Gallicenae (34 page)

“Nath Í is worthy of his father, my brother Féchra, whose ghost ought to be pleased,” Niall explained. “Of course, I would have preferred a son of mine. But they all hope to win sword-land, kingdoms of their own.” His gaze pierced the darkness gathering around firelight as the sun went down outside. It came to rest on one of the skulls fastened to the wall, a head he had taken in war upon the Ulati. “They shall have that,” he said low.

3

Again the year swung toward equinox. Summer died in a last passionate outpouring of warmth, light, green, quick thunderstorms, high stars at night. Life pulsed strong in Ys, trade, shipping, foreigners from inland and overseas, readymaking for festival.

On such a day Dahut went from temple school to the home of Bodilis, whose turn it was to care for her. The time had been long, because first the Queen had had an illness that did not readily yield to medicine or even the Touch, then the princess had been a while at the Nymphaeum. That was customary with royal children, to get them used to the sacred site and its environs before they reached the age of full vestalhood. None had started these visits as young as Dahut, but the Nine had their reasons. Today the King had come back from business in Darioritum. He would not spend the night with Bodilis, he never did anymore, but he would call on her.

Thus Dahut burst into the atrium crying jubilantly, “Mother Bodilis, Mother Bodilis, is father here yet? He is coming, isn’t he? He always wants to see me very soon.”

She stopped, looked, and breathed, “Why are you sad?”

The woman smiled. It made crinkles around her lips and eyes, radiating into the cheeks as they had never done in Dahut’s first memories of her. “Oh, I am not, dear,” she answered softly. “I am happy, in a solemn way. Something wonderful is to bless us.”

Dahut’s eyes, the same blue as hers, widened. “What? I know father will bring me a present. What is it going to be?”

“I fear you must wait. You should have been told erenow, but—”

Footfalls sounded at Dahut’s back. Turning, she saw Tambilis enter from the street. The daughter of Bodilis was finely dressed in a gown of white silk embroidered with doves, on her feet gold-inlaid shoes, on her head a garland of roses from which her light-brown hair flowed
free past the delicate features. She looked quite different all at once. It was as if overnight she had grown taller, her body filled out and her bosom swelled. Another strangeness was in her as well: she seemed frightened and resolute and lost in a dream.

Bodilis hastened to her. They embraced. “Darling, darling,” the mother said. “Are you truly ready and willing?”

Tambilis nodded. “Aye.”

“Be not afraid. You are now big enough, and this is Belisama’s will, and, and be sure he will deal kindly with you. Be sure of that.”

“I know.”

Bodilis sobbed forth a laugh. “Come, then. Let me show you what I’ve had prepared, and tell you what I think will be best, and—” Hand in hand, they left the room and Dahut.

The girl stood where she was. Her face clouded, less with hurt than anger. A servant woman appeared from the inner part of the house. Bodilis must have told her to absent herself. She was an Osismian, blond, plump, one of many who sought to Ys and worked a few years to earn a dowry, unless they could catch a husband here. “Breifa,” Dahut snapped, “what is happening?”

The maid was taken aback. “You know not, Princess? Why, tonight the King makes Tambilis really his Queen.” She blushed, giggled, squirmed. “Well, he knows not either, I hear. “Tis to be an unawaited welcome-home gift for him. She is beautiful, the lady Tambilis, nay?”

“Oh,” said Dahut tonelessly.

“I could not but overhear,” chattered Breifa. “’Twas Queen Bodilis who thought it should be done thus. Messages and such, arrangements, those would be too slow and stiff, they’d take the joy out of this. And Tambilis would be—passive, only a thing, is that what Queen Bodilis said? I remember not. Anyway, better Tambilis sweep him off his feet when he arrives, thinking he has just been invited for a cup of wine and a chat. Then he’ll sweep her off hers soon enough, ha, ha!”

Dahut said nothing.

Breifa covered her mouth. “I talk too much, I do. What a bustle ’tis been, making everything right. Rejoice, lady Dahut. Someday you may be a Queen too.”

“The Queen… of the man… who kills my father?”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. Well, such is the law of the Gods.”

Dahut stalked off. She went into the street and stood arms folded, staring from this height out across the city to the sea.

Bodilis emerged, leading Una, her child by Gratillonius, a few months younger than Dahut but smaller and much more quiet. “There you are,” the woman said. “I looked and looked for you.” She paused. “What is wrong?”

