Gallicenae (20 page)

Three newcomers entered the hall. Gratillonius drew a quick breath and raised his hand. “A moment,” he interrupted. Louder: “Thrice welcome, honored sir!” with the same repeated in Latin.

Corentinus made salutation. A letter had declared he was coming, but Gratillonius had not looked for him quite this soon. He must have ridden hard, he and the two strong young men who must be deacons assigned him. The new chorepiscopus of Ys had shed much of the forest hermit. Nose, chin, cheekbones still jutted, deep-set eyes still smoldered under tangled brows, but hair and beard were neatly clipped and he had evidently bathed at hostels where he overnighted. His head was bare, the tonsured locks drenched and matted; but the paenula hanging from his shoulders to his knees, off which water dripped, was of good, quality, and beneath it the long shanks displayed Gallic breeches tucked into boots.

“We shall hear you out tomorrow—” Gratillonius started to tell those who stood before him.

“Nay,” said Corentinus. He used Osismian, but already he could throw in enough Ysan words that he was intelligible to every listener. How had he learned them? “We have arrived early, and God forbid it be in pride. Let us abide your leisure.” He folded his height down on a rear bench. Stiffly, the deacons joined him.

Donnerch answered the question in Gratillonius’s mind. “Why I know that fellow,” he exclaimed. “Hoy-ah, Corentinus!” he waved. The clergyman smiled and made a responding gesture. “I got as far as Turonum, trek before last,” the wagoner said, “and he heard about me being from Ys and paid me for a few days of language teaching. I earned it, lord. How he worked me!” He was a big young man, yellow-haired, freckle-faced, ordinarily cheerful.

“
May
we get on with our business, O King?” Nagon demanded.

“If you’ll be quick about it,” Gratillonius replied.

Presently Donnerch said: “By Epona, but he lies, him! Hark’ee, lord. I’d no reason for paying into his mucky guild and doing his mucky will, did I? And so I told my fellow independent carters. Then this pair of toughs came to call on me. When they started talking about two broken arms, I snatched my mule whip off the wall. I have the cudgels they dropped on their way out, if the King wants to see ’em. Aye, they had me hauled up on charges of assault, but the Magistrate didn’t believe ’em, though he dared not call ’em perjurers either. So here we are.”

“Perjurers?” shouted Nagon. “Lord, I’ve come on their behalf because their injuries are too cruel, too grievous, after that barbaric attack—”

“Silence!” Gratillonius commanded. “Think you the King is blind and deaf? I’ve stayed my hand erenow, Nagon Demari, for there’s been much else for me to do, and it did seem you’d bettered the lot
of your workers somewhat. But darker stories have grown too many of late. This is only the newest of them.”

“Two honest men swear, against this known drunkard and brawler, that he fell on them with a dangerous weapon, unprovoked. Poor Jonan lost an eye. Cudgels? Donnerch could find two cudgels anywhere.”

“Getting hurt is a hazard of building empires,” Gratillonius said, “and I warn you to stop trying to build yours any bigger. Free carters are not longshoremen. Henceforth, leave them alone. And… Donnerch, mayhap you were needlessly rough. Tell your friends that next time something like this happens, there will be a full inquiry; and whoever has taken arms against a man without real need, hell know the scourge or the ax. Dismissed.”

Donnerch barely suppressed a whoop, Nagon did not conceal a glower. Gratillonius wondered whether he, the King, had won or lost today. He needed all the support he could call on, when he must protect not a mild Eucherius but a forceful Corentinus.

Luckily, just two more cases were left, and those minor. He adjourned before any further petitioners could arrive. In a rear chamber he exchanged his robe for everyday tunic, trousers, hooded cloak. The Key felt momentarily chill against his skin.

Returning, he ignored everybody else that lingered, to greet the chorepiscopus properly and have the deacons introduced to him. Those seemed like vigorous and dedicated men, but well under control of their leader. “It’s good to see you again,” Gratillonius said in Latin, quite sincerely in spite of awaiting difficulties. “I hope you’ll like Ys.”

“I do,” the minister answered. “Too much. As I rode in, what memories came back.” He squared his shoulders. “My friend, I don’t know whether you’ve done me the greatest service or the scurviest trick; but Bishop Martinus said this is God’s will, and that must suffice me. Will you show us to the church?”

“Why, you’re here too soon. Nothing’s properly ready. I’ll quarter you in the palace till then.”

