Isolde: Queen of the Western Isle (8 page)

The old man nodded, "May God advance your work."

"He does." Dominian allowed himself a grim smile. "Cornwall is ours—we have won the King's soul." A soul hardly worth having, he reflected, but where a king leads, his subjects must follow too.

"You have brought him to God?" the old man asked, excitement lending a tremor to his voice. "After a lifetime of following the Mother?"

The Mother…

Dominian felt the age-old fury convulse his bones. How could these pagan fools believe in a Creator called the Mother, when She spawned monsters like him? When he was born, his mother was sure she had lain with a demon, to throw such a black and wizened, ugly, misshapen child. She had reared him with kicks and curses and kept him like a dog, forced to feed on scraps and sleep with the strays by the fire. The Mother? When he was seven, his own mother had driven him from the house and left him weeping in the woods, praying to die.

But then the old holy man had found him and told him that there was a Father in heaven who loved little ones like him. He had fought like a cur, biting and kicking till he had no more strength, and still the old holy man held him lovingly in his arms.

"My name is Jerome," he had said gently. "We shall call you Dominian, for your first task is to achieve dominion over yourself. And then perhaps over others in the name of the Lord." The old man had reverently made the sign of the cross on his forehead, and at his touch, Dominian had grown quiet and fallen still.

Later, old Jerome taught him that his hunchback and his never-ending pain marked him out as one of God's chosen, destined for a special place around His throne. Jesus Himself meant abandoned boys like him when he said, "Suffer little children to come unto me, for of such is the Kingdom of God." From then on, the lost child had become old Jerome's pupil and later the first priest of his church, on fire to build the kingdom of God in this land. And now their community was known in Rome itself as a center for pilgrims and all men of faith.

Dominian reached for Jerome's hand, and brought it to his lips. "Guide me, Father," he said urgently, "for great things are stirring in the kingdom, and I must guide the King. The champion of Ireland is coming to demand the throne, and Merlin has promised us a knight who is nowhere to be seen."

"Ireland," the old man pondered, "where they keep the Old Faith. Where their queens listen to their Druids and they follow the Mother-right. Where we have made little headway." The same thought hung in the air between them both: If the champion wins, we shall be swept into the sea.

"Ireland, yes!" Dominian snorted. "Where even their Christianity is tainted by pagan thought and rotten to the core. We must root them out and impose the rule of Rome."

The old man raised his head. "In my Father's house," he said gently, "there are many mansions. These are the words of the Lord."

Dominian shook his head. "The faith of the Celts," he said with heavy emphasis, "is too close to the old power of women and the rule of queens." He gave a mirthless laugh. "Not a man among them can dictate to a woman, or expect her to follow God's law. They are all daughters of Eve, born to sin."

The old man inclined his head. "Yet Our Lord was born of woman."

"Yes indeed." Suddenly Dominian had an overwhelming urge to be gone. He struggled to his feet. "Farewell, Father."

He stooped for the old man's blessing, placed a kiss on the wrinkled forehead, and came out into the light, beckoning to the young monk waiting patiently there.

"Hurry, hurry," he snapped irritably, striking off down the path. "Yes, Father." Simeon knew better than to take offense. Doggedly Dominian led the way through the wood, making for the high road to Castle Dore, immersed in his own thoughts. "Could he be one of us?" he burst out.

"Sir?" Simeon was used to questions such as this, "if this knight Merlin promised us comes," Dominian brooded on, "the King's nephew—if he exists." He gave one of his savage laughs. "But Druids have no conception of the truth. Merlin probably dreamed him up from some moldy tale."

"Sir Tristan?" Simeon ventured. "But even if he does, will he defend the King? Coming from Lyonesse, surely he'll follow the Goddess?"

Dominian showed his teeth in a nasty laugh. "The Great Mother, yes. The old whore we are driving from the land."

"As soon as we have taken Her ways for our own?" Dominian frowned. "What d'you mean?"

An earnest student of both history and the modern world, Simeon had been waiting for the moment to bring this up. "Did not the first Christians take over the apparatus of the Mother?" he began importantly. "Her threefold incarnation of Maiden, Mother, and Wise Woman, is that not what people in those days called the Holy Trinity?"

