A girl? A child, Gaius thought at first; for although he himself was not tall, the girl who entered barely reached his shoulder; she had a small well-shaped head with thick dark curls, loosely knotted at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were dark too, and met his fearlessly. She had evidently been eating berries, for her fine white wool tunic, and her lips, were stained pink with berry juice. His father had said she was fifteen, but she hardly looked more than twelve.

"You are Julia Licinia?"

"I am." She looked him up and down. "My father's promised me to some half-Roman barbarian, and I came here to have a look at him. Who are you?"

"I'm afraid I'm that half-Roman barbarian," he said a little stiffly.

The girl surveyed him coolly, and he felt as if he were waiting for some verdict of tremendous import; then she giggled.

"Well, you look Roman enough," she said. "I was prepared for some great blond barbarian whose sons would never look Roman born. It is true that our Governor's policy of teaching the sons of chieftains Roman arts and manners had been quite successful," she added consideringly, "but those of us with Roman blood must not forget to whom the Empire belongs. I would bear no babes whose portraits would look out of place among those of my ancestors."

Roman or Tuscani blood? Gaius wondered cynically, remembering that Licinius came from the same Etruscan country stock as his own father, and owed his rise in rank to merit, not ancestors. Those common origins were no doubt part of the bond. Gaius thought of Cynric, who was also half Roman, however unwillingly. At least he Gaius Macellius looked what he was supposed to be, and his father had spared no pains to have him accepted as such.

He said dryly, "I suppose I should be grateful that I pass your inspection."

"Oh, come," she said, "I am sure you want your sons to look like proper Romans no less than I do."

With a sudden pang he wondered, And what of Eilan's child'? Would he be as fair as his mother, or show his father's breeding in his face? He made himself return Julia's droll smile. "Oh, I'm sure all our sons will be Roman and brave."

They were laughing together when Licinius returned. He peered, as if for confirmation, at Julia's rosy face, then said "That's settled, then."

Gaius blinked as his prospective father-in-law clasped his hand, feeling as if some great siege engine had run him down. But there was only Julia, small and smiling, at his side. She looked so harmless; like a child.

But she isn't, he thought. One meeting was enough to convince him. Far from it. Harmless is the last word I'd use for her.

"Of course," the Procurator said, "a wedding like this cannot be put together quickly. He was trying to be jocular. "People would certainly think that Julia had somehow misbehaved, being married off at a moment's notice to a stranger from nowhere. Local society and my family must have a chance to know and value you."

That was exactly the point of this wedding, Gaius thought wryly, except that he was the one who had misbehaved. But he could see that Julia would not want to be hurried into marriage with - as the Procurator had put it - a stranger from nowhere. She must be given a chance to be married as a respected member of her own community. And the delay would give him a chance to catch his breath and figure out what to do. Perhaps on closer acquaintance the girl would decide she did not like him after all, and even his father could not blame him for not marrying her then.

Licinius tapped the scroll from Macellius. "Officially, this transfers you to detached duty under my command. You may not think a young officer needs to know anything about finances, but when you come to command a Legion, you'll find your job easier if you know something about the system that keeps your men shod and fed! No doubt you'll find it easy duty after the frontier. It's not Rome, but Londinium is growing, and the women will make much of you with all the young officers on the Governor's staff gone off to the North."

He paused, and fixed Gaius with a hard stare. "It goes without saying," he added, "that there will be no improper behavior while you are here —" The Procurator went on, "You will live with Julia under this roof as if she were your sister, even though I will gradually let it be known that she has been your promised wife from infancy. But until after the ceremony —"

"Father," Julia protested, "do you really believe I would so disgrace both you and myself?"

Licinius's eyes softened as he looked at her. "I should hope not, girl," he growled. "I just wanted to make it clear to this young man."

"I should hope not indeed," Gaius muttered. But there was little danger; he found it hard to believe that Julia would ever be overcome by emotion. She was certainly different from Eilan, who had thought of his best interests before her own, and now was suffering the consequences.

Would they now hasten her into a marriage of convenience with someone more "suitable" as they were trying to do with him? He suddenly pictured her, beaten or bullied into compliance, tearful, wretched, perhaps weeping. She was, after all, of noble birth as the Britons counted such things, and an alliance with her family could be considered advantageous - as this marriage with Julia would be politically advantageous for his father - and, he supposed, for him.

But I am sure that if they try she will refuse it, he thought then. She has more integrity than I. Ecstatic as his union with Eilan had been, there had been moments when she had almost frightened him. Or perhaps it was his own response that had made him afraid.

Julia smiled with an appearance of timidity. It was, Gaius thought, assumed for her father's benefit; the last hour had taught him that anything less timid than Julia — except maybe one of Hannibal's war elephants — would be hard to imagine. But maybe her father still thought of her as a shy child; fathers were the last to know what their children were really like.

But that made him think of Eilan again; her father had trusted him, and look what had happened; he could not fault Julia's father for being more careful.

The duties of an officer attached to the Procurator's staff turned out to include a number of tasks which would probably have been easy for Valerius, but which for Gaius, whose tutor had been pensioned off several years ago, were as stressful to the mind as his first weeks in the army had been for his body. Fortunately these tasks were often interrupted by assignment to escort duty for visiting dignitaries.

