Lady of Avalon (29 page)

He got to his feet, and she felt his spirit walled against her. There was strength in the man for certain, untrained though it might be. She had done as the Goddess bade her. Whatever his choice, she must accept it. In silence, she led him back down the hill.

In the morning, word came to them from across the marshes of an urgent message for Carausius. Dierna had the messenger brought to the island, blindfolded, and waited as the Admiral slid the scroll from its leather case.

“It is the reivers?” she asked as she saw his face change.

He shook his head, his expression halfway between exasperation and anger. “Not the Saxons-this is from the thieves in Rome!” He looked back at the scroll, translating roughly as he read.

“I am charged with colluding with the enemies of Rome and defrauding the Emperor… They say I have deliberately waited to attack the pirates until after they are on their way home so that I can seize their booty! The fools-do they think I can be everywhere, or read the barbarians’ minds?” He turned the parchment, and grunted with mirthless laughter. “Evidently they do, for here they accuse me of making secret treaties with the raiders, directing them where to strike and dividing the spoils.” He shook his head. “There will be nothing secret about it, if ever I take action against Rome!”

“But you have spent the money on Britannia!”

“True, but will they believe me? I am summoned to Rome to be judged by the Emperor. Even if I am acquitted, no doubt they will post me to the other end of the Empire and never let me return to Britannia again.”

“Don’t go!” she exclaimed.

Carausius shook his head. “I swore an oath to the Emperor-”

“You swore an oath to this land, and other vows before that, to defend the Mysteries. Is there another man in all Diocletian’s armies that could do the same?”

“If I refuse, I will be a rebel. It will mean civil war.” He looked up at her and his face was grim.

“Who can stop you? Maximian is embroiled with the Franks on the Rhenus, and Diocletian with the Goths on the Danuvius. They have no forces to spare for the discipline of a wayward admiral who, whatever they may think of his methods, is protecting the Empire. But if it comes to war, it will not be the first time.” She held his stony gaze. “Diocletian himself was a son of slaves whose glory was foretold by a Druid priestess in Gallia. I speak with no less authority than she.”

His eyes widened. “I do not seek to be Emperor!”

Dierna bared her teeth in a smile. “Go back to your fleet, Carausius, and see if they will support you. I will pray to the gods to guard you. If it comes to fighting, you may find that you have no choice but to accept the fruits of victory!”

Teleri was instructing her maidservant which gowns should be packed for the journey from the fort of Dubris to the villa when a legionary appeared at the doorway of her quarters.

“Lady, there’s a messenger. Will you come?”

“Has something happened to the Admiral?” Her heart pounded suddenly, and for a moment she did not know whether it was with hope or with fear. The year before, Carausius had defied the emperors and built up his fleet, and the Saxon raids had begun to decline. This season he meant to do more.

Carausius had set sail three days before to carry the war to the Saxons. If he could burn their villages, perhaps they would not be so eager to raid Britannia again. But in the heat of battle even a commander could be struck down. She felt disloyal. Her husband had been kind to her, and he was the defender of her people. She was appalled to realize how much she resented the duty that kept her at his side.

“I don’t think so,” said the legionary. “I think the message is
for
Carausius, not from him. But the fellow has hardly a word of Latin, and his British is some dialect that none of us can understand.”

“Very well.” With a last word of instruction to her maid, Teleri followed the soldier to the gatehouse.

The messenger, a weathered fellow in the faded tunic of a fisherman who gazed at the stone walls as if he thought they would fall on him, was waiting. When she greeted him in the accent of Durnovaria he brightened.

“He’s from Armorica,” she murmured as he burst into speech. “Their folk trade often with our own, and their manner of speaking is much the same.” Teleri leaned forward, frowning, as he went on. The man was still speaking when Allectus came into the room.

“Is Maximian coming against us?” asked Allectus in Latin when the story was done.

“That is what he says,” Teleri replied. “But why should the emperors act now? I thought that Diocletian had accepted Carausius’ denial of the accusations against him, and forgiven him for not obeying the command to return.”

