The Forest House (39 page)

He surged to his feet, reaching out to her, and Huw took a heavy step into the room. Eilan drew a long breath to conceal her astonishment and gestured the man away. She had always assumed that her father was deep in the Arch-Druid's counsels. Was it possible that he did not know how Ardanos had been manipulating the Oracle all these years?

“Surely my father knows I speak only such Oracles as are given to me,” she said soothingly.
If he knows, then I have told him the truth—and if he does not, then I have told him nothing he does not know.

Indeed, what she had said was a greater truth than even Ardanos knew, for although Ardanos translated her answers to questions as he saw fit, when the Goddess filled her and she spoke directly to the people, it was the Goddess who agreed or disagreed with the policies of the Arch-Druid as She chose. So far, at least, Her counsels had been sufficiently peaceable that he had not questioned them.

Bendeigid rose and began nervously to wander about the room. He said, “Then I must entreat you to pray to the Goddess to avenge us. The spirits of the women of Mona still cry out for vengeance.”

She frowned. “Has Cynric sent you to say this to me?” She knew that Gaius had taken him prisoner, and saved his life and freedom by making him one of the hostages, but did not know what had happened to him after that.

“He was captured,” growled her father. “They were going to send him to Rome to amuse the Emperor, but he killed his guards and won free.”

“Where is he?” she asked in some alarm. If the Romans caught him now a quick death was the best fate he could expect from them.

“I do not know,” the Druid said evasively. “But there is a great anger growing in the North, my daughter. The Romans are pulling back. The Ravens were not all killed in that battle, and their wounds are healing. If the Goddess does not rouse the land against the Romans, be sure that Cynric will.”

“But I speak only to those who attend the festivals at the Hill of the Maidens,” Eilan said uncomfortably. “The Cornovii and Ordovices primarily, some Demetae and Silures, and a few of the wilder folk from the hills. What have we to do with Caledonia?”

“Can it be that you do not understand your influence?” He faced her directly. “The Romans have taken our lands and subverted our chieftains and forbidden most of our religious rites. The Oracle here at Vernemeton is one of the few things that remains to us, and if you do not think that the words of the Goddess are repeated from one end of Britannia to the other you are a fool!”

He does not know that Ardanos influences the Oracle,
Eilan thought then,
but he suspects it.
While she pretended ignorance he could not openly ask her support for an insurrection. But eventually matters were going to come to a head.

“I have been very isolated…” she said softly. “But pilgrims do come to make their prayers at the sacred well. Let those who have news come to drink the waters on the new moon of each month, and if the veiled priestess who attends them talks of ravens, let them speak to her there.”

“Ah, Daughter! I knew you would not betray your breeding!” he exclaimed, his gaze kindling. “I will tell Cynric—”

“Tell him I make no promises,” she interrupted, “but if you wish me to pray to the Goddess for Her help, I must know what to ask! I can give you no assurances how She will reply…”

With that, Bendeigid would have to be contented. Eilan sat for a long time in thought when he had gone. Clearly Cynric was doing his best to start a rebellion, and without her support, he would certainly fail.

But the Druid had apparently also realized that she was a grown woman now and would make her own decisions. It was almost worth all she had suffered to face him from such a position of power. But with that power came a responsibility she could not avoid, not when there might come a day when her father and foster brother faced the father of her son across a battlefield.

And if that happens, what will I do?
Eilan closed her eyes in anguish.
Dear Goddess, what will I do?

 

As Julia's child grew, they took to calling her “Cella,” for it seemed ridiculous to refer to something so tiny by such a long name. But Gaius waited in vain for the bond he had felt with little Gawen when first he saw him in Eilan's arms. Was it then something that happened only between a man and his first-born son? Or was it because he did not have such a bond with the child's mother?

At least Julia did not seem to find it odd that he would have little interest in a girl-child. And Cella was a placid baby who soon promised to be pretty, and was the delight of her grandfather's heart. Julia spent much of her time with the infant, dressing her in beautifully embroidered clothes, which seemed to Gaius a waste of time, and by the time the girl was a year old, Julia was pregnant again. This time she was absolutely positive it would be the longed-for son. A soothsayer, consulted at Julia's behest, promised that a son awaited birth but Gaius was not so certain.