He was not much used to cities, but he soon learned to find his way around well enough. Gnaeus Julius Agricola, the Governor, had instituted a program of building of which Londinium had been the first beneficiary. The Britons had been a pastoral people, whereas Roman life centered around the city, with its shops and baths, its games and theaters. A bridge linked Londinium with the south and other roads stretched away to the north and westward. Along these arteries came trade from every corner of the province, and the ships that anchored at the wharves carried goods from all over the Empire.

Shepherding the strangers gave him an excuse to explore, and expose him to visitors of high station. When Gaius got up the nerve to ask him, Licinius said that he had planned it that way.

"For of course, if this marriage is successful —" he said, and broke off without finishing the sentence. "You know, I have no sons; no child at all but Julia, and if things went as they should, she should be allowed to succeed me, and perhaps even attain to senator. But of course a woman, no matter how capable, can only bestow her rank on her husband. That is why it pleases me so much that she should marry the son of my oldest friend."

Only then did Gaius really understand Macellius's plan. Married to Julia, Gaius could legitimately aspire to the position for which his father's injudicious marriage had disqualified him. He would not have been human - nor Macellius's son - if he had been indifferent to the possibilities. Living in Londinium had already altered his perspective, and he was beginning to understand what he would have been giving up if he had run away with Eilan. Had she been ill used? He could only hope she knew that nothing on earth - short of his father's will or the threat to Eilan herself -could have made him abandon her.

He had not realized that Julia was aware of his troubles until she brought up the subject herself.

"Father told me," she said after the evening meal when they were sitting on the terrace together watching the late summer sunset gild the basilica's dome, "that you were sent here because you had formed some sort of alliance with a native woman, the daughter of a proscribed man. Tell me something about her. How old was she?"

Gaius felt his face flame and coughed to cover his confusion. It had never occurred to him that her father would have told her; but perhaps it was just as well to get things clear between them.

"A few years older than you are, I think." In truth, he supposed that Julia must now be just the age Eilan had been when he first met her. Though otherwise they were utterly different, Julia had the quality of innocence he had first loved in Eilan.

The Procurator had kept him busy, and so had local society. It was a heady experience for a young man of mixed blood. He had told his father once that he was not ambitious, but that was before he had realized what rewards wealth, and the right connections, could bring.

Julia smiled at him kindly. "Did you care very much about being married to her?"

"I thought I did. I was in love. Of course I had not met you then," he said quickly, wondering what love could possibly mean to Julia.

She looked at him, long and steadily. "I think you should see her again before we are married," she said, "just to be certain that you are not going to pine for her once you are married to me."

"I have every intention of being a good husband —" he began, but Julia either misunderstood or chose to pretend to. Her eyes were too dark; he could not read them. Eilan's eyes had been clear as a forest pool.

"Because," she said straightforwardly, "I do not want a man who would rather be married to someone else. I really think you should see her again, and find out what you want your life to be. Then, when you come back, I'll know that marriage with me is really what you want to do."

She sounded like her father, he thought grimly, when he was negotiating a contract; she sounded as if she thought marriage was a career. But then, brought up in the capital as she had been, that was probably exactly what she expected it to be! And what other

career could there be for a Roman woman? What could she know of the fire that pulsed in the blood when the Beltane drums began, or the longing that ate at the heart like the music of the pipes the shepherds played on the hills?

In any case, his father had made it impossible for him to see Eilan; no doubt even Julia would be horrified if she heard that his beloved was the local equivalent of a Vestal Virgin. But Julia was already making plans, and once again Gaius felt as if he was in the path of a cavalry charge.

"Father is going to send you north with despatches for Agricola —"

Gaius raised one eyebrow, for he had heard nothing of this, but it did not really surprise him. Julia was the darling of every clerk in the tabularium, and when a change in orders was contemplated, they were always the first to know. And the last one to know is always the man most concerned! he thought.

"On your way you can make time to see this girl. When you come back you will be quite, quite sure that you would rather be married to me."

Gaius suppressed a smile, for she did not know as much as she thought if she imagined he would have much time for side trips on government service. But perhaps he could manage something; already his blood beat faster in his veins at the thought of seeing Eilan again.

Thanks be to Venus that Julia could not know what he was thinking, though there were times when he credited her with the powers of a Sibyl, or maybe all women had this kind of power. But Julia was chattering about her wedding veil, which was to be made of a fabulous material to be brought in by caravan from halfway around the world.

It would be rather a relief, he thought, even if he must travel to the wilds of Caledonia, to get back to the regular army again.

Seventeen

As the summer ripened towards Lughnasad it did not seem to Eilan that Lhiannon grew any better. Sometimes the old woman's heart pained her, and always she was tired. Ardanos came daily, and at first he and the High Priestess would talk, but as the days passed, and her attention drew increasingly inward, he simply sat by her bedside in silence, and when he spoke it was with Caillean, or to himself. After these sessions, Caillean would be silent and pensive, but she had always been one for keeping her own counsel.