“That was last year,” Allectus said grimly, “when the emperors were fighting on the Rhenus. But we had word this spring that Maximian has made peace with the Franks in Belgica. Did you really think that Rome would tolerate our defiance forever? I suppose we should not be surprised that the junior Emperor has used the respite to build ships in Armorica.” His lips twisted. “After all, we have been building up our own fleet here. I only wish we had had more time to prepare!”

“But Carausius does not want to fight Maximian! He is oathsworn to the emperors!” Teleri exclaimed.

“The oath he offered with his blood at Portus Adurni binds more deeply. You were there-you heard him pledge himself to defend this land.”

The longer Allectus spent in the Army, thought Teleri, seeing how straight he stood now, the more he improved. Carausius might be a great warrior, but it was the younger man whose financial skills had given him the resources needed to pursue this war. The diffidence that had made Allectus seem younger than his years had been replaced by pride.

“You want him to rebel…” she said slowly. “To proclaim himself Emperor of Britannia!”

“Yes. I do. The Christians say a man cannot serve two masters, and the time has come when Carausius must choose.” Allectus strode to the open gateway and stood staring out to sea. “As trade improves it is not only the merchants who benefit. Perhaps you cannot see it, but I know where the money comes from, and where it goes. Now everyone is prospering. In the temples they pray for Carausius, did you know, as if he were already Emperor… Lethimbe, then, the lord we need. Maximian will force him to choose!”

With a shake of his head Allectus dug out the wax tablets from the pouch at his side and turned back to the fisherman.

“Ask the man how many ships he saw, and how many men they were carrying. Ask him when they set sail,” he said briskly. “If I cannot stand by my commander’s side with a sword in my hand, I will give him what may be of more worth-the information he needs to plan his battle, and a fleet alerted and prepared to follow him! Quickly-the ship that carries this message must catch the tide!”

Romans fighting Romans! Even the thought of it made Teleri shiver.
Goddess, protect Carausius!
she prayed, shamed by the fervor she saw in Allectus’ eyes.
And forgive my doubts! Tonight I will look into the silver bowl again. Perhaps Dierna will have news for me as well.

The fisherman looked from one to the other, trying to understand. Teleri took a quick breath, and began to question him.

Carausius stood on the afterdeck of the
Orion,
swaying a little as the trireme rocked in the swell, sails furled. The lowest rank of oarsmen were sufficient to keep her in position, while the others rested. The other ships of his command held position in three columns, except for one swift liburnian which he had sent ahead to look for the enemy. The land was a blur of green off his port bow, low hills and sandspits rising into rocky bluffs to the west. The shore looked peaceful, but an occasional ridging of water that ran across the line of the waves revealed the hidden currents there.

Orion
had been completed over the winter, the largest ship in his command, in size a throwback to the big triremes of ancient days, and her wood gleamed white in the sunshine. At the prow the carven hunter took aim at an invisible foe. The image was Roman, but it was Dierna who had suggested this name for the flagship. There was a power, she had said, in the constellation of that name that would bring him victory. But the shrine at the stern sheltered a goddess, her statue helmed and armed with shield and spear. The Roman officers addressed her as Minerva, but this choice had also been guided by the High Priestess, and she had told Carausius to pray to the goddess as Briga, who was honored in Avalon on the Maiden’s Isle.

“Lady, with heavy heart I call you,” Carausius murmured. “I do not want to fight Maximian. Give me an omen, that I may see my way, and if we fight, then, for the sake of the brave men who have followed me, look upon us with gracious aspect, and give us the victory.”

He cast another handful of barley upon the altar, and poured out a libation of wine. Menecrates, the man he had chosen as
Orion
’s captain, took a pinch of frankincense and cast it on the coals. The tang of the sea air mingled pleasantly with the sweetness of the incense burning in the shrine.