Corentinus shook his head. “No thanks. The fewer fleshly comforts and temptations, the better. To tell the truth, a reason I pushed hard on the road was fear that you, in mistaken kindness, would outfit our dwelling luxuriously.”

“Well, come look, but I warn you, the place has lain neglected since Eucherius died.”

“The more merit to us,” Corentinus said almost merrily, “as we make it into a fortress of God.”

Gratillonius thought of his Mithraeum, also an outpost lonely and beleaguered. Let Corentinus settle in, get some rest, begin to find out for himself what Ys was—not only a seaport with the usual gaiety, unruliness, swindlings, sorrows, vices, ghosts, dreams… though in Ys they were stronger and stranger than elsewhere—not only a city of wealth, power, beauty, industry, corruption, vanity, arrogance, like
others… though in Ys these flourished as they had not done elsewhere since the high days of Rome—but a whole society with its own ways and Gods which were not akin to those of any other, ancient, pervasive, and enduring. He, Gratillonius, had not yet fully come to terms with Ys, and he was no Christian. He hoped Corentinus would not break his heart, battering against what the evangelist must needs perceive as wickedness.

They went out into the Forum and the rain. Wind sent the water at a slant, silver that glinted cold across the mosaics of dolphins and sea horses, and downward from basin to basin of the Fire Fountain at the center. The wind hooted and plucked at clothes. It bore a sound and smell of Ocean. Hardly a soul was in sight. Gratillonius led the way across to the former temple of Mars.

“Sir—lord King—” He stopped and looked toward the voice. The speaker was young Budic, who as a legionary of his had today taken a turn in the honor guard at the palace. “Sir, an Imperial courier brought this. I thought I’d better get it to you right away, and you’d be hereabouts.”

“Well done,” said the centurion of the Second, and took a scroll wrapped in oiled cloth. He kept impassive, though his heart slugged and his throat tightened. Budic stood staring as he walked on.

In the portico of the church he said to Corentinus: “Let me read this at once. I suspect it’s something you should know about too.”

The chorepiscopus traced a cross in the wet air. “You’re probably right,” he replied.

The letter was clearly one sent in many copies through Gallia, Hispania, and perhaps beyond.

—
Magnus Clemens Maximus, Augustus, to the Senate and the People of Rome, and to all others whom it may concern, charging them most solemnly and under the severest penalties to carry out those duties laid upon them by Almighty God and the state…

—
After four years of patient negotiation, it has become clear that accommodation with Flavius Valentinianus, styled Emperor, is unattainable…
Intransigence and repeated violations… The abominable heresy of Arius… The cleansing of the state, even as Our Savior drove out money changers and demons…

—
Therefore we most strictly enjoin the people and those in whose care the people are, that they remain loyal and orderly, obedient to those whom God has set above them, while we lead our armies into Italy and wherever else may prove needful, to the end that the Western Empire, harmoniously with our brother Theodosius of the East, again have tranquillity under a single and righteous ruler.

4

An autumn storm roared, whistled, flung rain and hail, throughout one night. It made doubly comforting the warmth of Bodilis’s bed and body. By morning the weather was dry but the gale still ramped. Man
and woman woke about the same time, smiled drowsily at each other through the dimness, shared a kiss. Desire came back. He laughed, low in his throat. “There’s no call on me today,” he said, drawing her closer.

That was not true. There was always something to clamor for the attention of the centurion, the prefect, the King. Only the day before, news had arrived from beyond the Alps, via the Duke of the Armorican Tract: Maximus was firmly in possession of Mediolanum and Valentinianus had fled eastward out of Italy. Gratillonius then made an excuse to visit the wisest of his Queens, out of turn, for her counsel and afterward her solace.

Nevertheless—“Just you and me,” he said in the Latin she wanted to maintain for herself. “Later, let’s breakfast with Una, hm?”

“M-m-m,” she responded, and in other ways as well.

He often thought that if he could have his wish, she would be his sole wife. She had not the raw ardor of Forsquilis, good-natured sensuality of Maldunilis, dumb eagerness to please of Guilvilis; somehow, in her enough of each was alloyed. She was handsome rather than beautiful, and the years were putting gray into the wavy brown hair, crow’s-feet around the blue nearsighted eyes, wrinkliness under the throat, sag in the breasts. But she was no crone, and good bones would endure. Though her monthly courses had not ended, it did not seem she would bear him more children, ever. Well, he had plenty now, and Una was a darling second only to Dahut. Before all else was the
wholeness
of her. She knew things, thought about them, gave him her judgments, submitted to nothing save the truth as she saw it. She was his friend, such as he had not had since Parnesius on the Wall; and she was his lover.

