The Forest House (47 page)

“Even a peace without honor? A peace in which everything that makes life worth living has been taken away?”

“The Romans can be honorable—” Eilan began, but Caillean interrupted.

“I would have thought you the last person to say so!” Her voice trailed off into an appalled silence, as if she had realized that whatever she said could only make it worse.

But I do say so,
thought Eilan, feeling her flush of shame die away.
Gaius's mother married Macellius to bring peace, and I let Gaius marry a Roman girl for the same reason.
She wondered what sort of person his Roman wife was, and whether she had made him happy. Not all women sought peace, she knew, remembering Boudicca, who had started a rebellion, and Cartimandua, who betrayed Caractacus, and Brigitta, whose daughters she was sheltering, but she had made her decision, and she would stand by it.

“Cynric is wrong,” she said finally. “What makes life worth living is not the glory that warriors sing of, but tended cattle and tilled fields and happy children around the fire. I know that the Goddess can be as terrible as a sow-bear when her cubs are threatened, but I think She would rather see us building and growing than killing each other. Isn't that why we have tried to recover the ancient ways of healing here?”

She looked up at last and met Caillean's dark eyes, and was startled to see that they held appeal.

“I have told you the reasons I have to hate men and fear what they can do,” the older priestess said softly. “It is very hard sometimes for me to believe in life; it would be so much easier to go down fighting. There are times when you make me ashamed. But when I looked into the Sacred Well, it seemed to me that it overflowed in a hundred little rivulets that sank into the ground and carried its healing power throughout the land. And then, for a little while, I did believe.”

“We must do something about that well,” said Eilan softly, taking Caillean's hand and, like an echo, she seemed to hear the singing of the swans.

 

The next time Gaius was in Deva he called upon his father. Over a cup of wine, the talk came round to Brigitta of the Demetae. “Did you ever find her daughters?” asked Gaius.

“In a manner of speaking,” his father replied. “I know where they are, and you will never guess where it is.”

“I thought you were going to find them Roman foster parents.”

“I will, when the time comes, but for now I think that the Priestess of the Oracles is the best guardian they could have.” As Gaius gaped, his father went on. “She is a young woman, and I feared she would sympathize with young hot heads like Cynric, whom, I tell you plainly, I would hang if we could lay hands on him, but she was surprisingly reasonable. As you might guess I have had an informant there for years, a servant of the priestesses, but this is the first time I have seen the Priestess myself.”

“What did she look like?” Gaius's voice cracked, but Macellius did not appear to notice.

“She was veiled,” he said. “But between us we worked it out that she'll keep the girls until tensions have eased, and then turn them over to us to be fostered in Roman homes, and contracted to Roman husbands; I think even Brigitta will be inclined to agree to this, if it is put to her. And I mean to put it to her. I feared that some of the agitators around her would make the girls the cause of another holy war, which, I need hardly tell you, would go hard with us, after Domitian's losses on the frontier.”

He paused, and looked hard at his son. “I wonder sometimes if I made the right choices for you, lad. I thought Vespasian would live longer; he was a good Emperor, and would have seen to your career. After all our planning, you are living on your lands like a British chieftain after all. Even your marriage to Julia—” He broke off. “Can you forgive me?”

Gaius stared at him. “I did not know there was anything to forgive. I have made a life for myself here, and this is my home. Regarding my career, well, there is plenty of time.”

No Emperor lives forever,
he thought, remembering what Malleus had said in his last letter, but even to his father he would not say that aloud. When he thought of Rome he remembered crowds and filth and the detested toga. He might have liked a little more sun here in Britain; but he felt little desire for southern climes.

And as for his lack of a male heir, he wondered if this was the time to tell Macellius about Eilan's son. Was it really she whom his father had seen? It was a great relief to know that she could be so moderate. Even if he could not see her, he knew that she was safe and well. It was not that he did not love his daughters, and Gaius knew that Licinius loved all the children. But Roman law counted only male children. It might not be fair, for in effect he would be disenfranchising little Cella, but the law was the law, like it or not.

In the end it seemed safer to say nothing. What remained unspoken—and he had found this out the hard way—he need never regret.

C
aillean woke, shaking, to the gray light of early dawn.
It was only a dream.
But the images were still vivid, more real, even now, than the curtains of her bed and the breathing of the other women near by. She sat up and stuck her feet into slippers, and then, shivering, took her shawl down from its hook and wrapped it around her.

But the warm wool did not comfort her. When she closed her eyes she could still see the expanse of silver water where white mists wreathed and swirled. Eilan stood on the other side, but with each moment the waters grew wider, as if a strong current were carrying her away. It was the emotion that went with the images that terrified her, the overwhelming surge of anguish and loss.

It is only my own fears speaking,
she told herself,
a dream that will disappear with the dawn.
Not all dreams were prescient. She got up and drank some water from the flask.

In the end, a grey veil of cloud had swirled between her and Eilan, cutting her off from the world.
Death is like that
…The thought would not go away. The ordinary fantasies of sleep dissipated like the mist of morning when one awakened. A great dream—a dream of power—became ever more distinct as one puzzled over it. It could not be ignored.