Dominian paused. "This is not something to share with the common folk," he said carefully. "We teach them that God the Father was here before all things."

"But our Communion, too," Simeon pressed on. "At the feasts of the Mother, the Lady is the loaf giver to all who come and pours wine from her loving cup with her own hand. When we offer bread and wine, haven't we taken this from the first power of the Lady, to feed and to provide?"

"The Lady, yes." Dominian's face set. "The great priestess of the Great Whore."

Simeon stared at him ardently. "Father, has any man seen the Lady of the Sea?"

Dominian saw the boy's longing in his eyes. "Never!" he breathed. "Nor do we want to see the wretched hag." He drew a breath. "But we hear much of the riches in her secret hoard. Now if only we could get hold of these for the Church…" His dark face lit up, and for a moment the eyes of coal caught fire. "Think of the jewels, the rings, the gifts we could present to Rome—if that did not buy us the Pope's favor, nothing would!"

Simeon stifled a gasp. God in Heaven, what a leader Dominian was! No man on earth knew where the Lady was to be found. Some said she lived beneath Castle Dore, others swore she ruled in Tintagel from a great cave. But Dominion meant to work on the weak King Mark and through him on Queen Igraine till he tracked down the Lady to her lair. And when he found her, there would her treasure be, too.

Simeon's soul took flight. And I can be God's humble instrument in this great work, ordained to serve a man of vision, a true father of the Church.

Dominian's harsh voice thundered in his ear. "Do you hear me, boy? We must take from them all they have. Not only their wealth, but their feasts and festivals, too."

The young monk started. "What, all of them, Imbolc, Samhain, and Beltain?"

Dominian tensed. His mother had gone to the fires of Beltain every year, taking the way of the Goddess to ensure she had no sons. Whoever had fathered him had broken the spell, and his mother had cursed him as the runt of a litter of fine girls.

"Beltain above all!" he spat. "D'you think we can tolerate the feast of the Great Whore, when the people warm the hills with fire and flowers? When every woman has the right of thigh-freedom to lie with any stranger of her choice?" Venomously he resumed. "No, in God's name we must root out the Beltain feast. Our Lord teaches that we must bring women under the control of men. Remember that all women would be whores if they could."

His master's voice was shaking, Simeon noticed, and he wondered why. But could it be true that all women were whores? "Sir, Father Jerome says that Jesus loved the Magdalen, and found room for both Martha and Mary in His heart."

Dominian heaved a black sigh. Saint though Jerome was, the old man had only a primitive vision of what the Church might do. He believed in love and comfort, when the task was to seek mastery over all benighted souls and dominion over all the world.

Dominion…

The monk's spirits lifted. This was what he had been named for, and what he would achieve. He had willing instruments like young Simeon here, and a lifetime ahead to teach the lad all he needed to know. He cocked an eye at the sun. They had a long walk ahead to Castle Dore, and time was on their side. He cleared his throat. "Regarding women, St. Paul teaches us…"

The woodland lay before them like a dream. Through the thickets ahead, clusters of golden sunbeams dappled the path. Delicately the two mares picked their way under the trees, careful to avoid the low branches now in full midsummer leaf. Hearing the white doves calling in alarm, Isolde turned to give Brangwain a smile. The forest was giving warning of their approach.

Along the path, ivy and honeysuckle brightened each mossy trunk, and clusters of white trefoil spangled the grass like stars. Tiny insects danced and sang under the trees, and all around them the warm air pulsed with drowsy life. Isolde loosened her reins to give her horse its head.
All may yet he well
.

The woodland path wound onward through the trees. The soft loamy scent of the forest floor rose to meet them with every pace of their horses' hooves, and the peace of the place began to work on Isolde's soul. Already her mother's revelation seemed less terrible than before. And nothing would shake the strength of her belief.
A queen is married to her country. She does not choose for herself
.

True, true
, cooed the white doves overhead.

You are right
, said the bright eyes of the hare at the side of the path.

Courage, little mother, hold fast
, whispered the old oak tree overhead as the silver birches giggled and tossed their heads. Isolde nodded, and thanked them from her heart.