Eilan found it strange that as her own body was becoming a vessel of life, Lhiannon should be undergoing a parallel transformation, preparing to release her spirit - but in what world she would be reborn no one could say. Joy at the new life within her muted Eilan's own sorrow. But in those days the Forest House grew very silent, and all the women went about their tasks with mingled excitement and dread. For no one had yet dared to ask who Lhiannon's successor was to be.

It was fortunate that everyone was too distracted by Lhiannon's illness to take much notice of anyone else, but what would Eilan do when her belly could no longer be concealed by her loose robes?

Not for a moment was Eilan allowed to forget that as far as Ardanos was concerned she was under sentence of death; she

fancied that even Dieda regarded her with barely concealed contempt.

Miellyn was still mourning the loss of her own child and could offer no comfort. Only Caillean never changed toward her - but then Caillean had always been a law unto herself; the one thing that sustained Eilan when she grew most afraid was her awareness of the older woman's love.

She did not know when, if ever, she would see Gaius again; but remembering the kingly spirit she had glimpsed when they lay together, she felt certain they would meet again. She did not want to believe - as the Arch-Druid said - that he had hastily been married off to someone else. Even among the Romans the solemnizing of a marriage must demand more formality and time than that.

A month passed, and Caillean presided over the full moon rituals. Now it was obvious, nurse and care for her as they might, that Lhiannon was dying. Her feet swelled so that she could no longer even stagger to the privy. Caillean nursed her tenderly; no mother ever had a more devoted daughter. But still the fluid filled her body.

Caillean fed her herb brews and spoke of dropsy, and once they went far afield to find the purple flowers of the foxglove, which Caillean said were sovereign for an ailing heart. Eilan cautiously tasted the brew Caillean made of them, and found it bitter as sorrow.

But in spite of all their care, day by day Lhiannon grew weaker and more swollen and pale.

"Caillean—"

For a moment she doubted she had heard it; the call was like a breath drawn by the wind. Then the bed creaked. Wearily, Caillean turned. Lhiannon's eyes were open. Caillean rubbed the sleep from her own and made herself smile. Illness had consumed the flesh from the older woman's face so that the good bones showed with a terrible clarity. It is almost over. The unwelcome knowledge came to her. Soon, only the essentials will remain.

"Are you thirsty? Here's cool water, or I can stir up the fire and give you some tea . . ."

"Something hot . . .would ease me . . ." Lhiannon drew breath. "You are too good to me, Caillean."

Caillean shook her head. When she was ten years old and halfway to death with the fever, Lhiannon had nursed her back again, more than her mother or father would have done. Her feelings for the older woman went beyond love or hatred. How could you put that into words? If Lhiannon could not sense them in the taste of an infusion or the touch of a cool cloth on her brow, she would never know.

"I suppose there are those who think you are doing this so that I will make you my heir . . .Women cooped up together can be very petty, and it is true, you are a greater priestess than all of them put together . . .but you know better, do you not?"

"I know." Caillean managed a smile. "I am destined to live for ever in the shadows, but I will support whoever rules. Please the Goddess, it will not be for yet a while."

And who knows how long I will live after you? she thought then. Her strange bleeding had ceased at last, but fatigue dragged at her limbs as if they had been cast of lead from the Mendip mines.

"Perhaps . . .Do not be so sure you know everything, my child. Despite what people think, my Sight comes not always at the Druids' bidding. And I have seen you with the ornaments of a High Priestess and a mist that is not of this world blowing around you. A life path may have strange twists and turnings, and we do not always end up where we intend to go . . ."

Boiling water hissed in the little cauldron, and Caillean spooned • in the mixture of yarrow and chamomile and white willow, and set it to steep beside the flame.

"Goddess knows I have not done so!" Lhiannon burst out suddenly. "We had such dreams when we were young, Ardanos and I - but he grew greedy for power . . .and I had none!"

You could have stood against him, thought Caillean. You were the Voice of the Goddess, and for twenty years the people have lived by your words. And you don't even know what you have been saying! If you had ever allowed yourself to know, you would have had to act, for then it would have been real. . .

But she bit back the words, for Lhiannon had given more hope to the people unknowing than Caillean with all her conscious wisdom, and that outweighed all her failings, whatever cynics like Dieda might say.

With a little honey to take away the bitterness, the tea was ready. Caillean slid her arm around Lhiannon's fragile shoulders and held the spoon to her lips. The sick woman's head turned fretfully, and her cheeks glistened with tears. "I am tired, Caillean . . ." she whispered, "so very tired, and afraid . . ."

"There, there, my dear; you are surrounded by those who love you," she whispered. "Drink this now, it will give you ease." Lhiannon swallowed a little of the bittersweet brew, and sighed.

"I promised Ardanos I would choose my successor . . . to serve his plan. He is waiting . . ." She grimaced. "Like a crow watching a sick ewe. It was to be Eilan, but she . . .must be sent away soon. Now he says I must choose Dieda, but I will not, and she would not, unless the Goddess —" a fit of coughing took her and Caillean hastily set the tea down, holding Lhiannon upright and patting her back until she was still.

"Until the Goddess shows you Her will," Caillean finished for her, and the High Priestess of Vernemeton smiled.