But even as he prayed, a part of the Admiral’s mind was calculating, planning, preparing for the fray. Allectus’ message had brought Carausius speeding back from the delta of the Rhenus, and when he reached Dubris, the Rutupiae and Adurni squadrons had been waiting to join him. There was new word from Teleri as well-Maximian’s fleet had put to sea and was beating up-Channel. Teleri herself had seen them in vision, three squadrons of ten ships each, crammed with men. Carausius’ total command was larger, but his forces must be spread out to defend the province, whereas Maximian could bring his whole strength to bear on whichever fortress he chose.

Teleri wrote that the High Priestess had promised to call the winds to slow Maximian’s advance, but she could only delay their meeting for a little while. It would be enough, thought Carausius, for that same wind was bearing them down-Channel so swiftly that they were passing Portus Adurni now.

Their numbers were unequal, but Maximian must make do with slaves and drafted fishermen, seasoned by a few officers drawn off from the Mediterranean and the Rhenus patrols. The Emperor would be hoping to trap his foe against the shore and force a boarding battle, where he could make use of the legionaries he carried on board.

The ships of the British fleet, on the other hand, could make up in maneuverability for what they lacked in manpower. Carausius told himself to beware overconfidence. The Saxons he was accustomed to righting were good sailors, but as warriors they sought individual glory rather than a shared victory. Carausius’ men had never fought ships under Roman discipline. Still, the enemy did not know the Channel, and that in itself might be advantage enough today.

Realizing that the men were watching him, he completed his prayer and fastened the doors of the shrine. Menecrates took the censer and tossed the coals over the side. Carausius looked around him and grinned. He had a good ship, from the bronze ram that cut the waves just below her waterline to the heavy linen sails. And he had good men-ship’s officers whose naval training had been completed by two years’ experience against the pirates, two dozen legionaries of long service, and one hundred and sixty-two free oarsmen committed to the defense of Britannia. And the gods had sent him a fair spring day, with a few wisps of cloud and a light following wind to set an edge of froth on waves as deeply blue as lapis, a day on which to meet death gladly or to rejoice in victory.

He missed Allectus, whose keen wit and sardonic humor had lightened many a dismal hour. But though the younger man had truly earned his place on the Admiral’s staff, he had no stomach for the sea.

Gulls flew yammering around the mast, then swooped landward, feathered pirates greedier than any Saxon.
Be patient,
thought the Admiral,
soon enough you will be fed.

From the prow the lookout shouted, and Carausius stiffened, shading his eyes with one hand as he peered over the sea.

“The liburnian!” the man cried again. “She’s approaching under full oars-”

“What signal?” rapped the Admiral, taking the steps down to the catwalk between the banks of oars two at a time and running forward.

“Enemy in sight!”

Now Carausius could see the bobbing mast and the froth of white as the oarsmen dug into the waves. Steadily the little ship grew larger, until she drew up with a swirl of oars like a duckling returning to its mother’s side. His stomach tightened. The moment of decision was upon him now.

“What strength?” called the Admiral, gripping the rail.

“Three squadrons-coming up-Channel in cruising formation under easy sail.”

Carausius felt the momentum of events begin to seize him. “They’ll be preparing for a landing at Portus Adurni, thinking to lie offshore till nightfall and take us by surprise. We’ll surprise them instead, lads.” He turned to his crew. “Hoist the shield!”

As the gilded shield swung upward, it caught the sun like a fallen star. The brightness was a risk, but even if some keen-eyed enemy caught the flash he would be puzzled to interpret it, if he could see no sails. Behind Carausius, the awning that had sheltered the rowers was being rolled up in a rattle of canvas. Men checked to make sure their swords were handy, and the middle and upper ranks stood to their oars.

The lapping of waves against the side seemed loud in the sudden silence. A shadow passed across the foredeck; Carausius looked up and saw the stark shape of a sea eagle. The sun was almost overhead, the bird a black silhouette against the sky. It slid past, banked with a flash of white-and-black feathers, and circled the ship, once, twice, and again. Then with a cry it sped away westward, as if to lead the British to their enemy.