Lady of Avalon (23 page)

What else, she wondered then, followed this round? The Empire of the Romans covered half the earth. Many times it had been threatened, and always the Eagles had returned in even greater power. Was there a moment when Rome would reach the fullness of her power and begin to decline? And would her people recognize that moment when it came?

Dierna stepped back from the fire, bowing to Ceridachos, eldest of the Druids and Arch-Druid of Britannia, to begin the ritual. It was noon of the longest day, when the power of light was at its fullest, and it was right and proper that the priests should lead this ceremony. When darkness fell, the priestesses would come into their own. The old man gestured, wide sleeves fluttering.

“What existed in the beginning? Try to imagine-an emptiness, a gaping nothing? A teeming womb, pregnant with the world? If you can imagine it, already it existed in potential, and yet it was like nothing you can imagine, for it was the Force, it was the Void. It Was, it was Not… An eternal, changeless Unity…”

He paused, and Teleri closed her eyes, swaying at the thought of that immensity. The Druid spoke again, and now his voice had the ring of incantation.

“But there came a moment of difference-a vibration stirred in stillness-

“An indrawn breath in a silent shout,

And that which was contained flares out-

Divine Darkness and Supernal Light,

Time and Space appear in might,

Lord and Lady, Holy Pair-

Sisters, Brothers, call them here!”

“We call Him Lugos!” cried the Druids. “Lord of Light!” Behind them, the younger men began to hum.

“We call Her Rigantona, Great Queen!” the priestesses replied from across the circle. Teleri opened her throat to support them with a note that was a third higher than the one the Druids sang.

More names followed. Teleri heard them as bursts of illumination, dazzling the senses. She sensed power building around the priests who stood on the other side of the altar stone, and felt an answering energy gathering among the priestesses.

Once more Dierna stepped forth, lifting her hands. As she spoke, Teleri felt the words resonating in her own throat, and knew the High Priestess spoke for them all.

“I am the Sea of Space and Primal Night,

I am the womb of Darkness and of Light;

I am the formless flux, eternal rest,

Matrix from which all matter manifests;

I am the Cosmic Mother, the Great Deep,

Whence life emerges and returns to sleep…”

Ceridachos stepped forward to stand facing her, on the other side of the altar stone. Teleri blinked, for in the face of the old man she saw now a youth and a warrior, a father and a healer, radiant with power. And when he answered the priestess, she heard a multitude of voices resonating with his own.

“I am the Wind of Time, eternal Day,

I am the staff of life, I am the Way;

I am the Word of Power, the primal spark,

Igniting act and motion in its arc;

I am the Cosmic Father, radiant rod,

Source of energy, the seed of God!”

Dierna held out her hand above the kindling that had been laid upon the altar stone. “From my womb-”

“By my will-” said the Druid, reaching out so their hands were not quite touching. Teleri blinked, seeing a shimmer in the air between their palms.

“The Light of Life appears!” Priest and priestess spoke in unison, and the intricately crossed sticks burst suddenly into flame.

“So burns the Holy Fire!” cried the Druid. “Now is the triumph of the light-in this moment we claim its power. By the union of our forces we shall keep that light burning through the darkest hours, and so we shall have victory.”

“This fire shall be a beacon, a light to be seen throughout the lands,” said Dierna. “Let it summon to us a Defender, to keep Britannia in peace and safety!” From the fire she plucked a flaming brand.

“Let it be so!” responded the priest. He too took a burning stick and held it high.

One by one the Druids and priestesses took sticks from the fire, extending their lines to either side until the central blaze was surrounded by a circle of flame, as if the sun which blazed in glory overhead had sent down his rays to inflame those who stood below.

Teleri, gazing upward, shaded her eyes against the radiance of the sky. Then she rubbed them, for a black speck was moving across the blue. Others had seen it-they pointed, then fell silent in wonder as they realized it was an eagle, beating steadily up from the south and the sea. Closer and closer it drew, until she could see it clearly, as if the bird were being drawn by the flames.

Now it was overhead. The eagle dropped downward, circled three times above the altar, and then once more ascended, spiraling upward into the heavens until it became one with the light.