As the other women began to stir, Caillean realized she could not stay here to face their curious eyes. Perhaps in the garden she could find the serenity she needed to deal with this. But one thing was clear: she must tell Eilan.

 

That year the Beltane celebrations had ushered in a bounteous summer, and the woods around the Forest House were vivid with flowers. Eilan had allowed herself to be persuaded to go out to gather herbs with Miellyn, and Lia and the children had come along. Beneath the trees the creamy primroses and bluebells still flourished, but golden buttercups were already beginning to star the meadows, and white hawthorn hung heavy on the bough.

Gawen gleefully showed off his knowledge of the forest to Brigitta's two girls, who hung on every word, wide-eyed and admiring. Eilan smiled, remembering how she and Dieda had followed Cynric about when they were small. Listening to their laughter, she realized how much Gawen had missed having other children to play with, and knew that it was not only the girls who would soon be leaving her. Gawen would have to be fostered out soon.

It was noon before they returned, flushed and chattering and crowned with flowers. “Caillean is waiting for you in the garden,” said Eilidh as Eilan came in. “She has been sitting there all morning. She would not even come in to eat breakfast, but she assures us that nothing is wrong.”

Frowning, Eilan passed on into the garden without removing her wide-brimmed straw hat, for the day was warm. Caillean was sitting on a bench by the rosemary bed, motionless as if she were meditating, but at Eilan's step she opened her eyes.

“Caillean, what is it?”

The other woman looked up, and Eilan flinched at the utter calm in those dark eyes. “How many years now have we known one another?” Caillean asked.

Eilan tried to reckon it up in memory; they had met when Mairi's younger child was born. But in truth it seemed longer, and there were times when she remembered those odd glimpses of knowledge that had come to her and thought that they had been sisters in more lives than one.

“Sixteen years, I think,” she said at last, doubtfully. It had been near to winter then; but no, it could not be, for the wild Hibernians were raiding, and it was certain they would not sail if they were afraid of being caught by winter storms. It had not been snow, but rain, she remembered. That had been a bad spring. And she had come to the Forest House as a novice priestess the summer that followed.

“Has it been so long? You are right. Mairi's child is nearly old enough to be wed, and Gawen is eleven winters old.”

Eilan nodded, remembering with sudden vividness how Caillean had visited her in her exile in the hut in the forest, and how the older woman had held her hands and sponged her brow while the child was being born. She had thought those memories would never fade or dim; now they were like a dream long gone by. The work that she and Caillean were doing in the Forest House seemed far more vivid now.

“And now we have two of Brigitta's daughters within the House,” Caillean said thoughtfully. “But within a year they will go to the Romans to be fostered.”

Eilan said, sighing, “I hate to think Brigitta should lose her children.”

“I would waste no sympathy on
her,
” Caillean answered her. “I doubt she lost any sleep over what it would do to her children when she let Cynric persuade her into plotting rebellion.”

Eilan knew this was most likely true; but as a mother she remembered her anguish when Ardanos had taken Gawen away. “Why do you speak of these things now?” she asked. “I cannot believe you have waited here all morning just to count over old memories as a Roman moneylender counts his gold!”

Caillean sighed. “There is something I must say to you, and I know not how to say it. So I speak of all manner of meaningless things. Eilan, I have had such warning as they say comes to each priestess before her death. No, I cannot explain—”

Eilan felt cold congealing around her heart, despite the warmth of the sun. “What do you mean, a warning? Are you in pain? Perhaps Miellyn knows some herbs—”

Caillean returned quietly, “I have had a dream, and I think it means that this life will soon end.”

Caillean, dying?
Stunned, all Eilan could find to say aloud was, “But how?”

Caillean replied quietly, “Truly, I know not how to tell you; perhaps it is something one can understand only when it comes.”

Oh aye,
Eilan thought.
It is true: I too am a priestess, even if not a very good one.
In Caillean's presence she remembered that, though she often doubted it at other times. Since her last meeting with Cynric she had been most aware of herself as a pawn in his combat with the Romans, as with Ardanos she was aware above all else of the way he wished to use her to keep the peace with Rome. For the past few seasons the tribes had been quiet, but she heard tales of troubles among the Romans. Cynric would be quick to take advantage of any weakness if the Romans should rebel against their Emperor. Would Gaius join such a rebellion? Had he ever cared for her for her own sake?

But with Caillean, from the first moment she had met her, Eilan was above all and only a priestess. When she was with her, Eilan felt that the Goddess might still have some use for her. As deeply as she had loved Gaius she could not help remembering that he had not stood by her. But Caillean had always been there.

She looked at her sister-priestess helplessly, and thought suddenly,
We have been through this before, and I watched her die in pain.

Suddenly Eilan was angry. If she could do nothing about it, why did Caillean want to harrow her feelings by telling her? She looked at the other woman almost with hostility, and saw a flicker of emotion in Caillean's dark eyes, like a hidden current in a pool. Knowledge came to her suddenly.
She too is afraid.

She took a deep breath, and the power of the Goddess that Caillean could awaken in her stirred suddenly.

