The Forest House (13 page)

"But you raised me to revere the old virtues of Rome. What do you want, Father - since we are speaking frankly - and what do you fear?"

Macellius looked at the smooth face of the boy before him, searching for some trace of his own father's rugged strength. There was a resemblance, perhaps, in the strong line of the jaw, but the boy's nose was Celtic, short, almost snubbed, like his mother's. No wonder he had looked like a Briton when he walked through the door,
Is he weak,
he wondered,
or only young?
And then,
"Where do his loyalties really
lie?

"Chaos . . ." he said soberly. "The world upside down. The time of the four Emperors, or the Killer Queen again. You wouldn't remember, but it seemed to us that the world was ending the year that you were born . . ."

"You think Roman and British rebellion are equally dangerous?" Gaius asked curiously.

"Have you read Valerius Maximus?" his father said suddenly. "If not, read him sometime; there used to be a couple of copies in the legionary library here. It's a scandalous book; he never should have written it. He damn near lost his head in Nero's day, and I'm not surprised. He started writing in the days of the deified Tiberius, but he makes some good points about some of the Emperors that followed him - to say some of them were as fallible as G—, well, as gods always are, isn't treason - not now, anyway. The point is, even a bad Emperor is better than civil war."

"But you said that reform might have to come from the Provinces—"

Macellius grimaced. At least there was nothing wrong with the boy's memory.

"Reform, not rebellion . . .You may remember that I also said that these days Londinium is like Rome used to be. The old Roman virtues can survive in the Provinces, away from the corruption that surrounds the Emperor. In a lot of ways, the tribes here are like the country people where I was born. Give them
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the best of Roman culture, and maybe Britain can become what Rome was supposed to be."

"Is that why you married my mother?" Gaius said into the silence.

Macellius looked at him and blinked, seeing once more a girl's fine-boned face and dusky hair, remembering how she used to sing as she pulled the horn comb through her heavy curls, sparkling with red glints as they caught the light of the fire.
Moruadh . . .Moruadh . . .why did you leave me alone?

"Perhaps it was one reason," he replied at last. "But perhaps it justifies it. We had hopes then of joining our two peoples. But that was before Classicus . . .and Boudicca. Perhaps it can still happen, but it will take longer, and you will have to be more Roman than the Romans to survive."

"What have you heard?" asked Gaius, frowning.

"The Emperor, Titus, has been ill. I don't like it. He's still a young man. He might die in bed, but after him, who knows? I don't trust Domitian. A piece of advice, Son: try to live without ever coming to the attention of a prince. Are you ambitious?"

"All gods forbid," said Gaius.

But Macellius had seen the flash of pride in his eyes. Well, ambition was no bad thing in a young man, if well directed. He gave a short laugh. "In any case, it's time we took the next step to advance the family.

Nothing that will upset the Emperor . . .but you are, what, nineteen now? It's time you were married."

"I'll be twenty in a few weeks, Father," said Gaius suspiciously. "Do you have someone in mind for me?"

"I suppose you know that Clotinus - yes, old Bedbugs - has a daughter . . ." Macellius began, and stopped when his son started laughing.

"All gods forbid. I practically had to kick her out of my bed when I guested there."

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"Clotinus is going to be one of the big men in the Province, even if he is British. If you'd set your heart on his daughter, I would be willing enough to go along, but not if she is so immodest. My father may have been only a plebeian, but he could name all his ancestors. The honor of the family requires that your sons be of your own fathering."

He looked up as the slave appeared in the doorway with a tray of hard biscuits and some wine. He poured, handed a goblet to Gaius, and drank deeply before speaking again.

"Here's an idea you may like better. You may not remember this, but when you were a child a tentative betrothal was arranged between you and the daughter of an old friend. He's now the Procurator, Licinius."

"Father," Gaius said quickly, "have you spoken to him lately? — I hope you haven't settled things too far

-"

Macellius stared at him narrowly. "Why? Is there some other young girl you're lusting after? It won't do, you know. A marriage is a social and economic alliance. Be guided by me, Son; these romantic attractions don't last." He could see the dull flush that darkened his son's fair skin.