Blinded, Teleri shut her eyes, but behind her lids the image of the great bird still danced against the blaze of the sun. The eagle flew free-why did she feel as if it had escaped the compulsion of the fire only to be trapped by the sun? It must be her own fancy that made her think so, she told herself as she followed the other maidens down from the Tor, for if the freedom of the wild eagle of the heights was an illusion, what could be truly free?

For a moment then a memory from before this lifetime hinted at the paradox of a freedom that could exist only as part of a greater pattern, but the mind that knew itself as Teleri could not comprehend it, and, like the eagle, in another moment the insight had disappeared.

Carausius stiffened to attention, his forearm slapping across his chest in salute. He had not expected to find the junior Emperor in Gesoriacum. Throughout the West, Maximian, stocky and grizzled and beginning to thicken in the belly, carried the imperium. Almost twenty years of service had conditioned Carausius to respond as if Diocletian himself were in the room.

“The gods favored me,” he answered. “One of my ships was lost, but the other managed to return to Dubris. I myself was blown down-Channel and lucky to make Clausentum before I went onto the rocks or out to sea.”

“You were indeed. But the gods love a man who will fight even when hope seems gone. You have luck, Carausius, and that is rarer even than skill. We would have been sorry to lose you.”

Maximian waved at him to sit, and the other, younger man in the room relaxed as well. A glance was enough to identify him as regular Army-the erect posture, as if he were wearing an invisible breastplate over his tunic, was unmistakable. He was half a head taller than Carausius himself, with yellow hair that was beginning to thin.

“You know Constantius Chlorus, I assume?” the Emperor went on.

“Only by reputation,” said Carausius.

Constantius had been popular when he served in Britannia. Rumor had it that he had taken a native woman as his permanent concubine. Since then he had won several notable engagements on the German border. Carausius looked at the other man more carefully as Constantius smiled, his face for a moment open and unguarded as a boy’s. Then the control snapped down again.
An idealist,
thought Carausius,
who has learned to hide his soul.
Such men could be useful friends-or dangerous enemies.

And how did he himself appear? With hair faded by years at sea, and skin weathered to brown, he supposed he must seem no different from many another sea-dog, unless some reflection of the vision he had seen during the storm still lingered in his eyes.

“You’ll be happy to know that the cargoes from those raiders you captured last month have brought a good sum,” said Maximian. “You keep telling me that we need another base on the southern coast… A few more victories like this one will win the funds you need.”

There was an odd expectance in his smile. Carausius frowned, aware of something strange in the wording. The gods knew he had argued for this long enough, but he had had little hope of being heard.

“Who will command it?” he asked carefully.

“Whom would you recommend?” said the Emperor. “The choice will be yours, Carausius-I’m giving you the Britannic fleet and the forts of the Saxon Shore.”

He must have blinked then, for even Constantius began to grin. But Carausius scarcely saw him; abruptly his vision was filled by the image of the woman in white, walking upon the waves.

“Now, we will need to coordinate your dispositions on both sides of the Channel,” Maximian said briskly. “What forces would you like, and how would you allot them? I can’t promise you everything you ask for, but I will try-”

Carausius took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the man before him.

“First of all, we need the new base. There’s a good harbor that could be fortified on the coast below Clausentum. The Island of Vectis shelters it, and it could be supplied from Venta Belgarum.” As he spoke, the image of the woman faded, to be replaced by dreams that had come as he paced the deck of a liburnian on the long Channel crossings.

Teleri had not wanted to leave Avalon. When Dierna had chosen her shortly after Midsummer as part of her escort for this journey, she had protested. But by the time their journey brought them to Venta Belgarum, she could no longer pretend a lack of interest. The old capital of the Belgae lay in a gentle valley with green water-meadows and noble stands of trees. After the marshes around the Tor, she found the rich earth beneath her feet solid and reassuring. There was a feeling of quiet assurance here, of permanence different in quality from the ancient echoes she sensed in Avalon, as if things had rarely changed. Despite the market-day bustle in the town, she found Venta relaxing.

