the Oracle now?”
Ever since Gawen’s birth, Eilan had felt constrained in Dieda’s presence. Still, it seemed impossible she should have no feeling whatever for her own father. Eilan missed Caillean, who might have been able to make some sense out of all this, more with every passing day.
Dieda was still with her when one of the girls came in to tell them that Cynric had come. So the Ravens are gathering, Eilan thought grimly, but she greeted Cynric kindly as a kinsman when Huw brought him in. He looked older than his years, she thought painfully, shaggy as a mountain pony, his fine skin marred by old scars.
“What are you doing in this part of the country? I thought you safely away to the North, after things went wrong with Brigitta and the Demetae.”
“Oh, I can come and go as I please,” he said, “even under the Commander’s nose. I am too clever for them.” He spoke with a kind of brittle gaiety she found disturbing.
“The proudest beast is soonest taken in the snare of the hunter,” murmured Dieda sardonically. She pretended to care nothing for Cynric, but Eilan thought she was not so indifferent as she seemed.
Cynric shrugged. “I might well think some god favors me more than common; it is true that I seem to bear a charmed life. I think I could go into Londinium and pull the Governor’s beard.”
“I would not try it, if I were you,” Dieda said, and he returned her laughter.
“I do not intend to try it at this moment; in another month or two it may be a very different matter. I do not grieve at Ardanos’s death; nor should you, Eilan. He was all too eager to have all things ordered as he chose.”
“He was indeed,” she said honestly, though her blood ran cold as she connected what Gaius had told her with Cynric’s words.
“Good; you are honest so far,” he said. “I wonder, foster sister, how far your honesty goes.”
She said warily, “I, at least, know what I want.”
“Do you? And what is that, Eilan?”
“Peace!” So that my son can grow to be a man, she thought grimly. But there was no way she could say that to Cynric. Ardanos had blighted her own happiness, and that of Cynric and Dieda as well, but at least in the West, the tribes had been at peace for a dozen years.
Cynric grimaced. “Peace—women think too much of it,” he snorted. “You sound like Macellius’s mouthpiece, as I sometimes thought old Ardanos was. But he is gone. Now we may have a chance to drive out these Romans. Brigitta waits, knowing what we want of her.”
“I should think Brigitta had seen enough of war,” Eilan said.
“Say rather that she has seen enough of Roman justice,” Cynric said bitterly. “But there are strange rumors going about these days. If the Romans do fight each other, perhaps we can free ourselves of what they call justice. Then every Roman home shall be laid waste as was the home of Bendeigid!”
Eilan interrupted. “Have you forgotten it was not the Romans who leveled the home of my father and killed my mother, but the Hibernians and the wild tribesmen of the North? The Romans themselves punished them.”
“For our own homes, who but we should be responsible?” asked Cynric. “It is for us to punish or to spare as we see fit. Are we to accept all this like tame dogs, and let the Romans determine whom we should fight and where?” An angry flush was building beneath the weathered skin.
Eilan said stubbornly, “However it comes, peace is a good thing.”
“So you will still speak the traitorous words of Ardanos? Or are they the words of Macellius, or perhaps of his handsome son?” he asked, sneering.
Behind him the giant bodyguard shifted weight uneasily. Eilan hardly noticed, she was so distressed. “At least Macellius has the good of both our peoples at heart.”
“And I do not?” Cynric demanded, his eyes flashing.
“I did not say that, or anything like to it.”
“But that is what you meant,” he threw back at her. “I know Macellius’s cub came here. What did he say to you? With you in the high seat, it seems we hardly need the Romans. But we shall hear such traitorous counsels no longer. Bendeigid has been chosen as Arch-Druid—that is what I came to tell you—and he will give you a very different set of instructions at the next festival!”
Dieda was looking from one to the other, her face flaming. Eilan strove for calm, knowing that Cynric was simply trying to hurt her.
“It is true that Ardanos told me what he wanted and interpreted the Oracle’s answers. But what the Goddess says while I am in trance is not my doing. I do not declare my own will, Cynric,” she said quietly.
“Are you trying to tell me the Goddess wishes for this treason?”
“Why should She not?” shouted Eilan. “She is a mother.” As I am. Eilan swallowed the words, and added angrily, “You have no right to speak so to me!”
“I am the vengeance of the Goddess,” snapped Cynric, “and I speak as I will—and punish—”
/>
Before Eilan could react, his lifted hand had connected with her cheek. She cried out, and Dieda exclaimed in shock, “How dare you?”
“Cathubodva knows I dare deal this way with all Romanized traitors!”
A shadow loomed behind him. Still glaring, Cynric started to turn. Huw’s cudgel caught him in motion and his head exploded in a shower of blood and brains. Dieda screamed, and Eilan lifted her hand, but it was too late.
For a moment Cynric’s body stood swaying, a surprised look on what was left of his face. Then his body understood its death at last and he crumpled to the floor.
Shaking, Eilan touched his wrist, knowing already, as the gush of blood from his head slowed, that she would find no pulse. She looked up at her guard, who was beginning to turn a little green as he stared at the blood.
“Huw—why did you do it? Why?”
“Lady…he hit you!”
Eilan bowed her head. Even if the offender had been Ardanos himself Huw would have struck him. He had been taught that the Priestess was inviolable. But Cynric’s death would have to be concealed. His followers were not many, but they were desperate. If they decide to avenge him, the precarious unity she had built among her people would be shattered. Cynric dead might be more dangerous than he had ever been alive.
Dieda turned away, weeping. Eilan felt that she herself was beyond tears. “Go away, Huw,” she said tiredly. “Go tell Miellyn what has happened and ask her to send a message to the new Arch-Druid.” My father…she thought numbly, but she had no time now to consider the implications. “Speak to no others,” she instructed, “and when you have carried this message, forget what has happened here today.”
She got to her feet, feeling suddenly a hundred years old. “Dieda, come to the garden. There is nothing you can do for him now.” She went to comfort the weeping woman, but Dieda jerked away.
“Is it so you reward faithfulness to our people? Then have your tame bear kill me too.”
Eilan winced. “I tried to save him. I would have willingly given my own life—”