Very carefully, Gaius took another sip of wine. "There is a girl, but it is not lust I feel for her. I have offered her marriage," he said evenly.

"What? Who is she?" Macellius barked, turning to stare at his son.

"The daughter of Bendeigid."

The wine cup clicked loudly as Macellius set it down.

"Impossible. He's a proscribed man, and, if I mistake not, a Druid. Of good family, so I'll say nothing against the girl if she's his kin, but that only makes it worse. Those sorts of marriages —"

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"You made one," Gaius interrupted.

"And it nearly destroyed my career! Your girl may be as fine a woman as your mother, but one misalliance of that kind is enough for any family," Macellius exclaimed.
Moruadh, forgive me,
his heart cried.
I loved you, but I have to save our boy.

"Things were different then," he continued more temperately. "Since Boudicca's rebellion, a connection with any but the most loyal of British families would be a disaster. And you especially must be careful,
because
you are your mother's son. Do you think I have endured thirty years in the Legions just to see you throw it all away?" He splashed more wine into his cup and drank it down.

"There's no limit to what you could do if you have the right connections, and the Procurator's daughter is a prize. The family is related to the Julians after all. Meanwhile, if you have a taste for romantic adventure, there are plenty of slaves and freedwomen; keep your thoughts off these British girls." He glared at his son.

"Eilan is different - I love her."

"Your Eilan is the daughter of a Druid!" Macellius replied. "He was charged once with inciting the Auxilia to revolt. They couldn't prove it, so they banished him; he was lucky not to have been hanged or crucified. But for all that you don't want to get yourself entangled in any way with his family. She's not pregnant or anything?"

"Eilan is as innocent as any Vestal," Gaius said stiffly.

"Humph; I wouldn't bet on it; they don't view these things as we should," Macellius observed. Seeing Gaius's gaze darken, he added, "Don't look at me so - I'm not doubting you. But if the girl is virtuous, it is all the more ruinous for you to set your heart on her. Accept it, lad, she's not for you."

"That's for her father to decide," Gaius said hotly, "not you!"

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Macellius grunted. "Mark me, her father will view such an alliance much as I do, as a major catastrophe for both of you. Forget her, and turn your thoughts to some good Roman girl. I've won enough status here to ally you to whomever you choose."

"So long as she's named Julia Licinia . . ." Gaius answered bitterly. "What if Licinius's daughter doesn't want a husband with British blood?"

Macellius shrugged. "I'll write to Licinius tomorrow. If she's a proper Roman girl, she'll think of her marriage as part of her duty to her family and to the State. But married you shall be, before you disgrace us all."

Gaius shook his head stubbornly. "We shall see. If Bendeigid is willing to give me his daughter, I will marry Eilan. My honor is pledged to her."

"No; impossible," Macellius said. "And what's more, if I know anything about Bendeigid, he'll react pretty much the same way."
Damn it,
he thought,
the problem is that he's too much like me. Does he
think I'll let it drop?
The boy might believe his father did not understand - young people always thought that they were the only ones who had ever loved — but the truth was that Macellius understood only too well. Moruadh had been fire in his blood, but she had never been happy, prisoned by square stone walls.

The Roman women had laughed at her and her own people had cursed her. He would not let his son live with the pain of knowing that he, too, had brought only sorrow to the woman he adored.

Macellius's campaign bonuses had been well invested, and he had enough wealth to be comfortable when he retired, but not enough for his son unless Gaius also had a career. He would do Moruadh no honor by allowing her son to throw his future away.

"Father," Gaius continued, in a tone his father had never heard before, "I love Eilan; she is the only woman I will ever marry. And if her father will not give her to me, Rome is not the whole world, you know."

Macellius glared. "You had no right to make such a commitment. Marriage is a matter for families; if I send to request her hand for you, it will be against my own better judgment."

"But you will do it?" Gaius persisted, and against his will Macellius softened.

