The Forest House (63 page)

In autumn the mists rose thick above the marshes of the Summer Country and wreathed around the Tor.

On such mornings, when Caillean made the climb to the standing stones that crowned it for her morning meditation, it seemed as if the Tor were an island indeed and she was gazing out over a rolling grey sea.

But as the year drew on toward Samaine, she found herself thinking quite obsessively of Eilan.

At first, she dismissed these thoughts, knowing it was not good for Eilan to cling to her; nor for herself to be distracted. But as the days darkened, the other woman's face appeared in her visions with a frequency she could not dismiss. Eilan had grave need of her, and it was perilous to ignore such messages.

At last came a morning when she woke with words ringing in her ears:
"Here where we stand in
darkness and under the shadow of death we call on Thee,
O
Mother, Sisters and more than Sisters

. . ."

And she knew that by oaths which she and Eilan had sworn together, not only as priestesses of the Sacred Grove, but from life to life before that, she was bound to go to her.

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But it was not until two weeks before Samaine that she was able to arrange matters so that she could go back to the Forest House. One advantage of her position in the new temple, she thought, was that it was taken for granted that whatever she chose to do was well done; her every act was assumed to be directly inspired by the will of the Goddess, as Eilan's was at Vernemeton. The drawback, of course, was that she was responsible for seeing that all her duties would be taken care of while she was gone.

A scant three days would bring her to Vernemeton. She would much rather have travelled in the simplicity of men's clothing and afoot, but the temple was not yet ready for that; not this year at least. So she resigned herself to travelling with her formal litter and all the regalia of a priestess. An escort of two young priests went with her. They treated her with as much deference as if they had been her grandsons; which was not particularly surprising, Caillean thought, for both were young enough.

As they wound through the marshes below the Tor, it began to rain; Caillean knew that this would slow her progress, and fretted, but there was nothing to be done. It had been raining off and on since the Equinox, as if the heavens were weeping for the dead Emperor, and no one, however gifted with magic, had ever been able to control the British weather.

Two days' journey brought them to Aquae Sulis, and from there a Roman road led northward to Glevum. To her surprise, it was in considerable disrepair; the recent rains had left it pitted and the stones all awry. There were great ruts in the gravel and she was glad they did not have to drive a chariot or even a farm cart with oxen over such a road.

She had almost fallen asleep when, from the depths of the forest which edged the road, a number of men came running; dirty and rough-looking, in tattered and filthy garments.
Bacaudae,
thought Caillean, a rabble of runaway slaves and criminals who plagued many parts of the Empire. She had heard of them, but never encountered any before. The unrest following the death of the Emperor must have encouraged them.

"Stand aside, fellows," demanded one of her escort. "We bear a great priestess."

"That ain't nothing to us," said one of the bandits, jeering. "What can she do? Throw fire at us, maybe?

There's a stall at every market with a juggler who can do that same trick."

Caillean had indeed been regretting that there was no fire within the litter, but these fellows were clearly more sophisticated than the Irish raiders she had once frightened that way. She climbed out of the litter and said to the young priest, "What is the delay?"

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He was still sputtering with indignation. "These — these fellows —" he began. Caillean regarded them calmly; then reached into the little pouch at her waist. She still - she realized it only afterwards -had not completely taken in what was happening. For so many years the Romans had kept the roads quiet, the danger did not seem real.

She took out the little purse tied at her waist and said with distant courtesy, "Charity is a duty to the gods. Here, fellow," and she handed him a denarius. He gazed at it for a moment, then guffawed.

"We don't want your charity, lady," he remarked, with an odd, exaggerated courtesy. "But you can start by giving us that little purse —"

Then, finally, Caillean realized what they dared to want from her. Amazement gave way to outrage. With suddenly heightened senses, she felt the energy in the clouds above her and its resonance within her. In that moment she knew she had some power over the weather after all. She lifted her hands and saw a blur as the bandit, who had sensed his danger, struck out with his cudgel. Lightning flared, blanking out vision, and as the thunder boomed, the sky fell on her head and the world disappeared.