In the end, however, he did not have to suffer with his wife through this pregnancy. The wars in Dacia had been going badly. Gaius felt a pang at hearing the Second Legion was to be withdrawn and the fortress they had built in the North destroyed. He supposed that it had become apparent that the North could not be held without a far greater investment of men and materiel than the Empire could afford. A lot of lives would have been saved, Gaius thought grimly, if they had had the sense to see that three years earlier!

He took to spending his spare time at the army post, listening to the news. On orders from the Emperor, the new Governor, Sallustius Lucullus, had commanded that all the northernmost fortresses be abandoned, their walls pulled down and their timber buildings burned so that nothing would remain that could be of use to the enemy. The Twentieth marched down from the North and settled back into their old quarters in Glevum, but no one knew for how long.

It was the Second Legion, however, which was ordered from Deva to Dacia. Macellius, announcing that he was too old to go dragging across the Empire, decided that the time had come to retire and started planning a new house in Deva. But Gaius was surprised by an invitation from the new legionary Commander to join his staff and sail with them. What amazed him almost as much was the fact that even Licinius did not object when he indicated that he would like to accept the offer.

“We'll miss you, lad,” the old man said, “but it's time that you were attending to your career now that you've started your family. Haven't I been singing your praises all over Londinium for just this reason? It's a pity you won't be here for the birth of your second child, but it was only to be expected. Don't worry about Julia—I'll take care of her. You do your duty and come back covered with glory!”

D
ieda returned to the Forest House in the middle of May, a little over four years after she had gone into exile in Eriu. For once the day was sunny, and Eilan received her in the garden, hoping their meeting might be eased by a more informal setting, but she had asked Caillean to stay with her just the same. She sat up straighter, her veil sliding down over her shoulders, as Dieda came through the gateway, and Caillean hurried forward to greet her.

“Dieda, my child, it is good indeed to see you. It has been too long—” They embraced ceremoniously, pressing cheek to cheek.

Dieda was wearing a loose gown of white linen in the Irish style, lavishly embroidered, with a bard's mantle of sky blue edged with golden fringe and held with a golden pin. Her hair, confined by an embroidered band, fell down in ringlets but, despite the festive raiment, her manner seemed strained.

“Ah, I had forgotten the peace here—” said Dieda, looking around her at the glossy green of the mint beds, and the silvery foliage of lavender where the bees buzzed among the purple flowers.

“I am afraid you will find us quiet indeed after all the kings and the princes of Eriu.” Eilan found her voice.

“It is a fine land, certainly, and very appreciative of singers and poets and all kinds of makers of music, but after a time one begins to miss one's own country.”

“Well you certainly have the very lilt of Eriu in your voice, my child,” observed Caillean. “It is good to hear that music again!”

Certainly nobody who heard her speak could confuse us now,
thought Eilan. It was not only a matter of accent but of depth and timbre. Dieda's voice had always been pleasant, but now she used it like a well-tuned instrument. Even ill words said in such a beautiful voice could be forgiven more easily.

“I've had time and enough to acquire it,” said Dieda. Her gaze slid to Eilan. “It seemed half a lifetime I was away.”

Eilan nodded. She felt herself to be a century older than the girl Lhiannon had chosen as her successor five years ago. But there was a petulant twist to Dieda's mouth. Did she still resent being sent away?

“It has been long enough for half a dozen new girls to come to us,” she said evenly. “A promising group—I think that most of them will eventually take their vows.”

Dieda looked at her. “And what had you in mind for me?”

“Teach these girls as much as you can of the skills you have learned!” Eilan leaned forward. “I don't mean only hymns to make our rituals more beautiful, but the ancient learning, the lore of the gods and heroes as well.”

“The priests will not like it.”

“They will have nothing to say about it,” said Eilan. Dieda's eyes widened. “These days the chieftains buy Latin tutors for their sons and teach them to recite Virgil and appreciate Italian wines. They are doing their best to turn our men into Romans, but they do not care what women do. The last sanctuary for the old wisdom of our people may be here at Vernemeton, and I would not have it lost!”

“Things have changed indeed since I went away.” For the first time, Dieda smiled. Then her eyes fixed on something beyond Eilan, and her expression changed.

