Lady of Avalon (34 page)

He let out his breath in a long sigh. “Teleri, I could lead this land. A government runs on money, and I control it. I come of the Belgic princes, and the Silures on my mother’s side. That is not enough, I know. But if you could love me-they would follow me if you consented to be my Queen.”

She fingered the fabric of her gown. “And do you love me, or do you only want to marry me, as
he
did, because it will help you to gain power?” She looked up and realized that Allectus was trembling.

“Teleri,” he whispered. “Don’t you know what I feel for you? You have haunted my dreams. But when we met, you were a priestess of Avalon, and then, suddenly, the wife of Carausius. I would give you my heart on a platter if it would please you, but I would rather offer you Britannia. Give me your love and you shall be, not Empress, but High Queen.”

“And what of my husband?”

His gaze, which had been so luminous and open a moment before, grew hard. “I will reason with him until he agrees…”

Even if the Emperor relinquished her, Teleri could not imagine Carausius voluntarily giving up his power. But Allectus was kneeling before her, and she found it hard to care. He took her hand and kissed it, then turned it gently and pressed his lips to her palm.

Such a gentle touch, she thought. Allectus would not stop her if she rose and walked away. But as Teleri looked down at his bent head, she felt a surge of protective pity, and for the first time realized that she too had power. Carausius had needed her as a link to the British, and to Avalon. This man needed her love.

Gently, she stroked his hair, and when he looked up, she accepted him into her arms.

The messenger Prince Eiddin Mynoc sent to the Emperor had said the Prince’s men would be leaving Durnovaria on the ides of Junius. He had recommended that an officer be sent to take charge of them at Sorviodunum, where the main road from the southwest met the routes coming down from Aquae Sulis and Glevum.

A few days before Midsummer, Carausius, exasperated by a week of conferences with the local senators at Venta, decided to ride over himself to meet them. He still wore his German breeches for riding, but his advisers had persuaded him to put his Menapian bodyguard in Roman gear. They looked now, he thought as he glanced at the file riding behind him, like any other recruits sent to serve at the other end of the Empire.

When they came to Sorviodunum, the Durotriges had not yet arrived, but the weather was fair and bright; it was not a day for a man to sit inside when he might be out in the clean air. What he wanted, thought Carausius as he led his men out along the Durnovaria road, was to be on the deck of a ship. It would have been a fine day for sailing. But he would sway instead to the motion of the horse beneath him, and pretend that the undulations in the land before him were the rolling waves of the sea.

It was nearing noon when one of the Menapians called out and, looking up, Carausius saw a cloud of dust on the road. The past few years had taught him to judge cavalry, and he estimated that perhaps two score horsemen were coming, pushing their mounts harder than an experienced commander would have recommended, out of exuberance, probably, rather than emergency. He squeezed his own mount’s sides, and the Menapians speeded into a trot behind him as they hurried to meet the Durotriges.

With a smile he recognized Teleri’s eldest brother, more heavily built than she, though with the same dark hair. But, then, he had already figured out whose these riders must be. They looked good, he thought as he scanned the others-their gear, all aflutter and jingling with ornaments and tassels, was more suited for parade than the field, but they seemed energetic and determined. And of course they rode well.

Only one man sat his horse without the easy grace of the others. Carausius shaded his eyes with one hand, blinking as he recognized Allectus. It had taken him a moment, for he had never seen the younger man in anything but Roman dress, whereas now he rode in a saffron tunic and crimson mantle, like the Belgic Prince he was.

It would appear that he himself was not the only one to feel the tug of his native roots, now that they were fighting Rome, thought Carausius. He grinned as the Durotriges pulled up in a swirl of dust before him, and waved.

“Allectus, my boy, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Londinium.”

“This is my country and my people,” answered Allectus. “It is here I should be.”

Carausius felt a faint prickle of uncertainty, but he continued to smile. “Well, you have certainly brought the Durotriges here in prime fettle.” He looked back at the riders and his unease deepened, for they were not smiling.

Teleri’s brother moved his mount a little forward. “Did you think that you Romans-or you Germans, I should say-were the only ones who can fight? Celtic warriors made the walls of Rome tremble when your people were still crawling out of the mire.”