With a tremor she felt her horse pick up its pace. And there it was at the end of the path ahead, the clearing of the Goddess, a pure circle of sunlight amid the dark oaks. Here the Druids came at midwinter with their silver sickles to cut the golden bough. And here in the sacred grove was the man she sought.

Softly the horses padded forward into the glowing pool of gold. The whole forest fell silent as the sacred glade welcomed them in. Isolde looked around, dazzled by the noonday sun. Slowly she made out a lofty figure standing motionless beneath the trees, his dark-dyed robes blending with the shadows around.

She dismounted, passed the reins to Brangwain, and crossed the sunlit clearing to the darkness beyond. In this sacred place, Isolde knew, the Chief Druid spent his days in fasting and prayer, seeing visions when the Shining Ones came. Here he led the worship of the Great One, and taught the young Druids to follow in his steps. Here he lived alone, and for the hundredth time Isolde wondered why.

Many of the girls of Dubh Lein cast eyes at the handsome Cormac, and there was no reason why he could not take a wife. Christian priests were forced to live celibate for their God, but Druids lived to celebrate the joys the Goddess gives. With his long, lean frame and his deep-set dark blue eyes, Cormac could have had the heart of any woman alive. But the Great One of the Western Isle was his only love.

He stepped forward to greet her with a searching look, and his beauty filled her eyes. A Druid band held back his thick black hair and his pale face glowed like a flower in the forest when nothing else is by.

"Welcome, Princess. You have brought a great trouble, I see."

She knew he could read minds with the same skill as he divined the secrets of the stars. She nodded.

"The Queen has sent Sir Marhaus to claim Cornwall as her own. Can you advise her? Make her change her mind?"

A smile of terrible sadness crossed his face. "Ah, lady, only Sir Marhaus can do that."

"But a queen may not choose for herself," Isolde said stubbornly. "You are her Druid. You can tell her so, she honors the old ways."

Cormac threw back his head. "Princess Isolde, the old ways are changing faster than you know," he said tensely, his midnight eyes fixed on hers. "In ancient times, when a queen took a new consort, the man she discarded was given to the Gods. The old priests hung him on a tree for three days and nights, then took his manhood with their golden knives. Afterward his blood and his flesh, his seed and his sex were given together to enrich the earth."

Isolde turned her face away. She had heard such things.

"They did this every year." Cormac pressed on, ignoring her. "Then it became three years, and then seven, before the King must die. Now the chosen one lives on as part of the warrior band, and all the world knows that a queen must have her knights." He paused. "That is all your mother knows."

"But surely you can make her understand!"

"Your mother understands one thing only, her own will and desire," the Druid said passionately. "Think of yourself now, Princess. When a star falls, those who hold on may go down to the darkness too."

Isolde felt a breath of fear and with it a strange wind from the Otherworld.
If I had a knight to defend me, a true love of my own
—

"Ah, Princess…"

A white dove was singing in a distant glade. She looked up to see Cormac's slate-blue eyes burning like sea fire. "Already you know what it is to be a queen. Soon you must learn what it is to be a woman, too."

Feverishly she turned her father's ring on her hand. "When I find love, you mean?"

There were tears in his eyes, and his face glistened with pain. "True lovers may never know what love means. A man may love a woman out of his reach. She does not know he loves her, and he will never speak of it."

A woman out of his reach?

A dull shock exploded in Isolde's brain.
He loves my mother!
-
came to her with the force of a sudden blow.
And she does not know!

But surely, if he told her
— She laughed aloud.
Gods above, my mother and Cormac
—
how wonderful that would be
!

A wild hope invaded her heart. "Lord Cormac, it lies in your power to save us!" she cried out. "If you love the Queen, you must marry her. You could stop Sir Marhaus from attacking Cornwall, and keep our country from making war—"

"Lady, lady—" Cormac shook his head and turned away. "I beg you— no more—"

He was weeping, she saw with a sudden shock. What had she said? A random breeze chilled the summer air and understanding came to her in a great wave.
He does not love my mother. He loves me
—
and I do not love him
…