It was many hours before she became conscious again.

In the days that followed that first pain, Eilan tried to accept the will of the gods. But although she could believe that the Goddess would watch over Vernemeton and her people, she still feared for her child.

She could have trusted Gawen to Caillean. But Caillean -at her work at the far end of the country - was not there. Dieda was kin to the boy, but since the death of Cynric she was the last person to whom Eilan could entrust him. Lia, she knew, would die for her nursling, but she was only a poor woman with no place to go. Perhaps Mairi might be willing to take the child, but Gawen would not be safe even with her if their father should learn his identity.

If she only knew how long she had . . .But no matter how Eilan framed the question, the forces that had warned of her own death remained so obstinately silent that if it had not been for the occasional throb of pain in her brow, the whole thing might have been some morbid product of her own imagination. All she could do was to spend as much time as she dared with the boy.

Gawen had just gone off to his dinner when Senara came in to light the lamps. As usual, Huw was a silent presence by the door. For so many years she had thought him about as much protection as an unhatched chicken, but he had been lethal enough. Seeing him reminded her of the unhealed pain of
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Cynric's death.

"You go too, and get yourself some dinner," she ordered. "Senara will remain with me until you return."

Senara moved slowly around the room with flint and steel, and the clay lamps — of Roman make even here — flared into life one by one. It was only when the girl had stood for several minutes staring at the last of them that Eilan asked, "What is it, child. Are you unwell?"

"Oh, Eilan!" Senara caught her breath on a sob.

Eilan took a seat on one of the benches. "Come here, child," she said gently. As Senara approached, she saw the girl's face was wet. "Why, my love, what is it? You know me well enough to know that whatever it is, you needn't be afraid to tell me."

Bright drops shone on Senara's cheeks. "You're so good to me, you've always been so good . . .and I'm not worth it," she said, choking, and fell at Eilan's feet, crying helplessly.

"Oh, my dear," Eilan soothed, "you mustn't cry; I'm not strong enough for this. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad." She reached out and gently pulled the girl to her feet. "Come, sit here beside me."

Senara's weeping diminished a little, but instead of taking a place at Eilan's side she began to pace the room. At last she said, her voice half choked with weeping, "I hardly know how to tell you."

And all at once, Eilan knew what ailed the girl. She said "You've come to tell me you don't wish to be sworn as a priestess in the Forest House."

Senara looked up, the bright drops still making glistening tracks down her cheeks in the lamplight.

"That's part of it," she whispered, "the least part." She struggled for words. "I'm not worthy to be here at all; I'm not fit; if you knew, you'd cast me out of here -"

You aren't worthy!Eilan thought.
Oh, if you only knew!
And then, aloud, she repeated what Caillean
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had once said to her. "Perhaps in the sight of the Goddess, none of us is truly worthy. Try to stop crying, my dear, and tell me what ails you."

Senara calmed a little, though she still could not meet Eilan's eyes. Eilan recalled standing like this before Lhiannon, so many years ago. But surely she wronged the girl; Senara had been spending her time with the Christians, and they were even more concerned with chastity than the women of Vernemeton.

"I . . . I have met a man . . .and he wants me to go away with him," she said baldly at last.

Eilan caught Senara in her arms. "Ah, my poor child," she whispered. "But you are still free to leave us and even to marry if you wish. You were brought here so young. It was never really intended that you should take vows among us; but that was so long ago now that most of us had forgotten. Tell me about it.

Where did you meet this man? Who is he? I have no objection if you want to marry, but I care for you as much as any mother, and I would like to be sure you are choosing well."

Senara stared at her, hardly understanding that not only was Eilan not angry, but that the older woman would set her free. "I met him at Father Petros's hermitage. He is a Roman, a friend of my uncle Valerius

—"

She stopped at the sound of a man's voice. "Senara?" answered one of the newer girls from the other side of the door, "I think you will find her in there."