The priestesses had been offered hospitality by the Duovir Quintus Julius Cerialis, most prominent of the local magistrates, who was in fact a descendant of the old royal house. Not that one would have known it by looking at him. Portly and complacent, Cerialis was more Roman than the Romans. He spoke Latin by preference, and Teleri, who had been brought up to speak it as well as the British tongue, was often asked to translate for the younger of the priestesses who had come with them, Adwen and Crida. Even Dierna sometimes requested her assistance, for, although the High Priestess understood the language of the Romans well, her command of its subtleties was not always sufficient for really formal occasions.

And yet the others could have managed without her. Certainly all the girls they were considering for training were fluent in British. At times, Teleri still found herself wondering why, before she had even taken her vows, she had been wrested from the peace of Avalon.

The weather continued fair and bright. This year would bring a good harvest of hay and grain, despite the earlier storms. Clearly, as Cerialis was fond of observing, the gods and goddesses were being kind. But the sheltering hills around Venta cut off the wind, and as the season grew warmer Teleri longed for the refreshing sea-breezes of Durnovaria. When Dierna announced that they were to go down to the coast for the groundbreaking rites of the new naval fortress, she was glad.

But this was more than a pleasant trip to the seaside. When some of the women questioned why the High Priestess should want to bless a Roman fort, Dierna reminded them of the eagle that had appeared at their Midsummer rite. “Once we were enemies, but our safety depends on the Romans now,” she had told them, and Teleri, remembering the Saxons, agreed with her.

“Ah, there’s a breeze coming now!” exclaimed Cerialis. “That will cool your rosy cheeks, my dears!”

Teleri sighed. Despite his broad hat, Cerialis’ face was flushed with heat. Perhaps the wind would cool him off as well.

As the road curved, she glimpsed blue water through the trees. The road, a new one, ran a little in from the shore southeastward from Clausentum, where they had stayed the night before. A good rider could have made the journey from Venta in a day, but Cerialis obviously believed that ladies needed pampering.

“Do you think this new fortress will discourage the Saxons?” She braced herself against the sway of the horse litter and looked up at him.

“Surely, surely!” He nodded emphatically. “Every wall and every ship are a message to those sea scum that Britannia stands fast.” He straightened in the saddle, and for a moment she thought he was going to salute.

“I disagree,” said his son Allectus, bringing his mare up beside them. “It is the soldiers and sailors who man them that will make the difference, Father. Without men, ships are only rotting wood, and walls are only moldering stones.”

The son was her own age or a little younger, thought Teleri, as angular and tense as his father was plump and placid, with a narrow face and intense dark eyes. He had the look of someone who has been ill a great deal in childhood. Perhaps that was why he had not gone into the Army himself.

“True-of course that is true-” Cerialis cast an uneasy glance at the boy.

Teleri suppressed a smile. The Duovir was a good man of business, but rumor had it that his son, though delicate in body, was something of a wizard with figures. It was his brilliance that had advanced the family fortunes sufficiently to fund the public works and entertainments a magistrate was expected to sponsor, and Cerialis knew it. Allectus was a cuckoo in the nest of a fat pigeon, or maybe something nobler, a sparrow hawk, she thought, eyeing the sharp profile. In any case, it was clear that the older man did not understand his son at all.

“Well, this new Admiral has persuaded the emperors to strengthen our defenses,” she said brightly. “Surely that is a sign that this man, at least, is worthy of our trust.”

“It is so. Unless the leaders are worthy, even the best of men will fail.” Cerialis nodded sententiously.

In Allectus’ glance she saw scorn, so swiftly hidden she could scarcely be sure it had been there.

“Or women,” she said dryly. She doubted that the Roman Army, for all its tradition and discipline, could match the testing imposed on the priestesses of Avalon. Her gaze moved forward, where Dierna rode in another horse litter with little Adwen. She suppressed her envy, knowing it unworthy. Perhaps, she thought, the High Priestess would ask her to ride with her on the return.