Theudibert, one of Carausius’ Menapians, growled, but Carausius motioned to him to be still.

“If I did not believe in your courage,” he said calmly, “I would not have asked your father to send you. Britannia needs all her sons to fight for her now-those whose forebears battled Caesar, and the children of the Legions, brought from Sarmatia and Hispania and every corner of the Empire to take root in this land. We are all Britons now.”

“Not you,” said one of the Durotriges. “You were born across the sea.”

“I have given my blood for Britannia,” said Carausius. “The Lady of Avalon herself accepted my offering.” Even now the thought of Dierna lifted his heart. At Portus Adurni he had given more than blood; he had poured out his seed, his very life, in her embrace that night, and been renewed.

“The Lady of the Britons rejects it,” said Allectus. The warriors reined aside to let him through. “The daughter of Eiddin Mynoc is your wife no longer. The alliance is ended, and our allegiance withdrawn.”

Carausius stiffened with anger. Had the boy gone mad?

“The tribes breed brave men,” he said in a last attempt at conciliation, “but for three hundred years they have not borne arms except for hunting. Without the help of the British Legions, you will be easy meat for Constantius when he comes.”

“The Legions”-Allectus snorted contemptuously-“will follow whoever pays them. Is that not the history of your Empire? And the mints belong to me. Whether for love or for money, all of Britannia will fight the invader. But they must be led by a man of the old blood.”

A vein pulsed in Carausius’ temple. “By you…”

Allectus nodded. “It might have been different if you had had a son by Teleri, but she rejected your seed. She has bestowed the sovereignty on me.”

Carausius stared at him unseeing. He knew that he had never won Teleri’s love, but he had not realized that she hated him. That hurt, for he still thought of her with affection, even though Dierna had shown him what it meant to love. The part of his mind that was still capable of reason told him that Allectus was saying these things to wound him. And if Dierna had not given herself to him so fully, Allectus might have succeeded. But with the memory of her love like living water within him, no taunt Allectus might make could shake his manhood. It was she, not Teleri, who was the giver of sovereignty.

But the Durotriges clearly believed Allectus, and he could not betray Dierna by telling them of her gift to him.

“These men are not bound,” he said slowly, “but you, Allectus, swore an oath to me. How can they trust you if you betray me?”

Allectus shrugged. “I swore by the gods of Rome-the same gods by whom you swore to serve Diocletian. One broken oath deserves another-‘an eye for an eye,’ as the Christians say.”

Carausius brought his horse up closer, forcing the other man to meet his eyes. “It was more than an oath, Allectus, between us,” he said softly. “I thought I had your love.”

The younger man gave a little shake of the head. “I love Teleri more.”

Teleri,
thought Carausius,
not Britannia.

“You may have her with my blessing,” he said grimly, “and may she be more comfort to you than ever she was to me. But as for Britannia, I believe that the Legions have more sense than to obey an untried boy, even one whose hands flow with gold. And it may be that the other tribes will not be so eager to obey the Belgae, who conquered them before the Romans came. You are welcome to try, Allectus, but I do not think the people of this land will follow you, and I will not abandon those who swore faith to me…”

Contemptuously, he reined his horse away. He had gone perhaps two horses’ lengths forward when one of the Menapians shouted a warning. Carausius began to turn, and so it was that the lance that Teleri’s brother had thrown took him not in the back but through the side.

For a moment all he felt was the impact. Then the weight of the lance pulled it free. As it clattered to the road, Carausius felt a gush of warmth below his ribs, and then, finally, the first fiery stab of pain. He heard shouts, and the clash of swords. A horse screamed. He blinked, trying to focus, and saw one of his bodyguard go down.

I am not dead yet,
he told himself,
and men are dying for me!
A deep breath brought him a moment’s clarity, and he drew his sword. He kicked his mount toward Allectus, but there were too many men between them. A blade flashed toward him; he knocked it away, thrust, felt the jar as it bit, and saw his enemy fall. That had been luck, he thought, but his battle rage was rising, and with every moment he felt stronger. His Menapians, seeing him fighting, took courage and attacked with equal fury.