I
will have to speak to that child,
thought Eilan.
That is no way to announce visitors, especially a
man.
Senara, recalling that with Huw gone, it was her business to protect the High Priestess, took up position between her and the door. A man came through it and, as he closed it behind him, Eilan saw all the color drain out of Senara's face and then flood into it again.

"Thisman . . ." she faltered. "He has come for me . . ."

She moved aside, and in the flickering, deceptive lamplight Eilan saw his face.

"Gaius . . ." she whispered. Surely this was some nightmare born of a fevered imagination. She shut her eyes, but when she opened them he was still there, staring in stupefaction from her to Senara.

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Senara took a step towards him. "Gaius!" she cried. "I did not expect you so soon! Has my uncle given his permission for you to marry me?"

Gaius stared wildly around him. "You foolish girl, what are you doing here?"

Eilan felt as if the flame of the lamps had ignited in her breast. Slowly she rose to her feet. "What are
you
doing here?" She turned to Senara. "Are you trying to tell me that Gaius Macellius Severus is the man you love?"

"He is. Why, what is wrong?" Senara stared at Eilan in confusion.

Eilan turned on Gaius. "You tell her what is wrong," she commanded. "Tell her all the truth - if you are still capable of it."

"What truth?" demanded Senara, her voice cracking. "I know that he has a Roman wife who has refused to honor her marriage vows. Of course he will divorce her before he marries me . . ."

"Of course he will," Eilan said in a terrible voice. "So, Gaius, she knows about the little daughters that you will be abandoning. Does she know about our son as well?"

"Yourson?" Stricken, Senara looked back and forth between Gaius and Eilan. "Tell me this is not true,"

she said to Gaius, pleading. Her voice caught in her throat.

"You do not understand," Gaius muttered.

"Understand," Senara repeated brokenly. "I wanted to save you, and you have nearly ruined me! I understand that I have been a fool!"

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As she turned from him, the door swung wide and the giant Huw thrust into the room, cudgel upraised.

But after the death of Cynric he had been severely chastised, and he did not want to make the same mistake again. "Lady," he mumbled, "they said a man was here. I heard shouting. What shall I do?"

Eilan stared at Gaius, thinking that if the danger were not so real he would have looked ridiculous standing there. But perhaps to be caught in this situation was the worst punishment a proud Roman could have endured. After a long moment Eilan lifted her hand to signal Huw to stand still. "Go," she said fiercely to Gaius. "Go, or he will knock out your brains. To Senara she added, "Go with him, if you wish

- while I can still protect you."

Senara stared at Gaius for a moment and then flung her arms around Eilan. "Oh, I would not," she cried,

"not for the world and everything in it would I go with him now!"

Eilan, startled, tightened her arms around the girl, then she turned upon Gaius.

"Get out of here," she said in a low voice. "Get out or I will let Huw do his worst." Then, losing her control, she cried, "Get out of here, or I will kill you myself!"

Gaius did not stay to argue. He pushed through the door curtain, and it flapped shut behind him.

Gaius sat in the Blue Eagle taverna and called out to the proprietor to bring him a new flagon of sour Gaullish wine. He had been drinking for most of the past three days, moving from one wine shop to another as he outwore his welcome. The tavern keepers knew who he was, and his father. Eventually, they would be paid.

At times Gaius wondered if he had been missed, but he supposed Macellius must think he had gone home to the villa, and Julia would think he was still with his father in the town. Mostly, he wondered how much wine he would have to drink before the pain went away.

He had stayed in Deva at first because of the political situation, and then because he did not want to confront Licinius and inform him that he was about to abandon Julia and the useless daughters she had borne him. In tardy fairness, he supposed that Licinius, doting father though he was, might be willing to remonstrate with Julia. Sonless himself, he would not want Julia divorced for the same reason. But if Licinius had persuaded his daughter to honor her conjugal obligations, Gaius would not be able to marry Senara, and the thought of her had been a warmth that could keep his fears about the future at bay.