Lhiannon was dying. It was obvious to everyone - everyone except perhaps Caillean, who nursed her so devotedly and with a despairing tenderness, night and day, seldom stepping beyond the room where the sick woman lay. Even those of the priestesses who had always been suspicious of Caillean as an outlander had to admire her dedication now. Both Dieda and Eilan guessed what was coming — but it would have taken a braver woman than either one of them to name it to Caillean.

"But she is so skilled in healing," Dieda said as they carried Lhiannon's soiled bedding down to the river. "She must know."

"I suppose she does," said Eilan, "but admitting it would make it real." She looked at her kinswoman curiously. Apart from commenting sarcastically that the dirty laundry of a High Priestess smelled no different from anyone else's, and she could not see why a sworn priestess was required to wash it, Dieda had done her share of the work uncomplainingly.

It seemed odd that they should have become such strangers now, when they were sister priestesses. Working with Dieda these past weeks, when Caillean's attention was fixed on Lhiannon, reminded Eilan how close they had been as girls. Distracted by her thoughts, she tripped on a tree root.

Dieda put out a hand to steady her.

"Thank you," Eilan said in surprise. The other woman glared at her.

"Why are you staring?" said Dieda. "I don't hate you."

Eilan felt the hot color flare in her cheeks, then fade. "You know then," she whispered.

"You are the fool, not I," came the answer. "Cooped up with you and Caillean all this time I could hardly help overhearing something. But for the sake of our family's honor I have kept silent. If any of the other women know your secret, they did not learn it from me. At least pregnancy seems to agree with you. Are you feeling well?"

It was a relief to Eilan to speak of something other than Lhiannon's illness, and it seemed to her that Dieda felt that way as well. By the time they returned to the Forest House, they were more in harmony than they had been in years.

But a day came when even Caillean could not deny it any longer. Ardanos said that the priestesses must be summoned for the deathwatch. He looked grieved and gray, and Eilan remembered that her kinswoman had once said there was love between them. She thought it must have been a long time ago, or a very strange kind of love.

Certainly it was not at all what she would call love, thought Eilan, and surely she was an expert. But Ardanos sat close to the unconscious woman and held her hand; the priestesses slipped in and out to keep watch by twos and threes, and Caillean fidgeted lest they disturb Lhiannon.

"Why does she trouble herself? I do not think anything will disturb the High Priestess any more," Eilan whispered to Dieda, and the other girl nodded, but without words.

It was near sunset, and Ardanos had stepped into the air for a few breaths. Like all sickrooms, this one was hot and close, and Eilan could not blame him for a moment for wishing to escape it. Though it was nearly Lughnasad the light still lingered late. Sunset made a glare in the room, but the angle of the sinking sun told Eilan it would soon be gone. She had crossed the room to light the lamp when she became aware that Lhiannon was awake and looking at her with recognition for the first time in many days.

"Where is Caillean?" she whispered.

"She has gone to make you more tea, Mother," Eilan replied, "Will you have me call her?"

"No time," the High Priestess coughed. "Come here - is it Dieda?"

"I'm Eilan, but Dieda is in the garden; do you want me to call her?"

There was a strange, raspy, rustling sound, and Eilan realized the sick woman was trying to laugh.

"Even now I cannot tell one from the other," Lhiannon whispered. "Do you not see the hand of the gods in this?"

Eilan wondered if Lhiannon had sunk into the delirium she had been warned might come before the end. The High Priestess said harshly, "Call Dieda; my time is short. I do not rave; I know very well what I am doing and I must finish before I die."

Eilan hurried to the door to summon Dieda. When they returned, the dying woman smiled as they stood side by side.

"It is true what they say," she whispered. "The dying see clearly.

Dieda, now you must bear witness. Eilan, daughter of Rheis, take the torque that lies beside me - take it!" she gasped for breath, and with trembling hands Eilan picked up the ring of twisted gold that lay on the pillow. "And the arm rings . . .Now put them on . . ."

"But only the High Priestess - Eilan began, but the old woman's eyes held hers with such terrible fixity that she found herself twisting the necklace to open it, and sliding it on. For a moment it seemed cold, then it settled about her own slim throat, warming as if grateful to be close to human flesh once more.

From Dieda came a small, strangled sound, but the rattle in Lhiannon's throat was louder.

Then the High Priestess rasped, "Be it so. Maiden and Mother, I see the Goddess in you now . . .Tell Caillean —" She was silent a moment as if struggling for breath, and Eilan wondered if the old woman was delirious, or if it were she. She reached up once more to touch the heavy gold.

"Caillean is yonder, Mother; shall I summon her?" Dieda asked.

"Go," whispered Lhiannon with more strength than she had before. "Tell her I love her . . ."

As Dieda hurried out, the gaze of the dying woman fixed on Eilan.

"I know now what Ardanos wanted when he bade me choose you, child, and instead the gods brought Dieda into my hand. He was wrong about you, and yet he did the Lady's will all the same!" Her lips twisted with what Eilan realized was laughter. "Remember — it is important! Perhaps even the Goddess Herself could not tell you two one from the other. Nor the Romans — I see now —" and she was silent again. Eilan looked down at her, unable to move.