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"There is no parting a fool and his folly; I can send to Bendeigid. But when he refuses you we will hear no more of this. I will write to Licinius then, and have you married before the new year."

There was something to be said, he thought, for the old days when fathers had held the power of life and death even over grown sons. The law was still on the books — for all the good it did anyone; no father in hundreds of years had formally invoked it, and he knew himself too well to think he would be the first.

But he would not have to. Eilan's father could deliver that blow far more effectively than he.

Seven

In the days following Gaius's departure the bright sun of Beltane hid behind weeping skies, as if the season had decided not to turn into summer after all. Eilan crept around the house like a ghost. Days passed and Gaius sent no word. Just before leaving for the Forest House Dieda had said that she should have given herself to Gaius. Would he be more or less likely to forget her if she had done so?

After all, the high festivals existed in a time of their own. That night when they sat together watching the fires was like some dream of the Otherworld. In that time when the doors opened between the worlds, anything seemed possible - even the marriage of the daughter of a Druid to a Roman officer. But now, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of her home, she began to doubt herself, her love, and Gawen - or Gaius, as she supposed she ought to call him - most of all.

And the worst of it was that no one seemed to notice her pain. Mairi had insisted on returning to her own dwelling to await the return of her husband, and Rheis was busy with all the tasks that summer brought. She might have confided in Dieda, but her kinswoman was in the Forest House, where she must be dealing with her own heartaches and regrets. The skies wept, Eilan's heart wept with them, and no one seemed to care at all.

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At last a day came when her father sent for her. He was sitting beside the hearth in the feasting hall —

only ashes now, for though the sky was grey and clouded, it was warm enough not to need a fire. An odd mix of anger and amusement softened his usual sternness. "Eilan," he said gently, "I feel I should let you know this; an offer has been made for your hand."

Gaius,she thought.
My doubts wronged him!

"But of course it was one I could not entertain. How much do you know about the young man who called himself Gawen?"

"What do you mean?" Surely he could hear the rapid beating of her heart.

"Did he tell you his true name? Did he tell you that his father is Macellius Severus, Prefect of the camp at Deva?"

She saw the anger now beneath Bendeigid's gentleness, and fought to still her trembling; but she nodded.

"Then at least he did not deceive you." Her father sighed, "But you must put him far from your thoughts, Daughter. You are not yet of full age to marry -"

She raised her head to protest. Why had she not considered that her own father was far more likely to refuse permission than Gaius to deny his love?

"I can wait," she whispered, not daring to raise her eyes.

Her father went on, "I am not used to being a tyrant to my children, Eilan; if the truth be told I have been all too gentle with you. If you feared me, you would not speak this way. But this thing cannot be, Daughter - no, hold you still," he commanded, "I still have something to say to you."

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"What else is there?" Eilan exclaimed, flinching at his grip on her wrist. "You have refused him, haven't you?"

"I want you to understand why." His tone softened. "I bear no grudge against the lad, and if he were one of our own, I would gladly give you to him. But oil mixes not with water, nor lead with silver, nor Roman with Briton."

"He is only half Roman," she protested. "His mother was a tribeswoman of the Silures. He seemed Briton enough when he guested here."

Her father shook his head. "That makes it all the worse. He is the bastard son of a marriage - an unlawful marriage I call it - into a race of traitors, for traitors were the Silures before ever the Romans came over the sea, stealing our cattle and poaching in our hunting runs. It would be to compound folly upon folly to marry ^f you to a child of our ancient enemies. I have even spoken to Ardanos of this and though he talks of peace to come of it, as if you were child to one of our queens and he son to a Caesar, I know it cannot be."

Her eyes widened at the thought that the Arch-Druid, of all people, might stand her friend. But her father was still talking.

"From the tone of the letter, my guess is that Macellius Severus likes it no better than I. Nothing could come of such a marriage but torn loyalties for you both. If Gaius is willing to forsake Rome for you, then I want him not among our kin. And if he cleaves to his own, then would you be outcast among our people, and I would not have that for you."