“Naught,” said Dahut, gaze held afar.

Bodilis laid a hand on her shoulder. “Tis disappointment for you, I know, not to see your father this eventide. Be brave. You will soon
meet him, I pledge to you. You and Una and I shall stay in Tambilis’s house tonight. Won’t you like that? And I will tell you why, and you will be happy for him and your friend, I’m sure.”

Dahut shrugged and trudged along.

4

At sixteen years of age, Tambilis had completed the education required of her. Each Queen served the Gods and Ys not only in set duties, but according to whatever special abilities she possessed. Tambilis had begun teaching elementary Latin in the temple school of Belisama, where Bodilis instructed advanced students of that language.

The young Queen was strolling about the flowerful intricacy of Elven Gardens during the noontide rest period. She smiled drowsily and crooned to herself. Rounding a hedge, she came upon Dahut. The child sat tracing pictures in the graveled path. What they were was hard to guess, because the stones rattled back together behind her finger.

“Why, why, good day,” Tambilis said, astonished.

Dahut looked up like a blind person.

“But you’re miserable!” Tambilis exclaimed. She hunkered down to hug her playmate. “What’s wrong?”

“Naught,” said the dry little voice.

“That’s untrue,” Tambilis chided. “Hark, you can tell me.”

Dahut shook her head.

Tambilis considered. “Tis the King, nay?” she asked after a moment. “You feel your father slighted you. Well, he did not. ’Twas but that he—he and I—well, the will of the Goddess was upon us. Is. Have no fear. Soon he’ll greet you, and he does have the prettiest cloak for you, that he found among the Veneti, and, oh, all sorts of adventures to tell about.”

Still there was no response. “Indeed,” Tambilis persisted, “you must visit us. We’re staying at the palace now while we… get to know each other better. We shall for several days yet.” Resignation laid a sudden burden on her voice. “After that, all will be much as it was before.”

“I will see him somewhere else,” Dahut said.

“But why? My dear, I’ve not turned my back on you. I love you always.” Tambilis searched for words. “Tis only that time goes, things change. Later you’ll understand.” Impulsively: “This was not my wish at first. ’Twas Guilvilis who caused it, stupid, clumsy, loving Guilvilis. She mustered courage at last to tell me I did wrong withholding myself when I could gladden him, lighten his cares, and—And, Dahut,” glowed from her, “the Goddess gives me joy too, as She will you someday.”

Dahut screamed. She scrambled to her feet and fled.

When she was not at her next class, the teacher sent an acolyte to inquire at the dwellings of the Gallicenae. Had she perchance been
taken sick? It took hours to establish that she had disappeared, and then to organize search parties. They did not find her until sundown, after she had re-entered the city at Aurochs Gate and was stubbornly walking up Amber Street toward the home of Fennalis. Her clothes were wet, with smells of kelp and fish.

1

As autumn yellowed leaves, Conual Corcc bade Niall maqq Echach farewell. Since this must at first be a reconnoitering expedition, he left behind most of his men. Just thirty followed him south, among them the three hostages he had saved. His Cruthinach wife came too, for there is magic as well as comfort in women.

Shut off as Mumu was from the rest of Ériu, Niall heard nothing more until spring. When finally a messenger arrived to bid the remaining warriors now seek their lord, it was a strange story that he brought.

A day’s travel northwest from the Mountain of Fair Women was the Plain of Femen, where Fedelmm the witch had troubled King Lugthach. It was fertile and well settled, save at one place where forest stood ancient. Few ventured in, for at the middle of the woods reared the Síd Drommen. This limestone outcrop, whose three hundred feet overtopped the trees around, was believed to be the haunt of elves, ghosts, every creature of the Other World. However, swineherds took their animals there in season for the rich mast. Though their trade be humble, it gave them ties to Those Beyond.

Once two of them were in that wood together. Each kept pigs for the king of a neighboring tuath: Dardriu for the king of file, Coriran for the king of Múscraige. To his master King Aed came Coriran and said; “We fell into a deep sleep, Dardriu and I. Adream, we beheld the Ridge of the Beings. Before it were a yew tree and a flagstone. Somehow we knew that that was the tree of the Eóganachta, and that he who stands upon the stone shall wax great.”

The druid of Aed thought deeply, sought visions, and declared: “The Síd Drommen shall become the seat of the kings over all Mumu. From him who first lights a fire under that yew shall they descend.”