She was silent so long that Caillean, returning, asked, "Does she sleep? If she can sleep, then perhaps she may live another moon —" and then, tiptoeing to Lhiannon's side, caught her breath on a gasp and whispered, "Ah, she will never sleep more -"

Caillean knelt beside the bed and kissed Lhiannon on the brow, and then, very tenderly, closed her eyes. With every moment that passed more expression was fading from the dead woman's face, so that she no longer looked asleep; she did not even look like Lhiannon any more. Eilan hugged her arms, and winced as she felt the hard metal of the arm-ring. She felt dizzy, and cold.

Then Caillean stood, and as her gaze focused on the ornaments Eilan was wearing her eyes widened. Then she smiled.

"Lady of Vernemeton, I salute you in the name of the Mother of all!"

Ardanos, coming into the room behind Dieda, bent over the dead

and then stood back again. "She is gone," he said in a strange, flat,

voice. He turned, and something flickered in his eyes as he, too,

saw the golden ornaments that Eilan wore.

The other priestesses were crowding around them, but it was old Lads the herb mistress who pushed forward and bowed, saying with a strange deference that terrified her, "I pray you, Voice of the Goddess, tell us everything the Holy Lady said with her last breath to you."

"Lhiannon, may the Goddess rest her, chose an uncommonly awkward season for her dying," Ardanos said sharply. "For we must have a priestess of the Oracle at the rites at Lughnasad, and obviously we cannot use Eilan!" He surveyed the two women before him grimly.

The three days of ritual mourning were past, and Lhiannon laid in her grave; Ardanos was surprised at how much it still hurt when he looked around this chamber where he had always met with her and remembered she was gone. He supposed he would continue to miss her for a long time, but he could not afford to show his grief now. Caillean sat frowning, but Eilan stared at him with wide, unreadable eyes. He glared back at her.

"You know as well as I do that it is superstition to believe that only a virgin can serve the shrine, but for Eilan to bear the power of the Goddess right now would be dangerous both for her and her child," agreed Caillean.

Sexual abstinence was necessary during performance of the great magics - a magic such as the complete surrender of body and spirit necessary for the Goddess to speak through a mortal.

For the power to flow freely, the spirit must be detached from the senses. Thus it was forbidden to do those things that would increase their attraction and clog the pathways, such as eating the flesh of some animals, drinking mead or other liquors, or lying with a man.

"Lhiannon should have thought of that when she chose her," the Arch-Druid replied. "It will not do, you know. It's bad enough that she is still here. But a pregnant High Priestess? Impossible!"

"I could take her place in the ritual —" Caillean began.

"And how would we explain that to the people? We could have justified a temporary substitution on the grounds that Lhiannon

was ill, but they know that she is dead. Transitions are always delicate. People are wondering if the new High Priestess will survive her ordeal, whether the Goddess will still come to them now that Lhiannon is gone."

He rubbed his forehead. None of them had had enough sleep for far too long. Caillean's eyes looked dark and haunted, and despite the bloom of pregnancy, Eilan seemed anxious and strained. And well she might be, it occurred to him then. Lhiannon had put them all in a quandary when she chose the girl.

"I tell you this - whatever madness came on Lhiannon at her ending, I will not allow it to destroy all that we have labored so hard to build!" He sighed. "There is no help for it. We shall have to choose again. There is a precedent; old Helve tried to pass her power to — what was her name? — that poor mad girl who died. And then the council chose Lhiannon."

"You would like that, wouldn't you!" Caillean began, but Eilan, who had been silent for so long the Arch-Druid had almost forgotten she was there, got to her feet suddenly.

"Not until after the ordeal!" she said loudly. Spots of color flamed in her cheeks as the other two stared at her. "They named a new High Priestess after the chosen one failed to carry the power of the Goddess in the ritual, didn't they? What kind of talk do you think there will be if I do not even attempt it? Everyone in Vernemeton knows that Lhiannon chose me."

"But the danger!" exclaimed Caillean.

"Do you think the Goddess will strike me dead? If what I did was such a sin, then She is welcome to do so!" Eilan exclaimed. "But if I survive, you will know that She has chosen me indeed!"

"And what do you propose that we should do with you if you live?" he said acidly. "Your condition will be showing soon, and the Romans will have a good laugh when they see our High Priestess wallowing around with a belly like a pregnant cow!"

"Lhiannon thought of a way," said Eilan. "It was the last thing she said to me. Once the ritual is over, Dieda must take my place and you must pretend that it is she who had to be sent away. You yourself cannot tell us apart, Grandfather, and you have known us both since we were babies!"

Ardanos eyed her narrowly, calculation spinning in his brain. The wretched child might indeed have solved their problem. If the ritual killed her, as was most likely, they would have every right to choose her successor, and if Eilan died in childbirth, Dieda would already be in place, ready to take over with no one the wiser. They would do well enough, he told himself, with either girl, for neither would ever think herself quite secure in her office. If the High Priestess needed the support of the priesthood, she would do what she was told.

"But will Dieda agree?" he asked.

