Roma Mater (44 page)

She stirred beneath his caress. ‘You
are
a good man,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll do my best, for you and your Rome.’

1

The Black Months were upon Armorica. As Midwinter drew nigh, day shrank to little more than a glimmer between two huge darknesses, the sun wan and low and oftenest lost in leaden clouds or icy rain. Weather slowed the last stage of journeying, and dusk had fallen when Gratillonius saw Ys again from the heights of Point Vanis. It sheered sharp athwart the tarnished argency of the sea. Beyond, mists drifted past the pharos flame, the sole star aloft.

He reined in to give the headstone of Eppillus a Roman salute. Metal clinked, leather creaked, horses snorted wearily at his back. ‘Dress ranks!’ he heard Adminius bark. ‘We’ll enter in style, we will.’ With a rattle of shields and stamp of hobnails, the soldiers obeyed, also the Ysan marines who reinforced them. The deputy had extended his authority over those, not overtly as against their own officer, but by sheer weight of example on the march.

If there had been no trouble, quite likely that was thanks to the sight of disciplined troops. Saxon pirates had ended their raiding till spring, but the woods housed Bacaudae the year around – ever more numerous, it was said, and certainly apt to be desperate in this season.

Gratillonius turned downhill. The horse of Bomatin Kusuri came alongside. He had represented Ys before the Imperials of Armorica. Well qualified he was, Mariner delegate to the Council of Suffetes: more than that, a man reasonably young and entirely vigorous, himself a skipper
whose trading and occasional slaving voyages had made him the familiar of folk from Thule to Dàl Riata. Gratillonius and he got along well.

‘Ha!’ he said in his bluff fashion. ‘Is it a true parade when nobody’s out to watch? Well, I’m as glad of that. Best to arrive quietly.’

Gratillonius glanced at him. In the murk he saw only the hulking body, the flamboyant sweep of moustaches; barbarian-bestowed tattoos were shadowed. ‘I daresay you’re eager for hearth and bed.’

‘Well, now, my lord, between the twain of us – mind you, I say naught against my wife, she’s a fine woman, though I could wish she’d nag me less to put on her kind of airs – but as long as we are coming in unheralded – Should she ever ask, would you tell her I had work to clear away, and therefore lodged this night in Dragon House?’

‘But there’s nothing we can’t take care of tomorrow.’

‘Save for a bit of sport, without getting jawed for it afterwards. We’ve been going hard, this trek. For safe return, methinks I should make a thank offering to Banba.’ That fertility Goddess had, in Ys, become the patroness of harlots. ‘Pour Her a libation or two, haw!’

Gratillonius frowned. Lying went against his grain as well as his faith. However, the chance was slight that Bomatin’s wife would ever inquire of him, no matter how much she tried to shine by reflection from the King.

‘You, my lord, have a choice ready for you –’ The seaman checked himself. ‘Forgive me. I meant no disrespect. ’Tis but that we’ve fared and worked shoulder by shoulder all this while, you never throwing your weight around more than necessary. I’ve sometimes forgotten you’re also the Incarnation of Taranis.’

‘I understand,’ said Gratillonius, relieved. He would have hated to give a reprimand or, worse, a cut of the
vinestaff. Yet if he did not maintain the dignity of the King, could he remain effective as prefect? He had two dozen legionaries to support his governance of a city ancient, proud, and secretive. It was not what he had awaited when he left Isca Silurum, ages agone.

‘We did a good job,’ Bomatin said. After a silence broken just by clopping hoofs and thudding feet, surf on reefs and cliffs as they neared the water: ‘Did we not?’

‘The future will tell,’ said Gratillonius, which ended talk.

Riding onwards, he found his own mind less on what had happened than on what lay ahead. Immediately ahead. Had he entered by daylight he would have gone straight to Dahilis. No, the dear lass would have come forth to meet him, running as fast as the weight within allowed, laughing and weeping for joy. But she was doubtless asleep, or ought soon to be, and rousing her might be a little risky, now when her time approached …

The sentries at High Gate, and up in the Gaul and the Roman, cried hail. ‘Quiet,’ Gratillonius ordered. ‘No sense in a tumult. Everything went well. Tomorrow in the Forum I’ll tell the people. Tonight we’re wearied and need our rest.’