They met; together they went beyond themselves; presently they lay at peace with the universe. Outside, the wind hooted, rattled shutters, carried a noise of waves breaking mightily on the sea wall. Yesterday the King had barred the gate and locked it with the Key that he alone bore, lest the waters fling it open and rage into Ys. He did not expect to free those doors for a while; and few vessels would come thereafter. As winter neared, Ys drew into itself, even as he and his Queen did this day.

She chuckled. “What’s funny?” he asked.

“Oh, you,” she said. “Dutiful you, hiding away from work like a boy from the schoolmaster. It’s good to see you taking your ease, dear, merely enjoying yourself. You should do it oftener.”

Reminded, he sat up. “I forgot my morning prayer!”

She arched her brows. “For the very first time?”

“Uh, no.”

“I’m sure your Mithras will understand, and overlook it. Belisama does.” Bodilis’s glance went to the figurine that occupied a niche in her otherwise plainly furnished bedroom. Carved of oak whose grain
followed the folds of Her hooded cloak, it showed the Goddess as a woman of middle age, serene, an enigmatic smile on Her lips.

I could adore a deity like that, he thought, if this were Her only aspect.

Putting solemnity aside, “We spoke of breakfast—” he began.

A knock on the door interrupted. “My lord, my lord!” called the voice of Bodilis’s chief manservant. “Forgive me, but a soldier of yours is here. He says he must see you this instant.”

“What?” Gratillonius swung feet to floor. His immediate feeling was of resentment. Could they never leave him alone? He took a robe off a peg and pulled it over himself. Bodilis rose too, with a rueful look for him.

His deputy Adminius waited in the atrium, wearing civil Ysan garb that he had donned with unmilitary hastiness. He saluted. “Begging your pardon, sir.” The lean, snaggle-toothed countenance was full of distress. “I’m afraid I got bad news. ’Ard news, anyway, though I’m sure the centurion can ’andle the matter.”

Gratillonius dismissed whatever happiness had still been aglow in him. “Speak.”

“You got a challenger, sir. At the Wood. One o’ the lodgekeepers came asking where you was, and I thought you should ’ear it from me.”

It was as if the wind came in off the street and wrapped around Gratillonius. “Do you know more?”

“No, sir. Should I go look? I can tell ’em I couldn’t find yer right away.”

Gratillonius shook his head. “Never mind,” he said dully. “Let me get shod”

He turned back toward the bedroom. Having covered her own nakedness, Bodilis had followed him and heard. She stood at the inner doorway, the color drained from her face. “Oh, no,” she whispered. The hands that groped across his were cold. “Not already.”

“The way of Ys,” Gratillonius rasped. He brushed past her.

Returning with sandals and cloak, he found she had not stirred. Those widened eyes struck remorse into him. He stopped, clasped her by the shoulders, and said, “I’m sorry. I forgot how terrible this must be to you. A total stranger, who may be another Colconor or, or anything. Don’t be afraid.” It might be kindly of him to change from Latin to Ysan: “Nay, fear not, heart of mine. I’ll smite the wretch ere he can slice a hair off my knuckle. For your sake.”

“I dare not pray,” she whispered. “This thing lies at the will of the Gods. But I’ll hope, and—and weep for you, Grallon, who so loathes this need laid upon him.”

He kissed her, quickly and roughly, and went forth with Adminius. The wind shrilled, sent dead leaves scrittling along the street, roused little breakers on rain puddles. It drove clouds before it, making light
and shadow sickle over roofs, half veiling the towertops. Rooks winged dark on the blast. The garments of such folk as were out flapped as if they too were about to fly away.

“You’ll take ’im, sir, same as you did the last ’un,” Adminius avowed. “E’ll’ve ’ad a scant night’s rest in the wet. “E can’t be very smart, or ’e’d’ve waited till later ter arrive.”

Gratillonius nodded absently. The rule that the King must respond at once to a challenge, unless absent from the city, was doubtless meant for more than the immediate gratification of Taranis; it gave him an advantage. Frequent changes were undesirable, even when the monarch was a political nullity.