“As High Priestess of Vernemeton, I command you—tell me your dream!”

Caillean's eyes widened, but in a few moments the tale was spilling out of her. Eilan listened with eyes closed, seeing the images as Caillean described them. And soon it seemed to her as if she could see them before the other woman spoke, as if it were her own dream that Caillean was telling, and when Caillean fell silent, she herself continued with the story of her own dream of the swans.

“We will be parted,” she said finally, opening her eyes. “Whether by death or some other force I do not know, but it is like death to think of losing you, Caillean.”

“But if not by death, what then?” the older woman asked.

Eilan frowned, remembering the gleam of silver waters beneath the clouds. “The Summer Country,” she said suddenly. “Surely that is the place we both saw in our dreams. You must go there, Caillean, and take a dozen of the maidens with you. I do not know if this is to fulfill the purpose of the Goddess or to defy it, but surely it is better to do
something
than to sit here waiting for death to take you, even if what we do is wrong!”

Caillean still looked dubious, but the life had returned to her eyes. “Ardanos will never allow it. He is the Arch-Druid, and he wants all the priestesses here at Vernemeton, under his eye!”

Eilan looked at her and smiled. “But I am Priestess of the Oracle. Leave Ardanos to me!”

 

On Midsummer morning, the maidens of the Forest House went at dawn to gather dew from the summer flowers. The dew had many powers, both in increasing beauty and bestowing magic. It was said that on that day any maiden who washed her face with the morning dew and then looked into a clear stream could see the face of him who loved her best.

Eilan found herself wondering why the priestesses, who after all were all under vows of chastity or intending to be so, should wish to know such things. Did most of them cherish memories of sweethearts in the lives they had left? She had done worse than dream about her lover. But she hoped that the others who served the Goddess could be more single-minded than she.

Eilan heard the girls laughing as they returned from the forest, but she did not go out to see them. As time went on, she was increasingly aware of the need for ritual seclusion before the great festivals. She had thought it would grow easier with time, but it seemed to her that keeping the balance between all the forces that sought the Power of the Goddess grew harder each year.

Each time Ardanos came to whisper his instructions into her ear, she remembered that by keeping the peace she, no less than the Arch-Druid, was serving the Romans; and she wondered if the fact that they both worked for what they considered to be the good of Britain could ever justify that alliance.

The door opened and Caillean came in. Even she had a wreath of red poppies to celebrate the day. Her cheeks were flushed from the sun and she looked healthier than she had for some time. “You are alone?”

“Who would be with me today? All of the girls in the house have gone out to pick the Midsummer flowers and Lia has taken Gawen to visit Mairi,” Eilan answered.

“That is well.” Caillean sat down on a three-legged stool. “We must speak of tonight's Oracle.”

“I have been thinking of little else since I awakened!” Eilan said bitterly. “I wish it was you who must sit here in the dark, preparing. You would have made so much better a High Priestess than I!”

“Gods forbid; I am not such a one as could obediently do Ardanos's will.”

Suddenly furious, Eilan said wrathfully, “If I am no more than a creature of the priests, you know best who made me so.”

Caillean sighed. “I thought not to criticize you,
mo chridhe.
” The endearment defused Eilan's anger. Caillean went on, “We are all in Her hands and do Her will as best we can, I no less than you. You should not be angry with me.”

“I am not angry,” Eilan said, not altogether truthfully, but unwilling to quarrel with the woman to whom she owed so much. Sometimes she felt that the weight of her debt to Caillean should crush her. “I am afraid,” she went on, “but I will tell you a thing that no one else knows. The sacred drink that is intended to drug me is not the same as it was in Lhiannon's day. I have altered it so that the trance is not total. I know what Ardanos is telling me to say—”

“But he always seems quite content with your words,” Caillean said, frowning. “Are you still so in love with your Gaius that you intentionally serve Rome?”

“I serve peace!” Eilan exclaimed. “It has never occurred to Ardanos that I would disobey him, and when my answers are somewhat different from the words I was given he thinks only that I am an imperfect vessel. But the words of peace are not my decision. When I offered myself to the Goddess I was not lying! Do
you
think the rites we do here at the Forest House are a lie?”

Caillean shook her head. “I have felt the Goddess, too, strongly—but—”

“Do you remember Midsummer seven years ago, when Cynric came?”

“How could I forget?” Caillean said ruefully. “I was terrified!” For a few moments she was silent. “That was not you, I know it, but a face of the Goddess I hope never to see again. Is it that way always?”

Eilan shrugged. “Sometimes She comes, sometimes not, and I must use my own judgment. But every time I sit in the high seat I make the offering, and each time I wait like this I wonder if this will be the time She will strike me down!”

“I see,” said Caillean carefully. “Forgive me if I misunderstood you when you said you would compel Ardanos to send me south. But what will you do about me?”

“This is the testing—” Eilan leaned forward. “For both of us. If all we have built here is not to be a lie I must now risk both myself and you. Tonight I shall make up the potion according to the old recipe. When the Goddess takes me, you must ask about your dream. Everyone will hear the answer, and we all—you, Ardanos, and I—will be bound by it, whatever it may be.”