Time blurred. Suddenly there was no foe before him. He heard hoofbeats, and saw that the Durotriges were regrouping around Allectus and wheeling away. Arms waved as if they were arguing.

“My lord,” cried one of his men. “You are bleeding!”

Carausius managed to sheathe his sword and pressed his hand to his side. “It is not serious,” he gasped. “Tear me a strip from your mantle to stanch it. They outnumber us, but we’ve made them bleed. If we draw off now, they may think twice about following.”

“Back to Sorviodunum?” asked Aedfrid.

The Emperor shook his head. Allectus’ treachery had shaken all his assumptions, and until he was healed he dared trust no one’s loyalty. Carausius twisted to look down at his side. Blood welled from the wound, making it hard to see, but he sensed it was bad. Though he had spoken stoutly, this might be beyond the skill of any surgeon closer than Londinium. He straightened in the saddle, gazing westward, where the hills rolled away into blue haze.

“Bind up my side,” he said to Theudibert.

“Lord, this is very deep. We must get help for you.”

“That way,” said Carausius, pointing. “The only healing for this hurt is in the Summer Country. We’ll go back as if we were returning to the town, and turn off as soon as we are out of sight. They will lose time looking for us on the road. Swiftly now, and do not falter because of me. If I cannot sit a horse, tie me to the saddle; if I cannot speak, keep asking for the road to Avalon.”

“Lady! What is it?” cried Lina, the maiden assigned this month to serve her. “Did a bee sting you, or did you prick your hand?” Her words were lost in a babble of concern as the other women came running.

The priestess clapped her hand to her side and took a deep breath, fighting to control the pain. It was not her heart; the burning ache pulsed lower, beneath her rib cage, as if something had broken there. And the agony was not entirely internal. The skin itself was tender as she probed it carefully; and yet, when they unpinned her tunic, she could see no wound.

No spell or ill-wishing could break through Dierna’s wardings against her will. And there was only one person living to whom she had opened herself so fully that she would feel
his
agony. She realized that in their lovemaking she had given Carausius more than her body-she had given part of her soul away. She sent her spirit winging outward along the path by which the pain had come, and sensed his longing for her.

“She is elf-shot,” said old Cigfolla soberly. “Lift her carefully, my daughters. We must take her to her bed.”

Dierna got control of her voice again. “It is not…
my
…pain. I must rest, but you…Adwen…go to the holy well. Someone…is coming… Try if the Sight will show him to you!”

That whole afternoon Dierna lay in the cool darkness of her dwelling, using all the disciplines she had learned to maintain a state of trance that would put her beyond the pain. Gradually the physical agony became bearable, but the sense of need grew. Carausius was seeking her, but would he reach her in time?

The plan had been a good one, thought Carausius, reining in and drawing breath in deep gasps, but he had overestimated his own endurance. Despite the binding, every step jarred his side to new agony. When it came to a choice between stopping or losing consciousness, he judged it would take less time to pause. But he was having to do so more and more often, and at their previous halt, the rearguard had come galloping up to tell them that the Durotriges were on their trail.

“Let us stop here, lord, and make a stand,” said Theudibert. Carausius shook his head. The foliage was too thick for maneuvering, but not high enough for cover. “Then let some of us continue on down the valley, where the ground is soft and will show our tracks well,” said the warrior, “while you slip away across the heath. With luck they will follow us.”

The Emperor nodded. This way at least some of his men would be saved. It was the only way, he knew, that he would be able to get any of them to leave him. Allectus might be false, but these lads had sworn the oath of a
comitatus,
and would never willingly outlive their chieftain.

“May Nehalennia bless and guard you.” He called their own goddess to guard them as they thundered away.

“Come,” said Theudibert, “let us go on now, while their noise still covers our own.”

Theudibert had his rein, for it was all Carausius could do now to stay in the saddle; he bit back a cry as the motion sent pain through him in dizzying waves.

This scene was repeated several times during the two days that followed. The Menapians were hardy and used to rough traveling, but the Durotriges knew the land. Though subterfuges might work for a time, eventually their enemies always found them. Carausius could only hope that when he reached Avalon he would be protected by the Britons’ respect for the holy isle.