Gawen was running towards them with his nurse trailing behind him. Eilan's hands twisted in the folds of her veil as she fought the compulsion to reach out and take him into her arms.

“Moon Lady! Moon Lady!” he cried, then stopped and peered up into Dieda's face. “
You're
not the Moon Lady!” he said disapprovingly.

“Not any more,” Dieda said with a strange smile.

“This lady is our kinswoman Dieda,” Eilan said through stiff lips. “She sings as beautifully as any bird.”

For a few moments the boy looked from one to the other, frowning. His eyes were the same changeable hazel as Eilan's, but his hair was dark and curling like his father's, and he would have the same broad brow when he was a man.

“My Lady, I'm sorry,” Lia said breathlessly, catching up with him and reaching for his hand. “He got away from me!”

Gawen's lower lip began to quiver and Eilan, recognizing the signs, gestured to the nurse to let him be.
I suppose we have spoiled him,
she thought,
but he is so little, and I will lose him so soon!

“Did you want to see me, my heartling?” she asked softly. “I cannot play now, but if you come to me at sunset we will go down and feed the salmon in the Sacred Pool. Will that make you happy?”

Solemnly Gawen nodded. She reached out to touch his cheek, and her breath caught as he grinned and the dimple suddenly appeared. And then, as swiftly as he had come, he darted back to his nurse and let her lead him away. The day seemed to darken when he had gone.

“That is the child?” Dieda said in the silence after they had disappeared. As Eilan nodded, fury flared in her blue eyes. “You are mad to have him here! If he is discovered we are all lost! Have I spent four years in exile so that you could enjoy the pleasures of motherhood as well as the honor of being High Priestess?”

“He does not know I am his mother,” Eilan whispered brokenly.

“But you can see him! They did not kill him, or you! You owe that to me, O holy Moon Lady of Vernemeton!” Dieda began to walk up and down, vibrating like one of her own harp strings.

“Have some pity, Dieda,” Caillean said sternly. “The boy will be fostered out in a year or two, and no one knows.”

“Whose child do they think he is then?” Dieda spat over her shoulder. “Poor Mairi's, or perhaps mine?” In their faces she could read the answer. “So. Now that I have finished your exile, I will also have to bear your shame. Well, when they see me with the boy perhaps that rumor will die. For I warn you, I do not like children at all!”

“But you will stay, and keep silent?” Caillean asked bluntly.

“I will,” Dieda said after a time, “for I believe in the work you are doing here. But Eilan, hear me, for I have said this to you before, when I agreed to the substitution—if ever you betray our people, then beware, for I will be your doom!”

 

The new moon was already high in the sunset sky, adding a silver gleam to the opalescent waters of the Sacred Pool. The salmon had come when summoned, and taken the cake Gawen offered almost from the boy's hand. Eilan waited until she could hear his prattling die away into the silence of the evening, then drew her veil over her face and took the path up to the shrine they had built around the spring that fed the pool.

Her maidens thought it a great grace in their High Priestess to take her turn to minister to those who came to the Forest House for counsel. And often enough, that was all that Eilan did, serving as a sympathetic ear for the troubled, or referring those with more tangible problems to one of the spell-women or herbalists. But since learning of Cynric's plans for insurrection, she climbed this path with a little tremor, dreading those nights when the one who waited would whisper of ravens and rebellion.

It was cool in the shrine; Eilan pulled her mantle more closely around her, letting the murmur of running water soothe her. The water trickled from a fissure in the rock with a leaden figure of the Lady set into a niche above it, and splashed into the channel that led to the drinking well and the Sacred Pool.

Source of life
…she prayed, bending to cup some of the icy water in her hand and touch it to lips and brow.
Sacred water, forever upwelling, fill me with your serenity.
Then she lit the lamp below the image, and settled herself to wait.

The moon was high in the sky when she heard the dragging footsteps of someone who was either ill or exhausted forcing himself up the path. Her throat tightened as the dark figure appeared in the doorway. It was a man, wrapped in a coarse sagum that might belong to any farmer, but below the cloak old blood stained his trews. When he saw her, some of the tension went out of him in a long sigh.

