The Forest House (48 page)

 

The quality of the light had altered considerably towards sunset when the outer door opened and one of Ardanos's apprentices came in; he was so young that he had as yet only the thinnest straggle of beard.

The young Druid said deferentially, “We are ready for you, my lady.” Eilan, who was already beginning to slip into the detached meditative state that preceded trance, rose from her chair. Eilidh and Senara lowered the heavy ritual cloak over her shoulders and fastened it at her throat with a massive gold chain.

The night was cool despite the season, and even in her thick cloak, Eilan shivered as she got into her litter. From out of the darkness came two white-robed priests, pale figures moving with measured step at her side. She knew that they were there to guard her against even accidental injury or pressure from the crowds, but somehow she had never been able to dismiss the thought that they were her guards.

The thought flashed across her mind like a rabbit scuttling into the bushes:
Every priestess is a prisoner of her gods
…

She was vaguely aware of passing through the long avenue of trees that led to the hill. Before the mound a great fire was burning, one of many fires on this night. Its red gleam played on the leaves of the ancient oak that grew next to the mound. A sound of anticipation went through the crowd like a soft sigh. She could not help remembering the first time she had heard it greet Lhiannon. Now she stood in Lhiannon's place, and the people who watched had as little understanding of what was really happening here as she had had then.

Two small boys about eight or nine years old, white-robed novices of the bards chosen for their innocence and beauty, brought forward the great golden bowl. They had golden torques about their throats, and belts embroidered with gold cinctured their white robes. As a ray of moonlight lanced through the leaves of the oak tree, a twiglet of mistletoe—cut by a priest hidden in the branches—fluttered downwards. Eilan caught it and dropped it into the bowl.

She murmured the words of blessing, and bracing herself against the bitterness, drank the liquid down. The voices of the Druids rose in invocation; the pressure of expectation from the people beat against her awareness. The liquid burned in her belly; she wondered if she had got the dosage wrong, then remembered that she had felt this way before. It came to her then that each time poisoned her a little, and that she would die as Lhiannon had died, though perhaps not as soon.

But the world was already dimming around her; she was scarcely aware of falling backward into the seeress's chair, or the jolting as they carried it to the top of the mound.

 

Caillean eyed the figure slumped in the high seat above her with more than usual concern. As always, the intensity of the chanting was pushing her towards trance as well. But there was a tension in the pulsing energies around her that she did not understand. She turned and saw Eilan's father among the white-robed Druids in the circle. Ardanos had said nothing. Had he even known that Bendeigid was going to be there?

Eilan twitched in the high seat and Caillean reached for the back to steady it. It was forbidden to touch the High Priestess when she was entranced, but they must be prepared to catch her if she fell.

“Goddess,”
she prayed,
“take care of her—I do not care what happens to me!”
It seemed to her then that Eilan stilled; from the corner of her eye she could see one white hand dangling over the edge of the chair, slender as a child's. How could it wield such power?

“Lady of the Cauldron!” cried the people. “Silver Wheel! Great Queen! Come to us! Great Goddess, speak to us now!”

Caillean felt the wood of the chair quiver beneath her hand. Eilan's fingers were curling, and to Caillean's fascinated gaze the pale flesh seemed to glow.
It is true,
she thought then,
the Goddess is here.
Slowly, the figure in the high seat straightened, stretching as if to accommodate a mass greater than the slight figure of the woman sitting there. Caillean felt a little chill run down her spine.

“Behold, oh ye people, the Lady of Life has come. Let the Oracle speak! Let the Goddess declare forth the will of the Immortals!” Ardanos cried.

“Goddess! Deliver us from those who would enslave us!” came another voice. Bendeigid stepped forward. “Lead us to victory!”

They sounded like ravens, crying for blood and death. Eilan alone stood between the Forest House and a people shrieking for war. Did they even know what would happen to this country, between the Romans and their foreign auxiliaries, if it should come to open fighting? Despite her hatred for the Romans, Caillean wondered how any sane man or woman—or even a Goddess—could loose war on this countryside. Had Bendeigid so soon forgotten their home in flames, forgotten the deaths of his wife and little daughter?

Goddess,
she thought,
You have given the peace of this countryside into Elian's hands; let her do Your will even if it may seem it is the will of the Romans as well…

The figure in the chair quivered, and thrust the veil back suddenly, surveying the throng with a face as cold and dispassionate as one of the statues the Romans made.

“This is the shortest night,” she said softly, and the murmuring people stilled to hear. “But from this moment onward, the forces of light will be declining. Oh ye whose pride it is to learn all secrets of earth and heaven”—she indicated the circle of Druids with a disdainful hand—“can you not read the signs in the world around you? The tribes have seen their day and now grow ever weaker; thus it will be one day with the Empire of the Romans as well. All things reach their peak and thereafter must decline.”

“But is there no hope then?” asked Bendeigid. “In time, even the sun is reborn!”

“That is true,” said the still, calm voice from above him. “But not until the darkest day has passed. Put away your swords and hang up your shields, children of Don. Let the Roman eagles tear at each other while you till your fields, and be patient, for Time will surely avenge your wrongs! I have read in the mystic scrolls of the Heavens; and I tell you, the name of Rome is not written there.”

A sigh of mingled relief and disappointment swept through the crowd.

Ardanos and one of the other priests were whispering. Caillean realized this was the only chance she might have to do what Eilan had asked.

“What, then, of the old wisdom? How shall Your worship be preserved in a changing world?”