He left his horse to the military grooms, bade his men farewell as became a commander, and walked off, still in wet cloak and muddied centurion’s outfit. Windows gleamed here and there, out of surrounding houses or aloft in towers. Even nowadays, when oil had become costly, Ysans liked to keep late hours; they would burn tallow if they must. Despite gloom rapidly congealing to night, broad Lir Way was easy to walk on, and when he turned off in the direction of Elven Gardens, Dolphin Lane was so known to him that he walked its narrow, wall-enclosed twistiness with never a stumble.

Glass was aglow at the house of Bodilis. He banged the knocker, which was in the form of a fouled anchor, blurred by centuries of hands (and what had each of those callers been seeking?). It was no surprise that she opened the door herself. She usually let her servants go home when they had cleaned up after a supper simple and early. Then she was likely to stay awake far into the night, reading, writing, creating.

What caught at Gratillonius’s throat was how beautiful she was. A blue robe, wrapped around and held by a sash, hugged the full but still graceful figure. Her hair fell in soft and lustrous waves past the broad, blunt, alive countenance and eyes that were like Dahilis’s. Lamplight and beeswax candlelight from behind could only touch a curve, a tress, the hands that reached forth, but somehow he saw. ‘Oh, you, you,’ breathed the husky voice, ‘welcome home, beloved!’

He embraced her, mouth to mouth, till he heard a slight gasp and realized he was straining her breasts too hard against his coat of mail. He eased his grip, let palms rove across shoulders, back, hips, while the kiss went on.

‘Come in,’ she said finally, let him by, and closed and barred the door behind them. ‘How are you? What have you … what have you accomplished, King?’

‘I am well.’ He glanced down at himself and snorted a laugh. ‘Though mired and sweaty and, in general, unfit for polite company … Dahilis! How fares she?’

‘Excellently.’

‘A-a-ah-h-h.’

Bodilis hesitated. ‘I took for granted you’d seek her first.’

He felt his face grow warm. ‘We arrived later than we foresaw. Best leave her undisturbed. I knew you’d tell me the truth.’

Bodilis laughed, low in her throat. ‘And once any fears
for her were allayed – why, you’ve been long on the road.’

He gave her a crooked grin, ‘I have that.’

Her eyelids drooped. ‘’Tis been long for me too.’

He strode forward. She fended him off, playfully, seductively. ‘Nay, wait half a heartbeat! Would you not like refreshment first? You wouldn’t? Then let’s at least remove your armour and wash you clean. I’ll enjoy doing that.’

– They lay on their sides, close together, each with a hand on the haunch of the other. As yet they felt no need to draw up the blankets. Recklessly many lamps illuminated her in gold. Outside, rain had begun, a susurrus against the shutters.

‘Aye, on the whole, things have continued as erstwhile in Ys,’ she said. ‘Well, poor Innilis has been having a bad time, as she did when carrying Hoel’s child. Sickness, pains – but no worse than before, if we remember aright, and the first birth is commonly the hardest, and we Sisters have been taking care of her. I think – if you seek her out tomorrow as a friend, simply a friend … that will cheer her much.’

‘Of course I will.’

‘Of course. You are you.’ Bodilis’s expression intensified. ‘She needs every help she can get. This solstice she takes Vigil on Sena.’

‘What?’ asked Gratillonius, bemused. ‘I thought … on the quarter days … all the Gallicenae were here.’

‘Hitherto true. But the age born of Brennilis is dying, and –’ Bodilis laid fingers across his lips. ‘Search no further. This is a thing that must be, that Ys may live.’

Chill struck through him. She sensed it, smiled, flowed nearer. ‘’Tis well, not ill. A duty to carry out, like standing on the Wall. Surely you’ve overcome worse hazards this trip. Tell me.’

He hung back. She nibbled his earlobe. ‘Oh, do, Gratillonius. I’m afire with curiosity.’

He became eager to oblige. It was a line of retreat from that which had no name. And this was Bodilis whom he had sought, Bodilis, because she was the one who could both meet his body’s needs and then discourse widely and deeply – more so than he could always follow, but that was itself a rousing challenge – He set Innilis aside.

The tale goes on and on, like the miles,’ he said. ‘I’ve kept a daily record which I want you to read, if you’ll overlook my lame language. For now, though – you’re not sleepy? Well, let’s bring in some wine and lie at ease while we talk. Interrupt me whenever you wish.’