"Leave her to me," Caillean replied.

Still wondering at the summons, Dieda faced Caillean in .the chamber that had for so long been Lhiannon's.

"Ardanos has agreed to let you substitute for Eilan after the ordeal of the Oracle. Dieda - you must help us now," said Caillean.

Dieda shook her head. "Why should I care what Ardanos wants when he has never cared about me? Eilan has brought her troubles on her own head. I will not consent to this deception, and you may tell my father so!"

"Fine words, indeed, but if you are always determined to do exactly the reverse of what Ardanos decrees, then his will still rules you. I suppose if I had told you he opposes this you would have agreed?" Caillean replied.

Dieda stared at the older priestess, her mind whirling.

"He doesn't at all like it, you know," Caillean added, watching her intently. "He would rather reject Eilan now and make you High Priestess in her place. I think he agreed to suggest the substitution only because he thought you would react in just this way . . ."

"High Priestess?" Dieda exclaimed. "I would never escape from this place then!"

"It would only be temporary, after all," Caillean reflected. "As soon as Eilan's babe is born she would return to take up her duties, and then, in any case, you would have to go away —"

"Would you let me go north to be with Cynric?" Dieda asked suspiciously.

"If that is what you desire. But we had thought of sending you to Eriu for advanced training in the skills of a bard . . ."

"You know perfectly well it is what I have always wanted most!" Dieda exclaimed. Caillean looked at her steadily. "Then it seems there is something I still can promise or deny you. If you do this for Eilan -and for me -I will see that you are allowed to learn from the greatest poets and harpers in Eriu. If you do not, Ardanos will surely make you Priestess, and I will make sure that you rot within these walls."

"You would not," Dieda said. But she felt a chill of fear.

"You shall see," Caillean responded calmly. "There is no alternative. It was Lhiannon's wish, and I will do her will as we all have always done."

Dieda sighed. She did not want to see anything evil happen to Eilan. She had loved her once, but after the past few years she found it hard to love anyone. It seemed to her that the other girl had been a great fool. She had had the kind of love Dieda had been denied and thrown it away. Nor could she see why Caillean should care. Still, she would not cross her. Caillean could be a good friend or a dangerous enemy — both to her and possibly to Cynric as well. Dieda had dwelt in the Forest House long enough to know just how much influence the Irishwoman wielded in her quiet way.

"So be it," she said. "I pledge to stand substitute for Eilan until she is delivered if afterward you will be responsible for giving me my desire."

"I will," Caillean lifted one hand. "And may the Goddess bear witness. And no one alive can say I have ever broken an oath."

Half a moon had passed since Lhiannon's passing, and they were come to the Feast of Lughnasad. Eilan waited with Caillean in the separate dwelling where the High Priestess had so often prepared for the rituals. Hearing sharpened by anxiety alerted her to the scuff of sandaled feet outside the door. Then it swung open, and she saw the hooded figure, seeming impossibly tall in the half-light, standing there. She could just make out the shapes of the other Druids behind him.

"Eilan, daughter of Rheis, the Voice of the Goddess has chosen you. Are you prepared to give yourself to Her completely?" Ardanos's voice tolled like a great bell, and Eilan felt her belly tighten with fear.

Now all the tales she had heard in the House of Maidens rose up to sweep her careful reasoning away. It hardly mattered whether the Goddess really cared about what she had done with Gaius, Eilan thought despairingly. To survive the ritual without damage would require a miracle. I meant only to challenge the Druids, but I have challenged Her, daring Her wrath this way. Surely the Goddess will strike me down! And what will this do to my child? Eilan wondered. But if the Goddess would punish an unborn baby for what the mother had done, She was not the loving Presence Eilan had sworn to serve.

Ardanos was waiting for her answer — they were all waiting, watching with hope or judgment in their eyes - and slowly she calmed. If the Lady does not want me as I am, I do not wish to live. She took a deep breath, righting her way back to the decision to which in the sleepless nights since Lhiannon's death she had come.

"I am ready." Her voice trembled only a little. At least her own father was in the North somewhere with Cynric. She was glad. She did not think she could have met his eyes.

"And do you declare yourself a fit vessel for Her power?"

Eilan swallowed. Was she? The night before she had doubted it, and wept on Caillean's shoulder like a terrified child.

"fit? Who is, if you put it like that?" Caillean had asked. "We are all only mortal; but it is you who have been chosen. Why else have you been preparing for so many years?"

The Arch-Druid was watching her like a hawk waiting for some betraying rustle in the grass, waiting for her to perjure herself so that she would be in his power. She realized dimly that he was enjoying this.

Lhiannon thought I was fit, she told herself then. Only by going through with this could she justify Lhiannon's dying choice, and the choice she herself had made when she gave herself to Gaius beneath the trees. It had seemed to her then that she was affirming a more ancient law of the Goddess than the one pledging her to chastity. To refuse this test was to admit that act of love had been a sin. She lifted her chin proudly. "I am a fit and holy vessel. Let the earth rise up and cover me, let the sky fall down and crush me, and let the gods by whom I swear forsake me if I lie!"