On the afternoon of the third day, approaching from the east, they reached the marshes of the Summer Country. By this time, Carausius was too weak to sit a horse alone, and rode roped to Theudibert. The marshes were a terrain that the Menapians understood, but no good for horses. Two men were sent off with their mounts. Retaining only the beast Carausius rode, the six who remained began to work their way around the edge of the lake, seeking the village of the marsh folk who could take him to Avalon.

It had not occurred to them that the British, familiar with the country, would know by now where they must be heading and ride ahead along the ridge of the Poldens to forestall them. Carausius, who might have foreseen it, was by this time almost past thinking. He did not rouse until the shock of a sudden stop and an oath from Theudibert brought him upright, staring.

Dusk was falling. Across still water he saw the huts of the marsh dwellers on their poles. Before them, a spur of solid ground curved down from the ridge, and there, silhouetted against the light, a line of horsemen was waiting.

“I will hide you in the marshes,” said Theudibert, undoing the rope that had tied them together and knotting the loose end around his lord’s waist.

“No…” rasped Carausius. “I would rather die fighting. But send Aedfrid to that village. He must beg them to summon the Lady of Avalon.”

A few moments before, he could not have moved, but now, with his foe before him, Carausius found himself able to get off the horse and draw his sword.

“This is good,” said Theudibert as the riders started toward them. “I too am tired of running away.” He smiled, and after a moment Carausius grimaced back at him.

In the end, it always came back to this terrible simplicity. He had felt it before at the beginning of a battle, when all the plans and preparations had become irrelevant and he stood face-to-face with his foe. But other times he had at least begun the fight unwounded. This time the most he could hope for was to get in one or two good blows before they struck him down.

The clatter of hoofbeats thundered in his ears. One horse misstepped and went down, but the others loomed over him with frightening speed. Carausius swayed aside and stabbed as a rider went past him. Theudibert’s spear flashed and the Briton fell. Another rider was upon them; the Emperor stepped backward into muddy water, staggering to keep his balance, but the horse stopped suddenly, mistrusting the ground. The rider coming toward him also slipped, and grabbed the mane to keep his balance; Carausius’ sword took him in the side.

The moments that followed passed in a series of disjointed images. He stood back-to-back with Theudibert, half leaning against the other man. Carausius felt an impact, and then another, and knew he had been hit, but he was beyond pain. He blinked, peering around him, and wondered if it was darkness or blood loss that was making it so hard to see. More riders came at them; behind him, Theudibert made a sound of surprise, and Carausius lurched as his support disappeared. A last access of fury brought Carausius around, swinging. His blow took Theudibert’s slayer in the neck as the Briton bent to pull out his spear.

Carausius swayed, struggling to bring up his blade. But there was no one left to fight. A dozen bodies lay around him, moaning, or deathly still. Upon the ridge he heard the sounds of battle, though he could not see them. Then they too faded.
My brave Menapian boys have bought me this last respite,
he thought.
I must not waste it.

To his right, the willows grew in a tangle down to the waterside. If he hid among their branches, no one would find him. He was lightheaded with blood loss, but somewhere he found the strength to make his way to the shelter of the trees.

For three days and three nights Dierna had maintained her vigil, as her spirit yearned toward that of the man she loved. By the end of the second day, the contact was becoming intermittent, as if he were moving in and out of consciousness. On the third day, agony reawakened, and with it an anxiety that she could hardly bear. It was not until a little past midnight that she fell into a fitful sleep, full of nightmares through which she fled, pursued by faceless demons, struggling in a bloody sea.

Dierna woke again as the pale light of the longest day was outlining her doorway, and realized that what had roused her was a tap on the door.

“Enter…” she whispered. She sat up, feeling for the first time in three days free of pain. Was Carausius dead? She did not think so, for there was still a weight upon her spirit.

Lina stood silhouetted against the dawn sky. “Lady, one of the marsh folk has come to us. He says there was a fight at the lake edge. One of the warriors made it to their village, babbling that they must find his lord and take him to the Lady of Avalon…”

Dierna got to her feet, surprised to find herself so unsteady, and gathered up her mantle. Lina was already carrying the basket in which she kept her healer’s supplies. The priestess leaned on the girl’s shoulder as they made their way down the path, but by the time they reached the barge, the fresh air had begun to revive her.