The litter tilted as they descended toward the shore. Teleri sat up when they emerged from beneath the trees, looking around her. Certainly the new Admiral had a good eye for country. The ground that had been cleared for the fort lay at the northwestern corner of a fair-size harbor connected by a narrow channel to the sea. The site offered equal protection from storms and from pirates, though it was hard to believe in either on such a sparkling summer day.

Clearly it was going to be a noble fortress. Foundation trenches had been dug for the walls in a square several acres in extent, to be punctuated by U-shaped bastions. This was larger, Cerialis took care to inform them, than any of the other shore forts, even Rutupiae. As they drew closer, he surveyed the laborers with proprietary pride. Teleri had understood that such installations were always constructed by the military, but she could see that some of the men doing the digging were dressed differently.

“You are wise to notice that, very wise,” said Cerialis, following her gaze. “They are slaves from my own estates, sent down to assist in the building. It seemed to me that a fortress to protect Venta would be a more useful tribute to my magistracy than a new amphitheatre for the town.”

The curl of Allectus’ thin lips was not quite a smile. Did he disapprove? No, thought Teleri, remembering how he had spoken before. More likely, it was he who had planted the idea in his father’s mind.

“It was an excellent plan, and I am sure that this new commander will appreciate the assistance,” she said warmly, and saw a faint betraying color stain the younger mans sallow cheeks.

But his eyes were fixed on the builders. Several men walked up and down, supervising the digging. Where, Teleri wondered, was the Admiral? She saw Dierna sit up suddenly, shading her eyes with her hand. Allectus had reined in, a tension in him like a good hunting dog. Teleri followed his gaze. One of the officers, elegant in a red tunic and a belt with plaques of gilded bronze, was coming toward them, followed by a sturdy, square-built man in a sleeveless sailor’s tunic, faded by sun and salt till its original color could not be told.

Allectus slid down from his horse’s back to greet them. But it was the second man whom he saluted. Teleri’s eyes widened. Was this man, his fair hair stiffened by perspiration and the skin of his high brow reddened by the sun, the hero about whom they had been hearing such tales? He came forward with the rolling gait of a man who has spent much time at sea, and as he drew closer, she noted how his gaze swept from the water to the woods to the newcomers and back again even as he smiled. It reminded her, oddly, of the way Dierna surveyed the assembled priestesses before they began a ceremony.

Dierna herself was watching Carausius with a strange look, almost of approval, in her eyes. As the Roman came up to clasp arms with Allectus, his gaze swept once more over the horse litters, and as he looked at the High Priestess, Teleri saw his eyes widen in turn. Then the moment was lost in a babble of introductions. When she thought about it afterward, it seemed to the girl that the look had been one of recognition. But that must be only a fancy, for Dierna had said herself that she had never met Carausius before.

Beyond the low arm of land that protected the harbor the sun was setting. Carausius stood before the foundations of his fortress with his officers, watching the priestesses prepare for their ritual. The legionaries had been drawn up in formation before what would one day be the gate, with the native workers spreading out to either side behind them.

A moon before, when they began the digging, a priest had come down from the temple of Jupiter Fides at Venta Belgarum and sacrificed an ox, while a haruspex read the auspices. They had been encouraging-but in truth he could not recall a time, once the plans were all made and the funds committed, when a haruspex had not managed to find a favorable meaning in the entrails of the beast he had slain.

“For a thousand years and twice a thousand shall these foundations remain to praise the name of Rome in this land…”

An excellent prophecy, thought Carausius. And yet the priest, a brisk, rotund fellow whose cook was the best in Venta, had not been very inspiring. Looking at the blue-robed priestesses, Carausius understood why he had felt the Roman ceremony was not enough, and why, when he had heard that the Lady of Avalon was in the area, he had requested her to come. The fortress of Adurni was Roman, but the land it was intended to protect was Britannia.

He had stood, sweating in his toga beneath the sun of noontide, throughout the Roman ritual. Tonight he wore a linen tunic dyed crimson, with native needlework around the borders, and a light woolen mantle held by a golden brooch pin. The gear was similar enough to the native dress of his own people in the fens of Germania to bring back memories of a past he had renounced when he swore to serve Rome. His father’s people had made their offerings to Nehallenia. What goddess, he wondered, did they pray to here?