"The candidate has been questioned, and she has sworn —" Ardanos said to the Druids who attended him. He turned to the priestesses. "Let her now be purified and prepared for the ritual —"

For a moment he looked at her, and pity, exasperation, and satisfaction seemed to war in his gaze. Then he turned on his heel and led the men from the room.

"Eilan, you must not tremble so," Caillean said softly. "Don't let that old buzzard scare you, there is nothing to fear. The Goddess is merciful. She is our mother, Eilan, and the Mother of all women, the maker of all things mortal. Do not forget it."

Eilan nodded, knowing that even if this moment had come to her in the ordinary course of events she would still have been afraid. If she must die, it should be at the hands of the Goddess, there was no need to perish of fear beforehand.

The curtain stirred again and four of the youngest priestesses, among them Senara and Eilidh, came into the room carrying pails of water from the sacred spring. They stopped just inside the door, looking at her in awe. The hand of the Goddess has descended on me, she thought, and it seemed that she saw in their faces something of that same wonder with which she herself had always looked on Lhiannon. They were all young; not one of them, except Eilidh, even as old as she was herself . . .

She wanted to cry out, "Nothing has changed; I am still Eilan —" but in fact everything had changed. Yet when they stripped off her gown and she looked down, she was startled that her body still looked so little altered.

But these were virgins. So it was not surprising that they should not see the slight changes her pregnancy had made. As Eilan had done so often for Lhiannon, the girls helped her to bathe. She stood shivering in the chilly room, feeling the icy touch of the clear water on her body as, curiously, a purification; as if somehow it were dissolving away not only the last traces of her contact with Gaius, but the whole of her previous life.

It was an entirely new Eilan who allowed them to robe her in the ritual garments. About her forehead they bound the traditional garland. As she felt the vines tighten around her forehead, she had a moment of dizziness, and wondered if this was the first, faraway touch of the Goddess.

She felt strange and light-headed, altogether unlike herself; vaguely she recognized hunger. The sacred herbs in the potion' given her at the commencement of the ritual must be taken on an empty stomach, lest they make her very ill. Caillean had once said that she believed that Lhiannon's ill health was partly caused by her protracted use of these herbs. Briefly Eilan wondered if before long her own health would be endangered as well. Then she smiled, thinking it would be time enough to worry about her future if she survived this evening.

They brought her the chased golden bowl with the magical potion of Vision. She knew that it contained berries of mistletoe and other sacred herbs; she had more than once seen Miellyn gathering those herbs. The sacred potion also contained various mushrooms; the common people avoided them, as much for their sacred character as for belief that they were poisonous, and certainly they were useless as food. The priestesses knew, however, that taken in small quantities they could amplify the ordinary clairvoyance in which she had been trained.

Trembling, Eilan did as she had often enough seen Lhiannon do, and took it from Eilidh's hands. Caillean had been right, she thought as she raised the bowl to her lips. She had assisted in this ritual so often that she did know what to do.

And from her ceremonial sips she had thought she knew what to expect from the potion as well. But as she tipped it upward, she realized that the priestess was required to drain it at a single draft because otherwise no one would ever have been able to get it down. It was intensely bitter, and when she had swallowed it, she began to wonder if it was poison after all. That would have been a good way for Ardanos to get rid of her. But Caillean had assured her that she would prepare the herbs herself and let no one else have access to them, and she had to trust her.

Her head swam and for a moment her stomach revolted. Perhaps her punishment was beginning now. But after a short, sharp struggle she controlled herself, swallowed a few sips of water to clear her mouth of the taste and closed her eyes, waiting.

Presently, the acute feeling of sickness passed. Eilan closed her eyes against the wave of dizziness, and sat down, waiting to recover her balance. Vaguely she remembered that this, too, had been part of the procedure with Lhiannon. At the time, Eilan had thought it the weakness of age. But Lhiannon had really not been so old. Would she, too, age before her time? Well, she could only hope she would have a chance to grow old!

There was a little stir in the room, and the young girls drew away. Eilan realized that Ardanos was standing before her. She lifted heavy eyelids to look at him, and he met her gaze with an unsmiling stare.

"Eilan, I see they have prepared you. You look very beautiful, my dear. The people will be sure the Goddess has come to them . . ." The kindly words sounded strange from his lips.

Will they? she wondered muzzily. And what do you think, old man, if you believe in the Goddess at all? By your rules, these garlands should be withering on my brow! But it no longer mattered; she felt as if she were floating above all this, with every moment she drifted further away.

"The drink is taking her swiftly," he muttered, and gestured to the maidens to stand away. "Listen, my child - I know you can still hear me . . ." His voice slipped into the melodic intonation of ritual as he went on.

Eilan knew that he was saying something of great importance, something that she must remember . . .what, she was not certain. Time passed, and he was no longer there. Did any of it matter, she wondered then? She felt as if she were floating above a green darkness. The very tops of the trees were far below. She was being carried in something - a litter — then they set her down and helped her to stand. She could feel Caillean beside her and someone else, she thought it was Latis, on her other side. They took her hands and drew her into the procession towards the torches that ringed the sacred mound.