They passed through the mists and came to the village of the marsh men, its houses set on poles among the reeds. The little dark folk were up and about already, and among them one tall, fair-haired lad who walked up and down along the shore, peering about him distractedly.

“Domina,” he saluted her in rough camp Latin. “The Durotriges attacked us-Allectus led them. In the fight Lord Carausius was wounded. He told us to bring him. And by the holy gods, we did what he asked.”

“Where is he?” Dierna cut in.

The boy shook his head in distress. “He sent me to the village for help. But the people saw the fighting and were afraid. I understand”-he gazed around him at the little dark folk of the marshes-“they look like children to me, though I know they are men. I went back to the battlefield and found only the dead. But my lord’s body was not among them. The small ones would not stir during the hours of darkness for fear of demons. Since first light we have been looking, but Carausius has not been found!”

The Emperor of Britannia lay half on land and half in the lake, watching his blood cloud the water with crimson in the light of the new day. He had never known that dawn could be so beautiful. The night had been filled with horrors. He had struggled for hours, it seemed, crawling over tree roots and floundering in mud that tried to suck him into its slimy embrace. For part of it he thought he had been fevered, but he was cold now-too cold-he could neither feel nor move his lower limbs at all. This was not how he had expected to meet his end.

The white shape of a swan moved out of the mists that clung to the water and swam past him, graceful as if this were a dream. Lying here, where he could not see the hills, he might have been in the marshes of his own country, where the father of rivers branched into many channels as it sought the sea. In his homeland, he remembered, they had given men to the gods by a triple death. His lips twisted wryly as he realized that he had already suffered two-thirds of it-being speared in a dozen places, and half drowned.

It is a gift,
he thought.
I have been restored to myself, instead of dying in delirium. The least I can do is finish the job…
With a wisdom from beyond this lifetime he remembered-the Goddess never dies, but the God gives his life for the land. He knew now that he had done this before, by an act of will transformed from the victim of senseless violence to an offering, made in faith that the Goddess would find a use for it somehow.

The rope that had bound him to Theudibert was still tied around him. With clumsy fingers he loosened the knot and tugged it up around his neck, then wound the other end around the root of a tree. For as long as he could, he would stay upright, for the morning was very beautiful, but he did not think it would be for long.

Somewhere beyond those mists lay the Empress of his heart. Would she know, he wondered, how he had loved her?
This gift is for you,
he thought,
and for the Goddess you serve. I was born across the sea, but my death belongs to Britannia.
Perhaps it did not matter. Dierna had once told him that, behind the faces they wore, all gods were one. His only regret was that he had not seen the sea once more.

The sun rose higher, dancing brightly on the water. Those sequined dimples were very like the sunsparks on the ocean, he thought vaguely…and then they
were
the waves, and the singing in his ears was the wind in a ship’s rigging, and his vertigo the swoop of the craft that was bearing him over the sea. It came to him then that if the gods were one so were the waters, all of them the womb of the Goddess, the most ancient of seas.

Before him, an island rose from the ocean, girded with cliffs of red stone and green fields. In its center was a pointed hill from whose summit the gilding of a temple roof challenged the sun.

He knew that place, and in that recognition knew himself also, with the insignia of a priest upon his brow and on his forearms the dragons of a king. He stepped forward, arms lifting in salutation, uncaring that the body he had left behind slumped lifeless in its bonds.

From across the water he could hear the voice of the woman who from life to life had always been his beloved and his Queen, calling him.

Dierna walked on the lakeshore, calling her lover’s name. Surely now, when Carausius was so near, the link between them would draw her. She knew the others were coming along behind her, but she kept her eyes shut, following a scent of the spirit between the worlds. Success, when it came, was an awareness on both levels that the other part of her soul was near.

Dierna opened her eyes and saw the shape of a man, tangled in tree roots and half underwater, so smeared with mud and bits of reed he seemed already part of the earth on which he lay. Aedfrid ran past her, stopping short as he saw the rope around Carausius’ neck and making a sign of reverence before he reached out and with trembling hands untangled it and drew his lord’s body fully up onto the shore.