She did, in questions and comments that heightened his own understanding of what he had seen and done; but mostly she led him on. The story came forth of his march to sad Vorgium, which had once been prosperous as Ys; to Condate Redonum, where he privily broached ideas for putting the Frankish laeti in their place; south as far as Portus Namnetum and Condovincum, to consider mutual assistance between the hinterland resources of those neighbouring cities and the navy of Ys; back north to Ingena and thence along the route he had followed earlier, until he branched off it to visit the tribune in charge at Gesocribate –’On the whole, we reached agreements in principle. ’Twill take years to build the machinery and get it working properly, I know. Still, we’ve made a fair start.’

‘You
have,’ she murmured, and again her caresses went seeking.

2

Vindilis had moved in with Innilis. None thought the worse of this, or even of their sharing a bed. The younger woman was so often ill and in pain; she should not be left to servants who loved her but were ignorant and clumsy about such matters. In truth, nothing untoward happened, as weak as Innilis had become, beyond kisses, and those grew to be as between mother and child.

A cry in the night or a feverish tossing would wake Vindilis. She then did what she could. All vestals studied the elements of medicine, and priestesses of every grade who showed any gift for it were trained as full physicians. Vindilis practised little. Her hands were cunning enough, but the Touch of the Goddess was not in them, nor had there been comfort in her manner. This last had changed of late.

The worst attack thus far ended a fitful sleep. Vindilis bounded on to a floor cold beneath her feet and bent over the other. Shutters blocked off any light from outside, but she always left a lamp burning when they retired. The untrimmed wick streamed smoke and a purulent, guttering flame. She could just see that Innilis lay hunched, arms and knees drawn against a now swelling belly. Her hair was lank with the sweat that studded a face blotched, yellowish, sunken in around the bones. The reek drowned any woman-fragrance. Sobs and hissings went between cracked lips. Vindilis put a hand on the brow and felt heat, though Innilis shuddered as with chill.

‘Darling, darling!’ Vindilis hurried to pour water from a jug, lay arm under neck, raise mouth to cup. ‘Here,
drink.’ Innilis gulped and retched. ‘Nay, slowly, sip, sip, oh, my poor sweet.’

Eventually she could ease the patient back on to the pillow. She went after her cloak. Both slept nude, for whatever warmth and consolation that might give. ‘Don’t go, please don’t go,’ Innilis moaned. ‘Stay. Hold my hand. It hurts so.’

‘Abide a little minute or two. I go to fetch powder of mandrake I’ve had brought. ’Twill give you some ease.’

Innilis’s eyes widened to ghastly white. ‘Nay! No drug. It might hurt the babe.’

Vindilis bit back a curse upon the babe. ‘I think not. In any case, you can’t go on like this.’

Innilis clutched herself below breasts that were ripening to full loveliness but too sore for fondling. ‘Nay, Grallon’s child, and, and she and I together on Sena. I can endure. I must? Her face turned towards a niche where a small image of Belisama was barely visible in shadow. ‘Mother of Mercies, help me.’

Vindilis threw the cloak over her shoulders and fastened the brooch. ‘Well, you can at least quaff a pellitory infusion. That’s never hurt you, and it should cool you off.’ She took the lamp. ‘I’ll need this. Be not afraid in the dark.’

Innilis shook her weary head. ‘I am not.’ Vindilis suspected she lied. ‘Please come back soon.’

‘Very soon.’ Vindilis kissed her cheek and went out.

A door opened and Innilis’s daughter Audris came into the corridor. ‘What is the matter?’ she asked. ‘Is Mama sick again?’

‘Aye,’ said Vindilis. ‘Go back to bed.’

The girl’s face screwed up. ‘I want to see my Mama!’

This child of Hoel was ten years old, two more than Vindilis’s Runa by the same King. So unforeseeably did the Sign come upon a maiden. Runa, though, was already
as tall, and bright and lively. Audris had something of her mother’s looks, except for being towheaded, but still talked like an infant, seemed unable to learn much, and fell into occasional fits. Hers had been a frightful birth. Vindilis had wondered over and over how her half-sister’s next would fare.

‘Back, I said!’ the high priestess yelled. ‘Back to your room or I’ll hit you! And stay there!’

Audris gaped at the snarl above the lampflame, whimpered, and fled.

Dawnlight stole down the smokehole in the kitchen. Vindilis stirred up a fire banked under the hob and fed it with dry sticks and chips to hotten it fast. She kept decoctions readymade, but needed warmth to dissolve honey. That would hide the taste of the willow bark she added to the pellitory. It was supposed to endanger the unborn and Innilis would have refused it on that account; but she required a strong febrifuge – and, yea, a pinch of mandrake. Vindilis paced from flames to wall and back, to and fro, to and fro, while the dull light sharpened and the potion heated.