“Let us go light it!” cried Aed.

“Let us await the morning,” counselled the druid: for it was late, and the sun hidden behind lowering clouds. Soon a snowstorm began, this early in the year.

It caused Conual, his wife, and their men to lose their way as they fared down from the north. They blundered into the wood and took shelter below the rock. A yew tree growing there, it leaves withered but as yet unfallen, gave a roof of sorts, letting them kindle a fire. A flat stone at his foot made a place to stand while shoes dried out.

So did Aed find them. Although downcast, the king did not venture to quarrel with the Gods. Conual had, indeed, a birthright claim. Moreover, he was a friend of the mighty Niall, of whom they had report. The upshot was that Aed acknowledged Conual king of the surrounding territory and gave him his own son as hostage.

Thus the story that Niall heard in spring. He smiled and let the men go whom Conual had brought from Brittannia. Among them were several ollam craftsmen—engineers, stonemasons—who understood the Roman arts of fortification. With them Niall sent rich gifts.

A year passed.

For Niall it, like the twelvemonth before, was less warlike than many had been. Both years were nonetheless busy. His sons champed to be off conquering, but their father held them back. “Lay the keel, fasten the ribs, bind the strakes,” he said. “When the ship is ready, we will sail.” They did not fully understand, not being seamen like him.

Niall did complete the taking over of those nine tuaths which had been tributary to the Ulati. He raised new kings among them to replace those he had felled in battle, and a high King above these: all obedient to him. They were well content, because he returned to them that governance over the sacrifices at Mag Slecht which had been theirs from of old. Despite yielding this, which cost him little and won him much in the way of goodwill, he never let wane his resolve to have vengeance for Domnuald—and someday, somehow, for Breccan.

The hostages that the tuaths gave him he treated so generously that they vowed to fight at his side when he became ready for his onslaught against the Ulati. Likewise would their kinfolk. The kingdom he had founded for these became known as the Aregésla, They Who Give Hostages, a name borne proudly. People began calling him Niall of the Nine Hostages.

—King Fergus Fogae in Emain Macha was fully aware of the storm that brewed in the south. He thought of launching an attack himself, decided that that would be ruinous, and set about strengthening defenses throughout his realm. His poets reminded him of how Cú Culanni had brought Medb and her Condachtae low. Those songs echoed spookily in the hall.

—Next Imbolc came messengers from Conual to Temir. They bore gifts no less than those Niall had sent south, and fateful tidings.

Conual’s power had grown like the antlers on a stag. While small, his force of exiles was schooled in ways of war unknown to Mumu. Each battle they won brought new allegiances, thus a larger host to call upon. Without fighting, even more chieftains swore faith to this
newcomer whom the Gods had clearly blessed. Lately he had gotten for a second wife Amend, daughter of Oengus Bolg, king of the powerful Corco Loígde. They holding land on the south coast, Conual thereby gained an opening to the outer world.

The magic that flamed around his name came not least from the seat he had chosen. It was the very Síd Drommen: an audacity that brought not disaster on him, but victory after victory. There he was building a stone stronghold of the Roman kind, impregnable to anything that Gaelic men could bring against it: Liss inna Lochraide, the Fort of the Heroes. Already, in the mouths of the folk, the name of the rock itself was changing to Latin Castellum, which soon got softened to Cassel.

The poet who related these thing to Niall knew better than to say so, but unmistakably underlying his staves was glee, that his lord’s rise was so swift that the deeds of the Temir King could not compare.

Niall sat silent a long time, staring into firelight darkness. Finally those who sat close saw his lips move. “The Síd Drommen,” whisperea forth. “He dared. He
dared”

2

Forty days after solstice, the diminishing gloom of winter was made bright in Ys. Queen Tambilis bore her first child. Mother and daughter were in the best of health. As he was wont on such occasions, the King decreed festival immediately after the hallowing of the new little Semuramat. Legionaries formed an honor guard when he led Tambilis from the Temple of Belisama to the palace. With them came the rest of the Nine—on as high a holiday as this, the Gods required none to stay alone on Sena—and the magnates of the city with their wives. Wine, mead, and rich food from the royal stores were distributed among the poor, that they too might celebrate. Entertainers of every kind, having anticipated the event, swarmed merrily about. After dark the Fire Fountain blossomed, though weather kept the Forum almost deserted.