“Rest, drink, receive the Lady's peace…” she murmured. He dropped to his knees and scooped water from the channel, visibly struggling for control.

“I have been fighting…the ravens flew over the battlefield,” he whispered, looking up at her.

“Ravens fly at midnight as well,” she answered. “What have you to say to me?”

“The rising…was set for Midsummer. Red-cloaks found out about it somehow, attacked us—” He passed his hand over his eyes. “Night before last.”

“Where is Cynric?” she asked, her voice low and quick. Was her foster brother still among the living? “What does he want from us here?”

The man shrugged hopelessly. “Cynric? On the run, probably. There may be more like me coming, needing a place to lick their wounds.”

Eilan nodded. “Behind our kitchens a path goes off into the forest. It leads to a hut our women use sometimes for meditation. Go now. You can sleep there, and someone will come with food.” His shoulders sagged, and she wondered if he would have the strength to get that far.

“Blessed be the Lady,” he murmured, “and a blessing on you, for helping me.” He heaved himself to his feet, saluted the image, and then, more silently than she would have thought possible, was gone.

But Eilan sat for a long time after he had left her, listening to the plash of the water and watching the hypnotic flicker of lamplight on the wall.

Goddess,
she prayed,
have pity on all fugitives; have pity on us all! In a month it will be Midsummer; Ardanos will want me to tell the people to accept this latest blow, and my father will want them to rise and avenge the Ravens in blood and fire. What should I say to them? How can we bring peace to this land?

She waited for what seemed a long time, but the only vision that came to her was that of water continually welling forth from the rock and running away down the hill.

 

Gaius sat writing in his quarters in the fort at Colonia Agrippensis, listening to the rain. He supposed that Germania Inferior was not really wetter than Britannia, but it had been a rainy spring. Sometimes the two years he had been gone, first in the lands north and west of Italia and now here, where the gorge of the Rhenus ended and it began its meanderings through flat marshes towards the northern sea, seemed only weeks. But today it felt to him as if he had been away from home for centuries.

He dipped his quill into the inkpot and began to form the letters of the next sentence in the letter he was writing to Licinius. Two years of regular correspondence, he reflected wryly, had made him almost as facile a writer as his slave secretary; at first it had been hard, but he had come to appreciate the value of a private correspondence.

“…the last of the legionaries who a year ago followed Saturninus into rebellion have been judged and, for the most part, split up and integrated into other Legions,”
he wrote carefully.
“The Emperor's new order of only one Legion per camp is causing some inconvenience, and a great deal of work for the engineers. I do not know if it will discourage conspiracy, but it may be a good thing to have our forces spread more evenly along the border. Has the order been implemented in Britannia?”

For a moment he paused, listening to the regular tramp of hobnailed sandals on stone as the watch went by, then bent to his work again.

“The word here is that the Marcomanni and Quadi are restive again, and Domitian has had to pause in his campaign against Dacia to deal with them. My advice would be to make an ally of King Decebalus if possible, and use the Dacians to deal with the Marcomanni. The Emperor, however, has not yet included me among the select circle of his advisers, so who knows what he will do?

He smiled, knowing that Licinius would understand his humor. He had been in the Emperor's presence several times before he was transferred from the Second Legion in Dacia to a cavalry command in Germania, but he rather doubted that Domitian was aware of his existence.

“Training with my wing of cavalry goes well. The Brigantes stationed here are fearless horsemen, and very grateful to have a Commander who can speak to them in their own
language. The poor beggars must be as homesick as I am. Give my love to Julia and the children. I suppose Cella must be quite a big girl now, and it is hard to believe that little Secunda is more than a year old.

“I think of Britannia as a haven of peace compared to the frontier of Germania,”
he went on,
“but I suppose that is an illusion. I overheard one of the new men in my command talking about ravens, and suddenly I am wondering about that secret society that we used to hear of years ago…”

Once more he paused, telling himself that the anxiety that had suddenly overwhelmed him was only his reaction to the rain, but before he could return to his writing, someone knocked on his door with word that the Legate wanted to see him, and he pulled on his cloak and left his quarters, wondering what it could be.

“It's new orders, tribune,” said his Commander. “And I must say I'll be sorry to lose you, for you were shaping well here—”