Ardanos and Bendeigid both glared at her, but the question had been asked, and already the Goddess was turning, and Caillean trembled, utterly certain at that moment that what looked down at her was not Eilan at all.

“Is it you, daughter of the elder race, who would truly question Me?” came the soft answer. There was a pause, as the attention of the Goddess appeared to go inward; then She laughed. “Ah, it is this one also who asks. She could ask more than that of Me, but she is afraid. Such a silly child not to understand that My will is for you all to be free.” She shrugged Her shoulders gently. “But you are children, all of you”—her gaze lifted to fix Ardanos, who flushed and looked away—“and I will not destroy your illusions now. You are not strong enough to bear too much reality…”

She extended one arm, turning the hand and flexing its fingers as if to enjoy the movement. “The flesh is sweet.” She laughed softly. “I do not wonder that you cling to it. But as for Me, what do you suppose your puny efforts can do to help or harm? I have been here from the beginning and so long as the sun shines or the waters flow, I will remain. I
am
…” There was a terrible truth in that simple statement of being, and Caillean trembled.

“But our lives flow away like the waters and are gone—” Caillean said then. “How shall we pass what You have taught us to those who come after?”

The Goddess looked from her to Ardanos and back again.

“You already know the answer. In ages past your soul has sworn the oath, and so has hers. Let one of you go forth,” She cried. “Let one go forth to the Summer Country, there on the shores of the lake to establish a House of Maidens. There shall I be served, side by side with the priests of the Nazarene. So shall My wisdom survive the days that are coming!”

Almost at once the body of the priestess, which had been tight as a strung bow, was released; the arrow had flown, the message had been given. Eilan slumped back in the chair, and Caillean and Miellyn moved quickly to steady her. She was twitching and muttering, coming out of the trance.

Ardanos stood with head bowed, pondering the meaning of this Oracle and how he could use it. Countermand it he could not—nor would he, a pious man, wish to gainsay the direct word of the Goddess—but it was his privilege to interpret it. After a moment his head came up. He looked directly at Caillean, and it seemed to her that he smiled.

“The Goddess has spoken. Now let it be so. And this house shall be founded by the servant of the Goddess; it is you, Caillean, who will go forth to found the House of Maidens on the Tor.”

Caillean stared back at him. There was triumph in his pale eyes. To Ardanos, this decision of the Goddess was a fortuitous opportunity to achieve something he had long desired, to part her from Eilan.

He picked up the sprig of mistletoe and shook water over the limp body of the Priestess, and all other sound was lost in a mocking jangle of silver bells.

 

“For someone who has been out of harness for a few years, you seem to be keeping busy!” Gaius grinned at his father across the rolled parchments and stacked wax tablets that littered the table. Outside, a cold February wind was rattling branches that were just beginning to swell with sap. Indoors, the hypocaust warmed the tiled floors and charcoal burning in iron braziers fought the drafts. “I hope young Brutus appreciates all you are doing for him.”

“He appreciates my experience,” said Macellius, “and I appreciate his news. He's very well connected, you know, related to half the ancient families of Rome. His father is an old friend of your patron Malleus, by the way.”

“Ah.” Gaius took another drink of hot spiced wine, beginning to understand. “And what does our Legate think of the Emperor's current policies?”

“Frankly, his letters from Rome have him terrified. His term as Commander finishes at the end of this year, and he's wondering how to get out of going home again! As members of the equestrian order, you and I have one advantage: we're not required by law to reside in Rome. The Eternal City has been extremely unhealthy for senators this year, I am told.”

“Like Flavius Clemens?” Gaius asked grimly. No wonder the senators were uneasy. If Domitian's own cousin had been executed, what were the rest of them going to do? “Did you ever hear anything more about what he was charged with?”

“The official accusation was atheism. But according to the rumors, the man was a Christian who refused to burn incense to the Emperor.”

“I'm sure our
Dominus et Deus
was highly insulted!”

Macellius smiled sourly. “The gods know those Christians are an exasperating lot, and when the government isn't persecuting them they persecute each other. If Nero had only tried setting their different factions against each other in the arena he could have saved a fortune in lions—but the kind of adoration Domitian is demanding goes beyond all propriety!”

Gaius nodded. He had heard enough about Father Petros's preaching from Julia to be aware of the Christian fascination with martyrdom, and of their sectarian strife, though Julia referred to it as purging the Church of the ungodly. But in the larger scheme of things the Christians were a minor problem. Far more serious was the megalomania of the Emperor.

“Is he going the way of Nero, or Caligula?” he asked.

“He hasn't tried to deify his horse yet, if that's what you mean,” his father replied. “In many ways he has been a very effective Emperor; that's why he's so dangerous. What will Rome have to fall back on when the next crazy Emperor comes along if Domitian is allowed to destroy what remains of the senatorial class?”

Gaius looked at his father carefully. “You're really worried about this, aren't you?”

“It doesn't matter so much about me,” said Macellius, turning his equestrian ring back and forth on his hand. “But most of your career is still ahead of you. With this Emperor, what chance is there for you?”

“Father…something's going on, isn't it? What have they asked you to do?”

Macellius sighed and looked around the room with its painted walls and racks of scrolls as if he were afraid it might be about to vanish. “There is a…plan…” he said carefully, “to end the Flavian dynasty. When Domitian has been dealt with, the senators will elect a new Emperor. For the plan to work, the Provinces must support it. The new Governor is Domitian's man, but most of the legionary Legates are from the same kinds of families as Brutus—”

“And so they want us to support them,” Gaius said baldly. “What do they imagine the tribes will be doing while we are engaged in this Imperial housecleaning?”