Eilan was aware enough to hang back for a moment when she saw the three-legged stool. There had been some reason why she should not sit there; some sin upon her soul. But her attendants drew her forward, and she thought that if she could not remember it, perhaps it made no difference.

They had sacrificed the sacred bull already and shared its meat among the people. The priests had played out the ritual in which the young god wrested the harvest from the old. Now it was time to seek omens for the autumntide. In the east the harvest moon was rising, golden as the ornaments that her priestess wore.

Look down on me, Lady, Eilan fought to form the prayer. Ward me well!

One of the attendant priestesses had placed in her hand the little curved golden dagger of ritual. She raised the dagger, and with one swift movement plunged it into her fingertip. She felt a sharp pain, and one heavy drop of blood gleamed on the surface; she held it over the golden bowl, letting three drops of blood fall. The bowl was filled to the brim with water from the Sacred Well, and floating on the surface were leaves of the sacred plant, the mistletoe. Planted by no human hand, and growing between air and earth, it partook of the very nature of the lightning which had engendered it.

Now they were turning her; she felt the hard wood against the backs of her knees and sat down. There was a moment of dizziness as the priests lifted her and carried her to the mound. The attendant priestesses had drawn back.

As the priests began to sing Eilan felt as if she were falling, or perhaps rising, borne away by the song in some direction that had no relation to ordinary reality. She wondered why she had been afraid. In this place she floated; needing and wanting nothing, content simply to be . . .

A blaze of torches assaulted her eyes; below her all the assembled crowd seemed to blur into a single face. Their eyes upon her were like a weight, a positive physical pressure drawing her back to a place that was in, and yet not of, the world.

"Children of Don, why have you come here?" Ardanos's voice seemed very far away.

"We seek the blessing of the Goddess," a male voice replied.

"Then call Her!"

Eilan's nostrils flared as smoke swirled around her, heavy with the scent of sacred herbs. Involuntarily she breathed in and her breath caught; the world whirled and she fought for balance; she heard a voice whimpering and did not know it was her own. From below rose the sound of many other voices, calling, calling:

Dark Huntress . . .Bright Mother . . .Lady of Flowers, hear us . . .Come to us, Lady of the Silver Wheel. . .

I am Eilan . . .Eilan . . .She clung to her own identity, crying out as the need in those voices assaulted her until she felt their pressure as a physical pain. At the same time, another pressure was building up behind her, or perhaps within her, demanding that she let it in. Spasms shook her body as she fought; she felt terror as the Self that she knew was constricted between them; she could not breathe. Help me! her spirit cried.

She slumped forward, seeing the glimmer of water before her, and a voice that seemed to come from within her said then:

"Daughter, I am always here. To see Me, you have only to gaze into the Sacred Pool."

"Look into the water, Lady —" a voice that was very near commanded. "Look into the bowl, and see!"

An image was forming in the troubled surface of the water, but as it cleared Eilan saw that the face reflected there was not her own. She jerked back in panic, and heard the voice once more.

"My daughter, rest now. Your spirit will be safe with Me . . ."

With the words came a tide of love that Eilan remembered, and with the same trust with which she had given herself to Gaius she sighed and slid away into the warm comfort of the Lady's arms.

As if from a great distance, she was aware that her body was straightening, she was putting back her veil, lifting her hands to the moon.

"Behold, the Lady of Life has come to us!" in a great voice Caillean cried. "Let us welcome her!"

And the sound of many voices rose like a tide and carried her to a place where she could watch the body she had left behind move and speak with wonder, but with no fear.

As the cheering subsided, the High Priestess sank back on to the seat once more; the identity that filled her waiting in a timeless patience for the response of humankind.

"There are the questions the people bring to you," the Arch-Druid said, and because he spoke to her in the old speech of the Wise Ones, it was in that language that the Goddess answered him.

After each question the priest turned to the people and said something in the common language. From that far-off realm from which Eilan was listening it seemed to her odd that his statements, if they were translations, had so little to do with what the Goddess replied. That did not seem right, but perhaps she had not heard him clearly, and in this place in which she had found refuge it was hard to care.

The questioning went on, but as time passed, she found her perceptions becoming more and more disjointed. It seemed to her that Ardanos frowned then and leaned close to her.

"Lady, we thank you for your words. It is time to leave this body through which you have spoken. Hail now, and farewell!" He plucked the sprig of mistletoe from the golden bowl and shook droplets of water over her.

For a moment Eilan was blinded, then her body convulsed. Pain stabbed through her and she fell into darkness on a shimmer of silver bells.

When awareness began to return Eilan realized that the priestesses were singing. She knew the song; it seemed to her that once she had sung it but, aching and dizzied as she was, she could not sing now. They had removed the constricting garlands from her head, and someone was bathing her brow and hands. Someone gave her water to drink and a voice murmured in her ear. Caillean .. . She felt herself lifted and settled into the carrying chair.

"Hail unto Thee," the women sang.

"Jewel of the night!" the Druids replied.

"Beauty of the heavens . . .Mother of the stars . . .Fosterling of the Sun . . ." The priestesses held up their white arms to the silver moon.

"Majesty of the stars . . ." they sang, and with each chorus, Jewel of the night!" the deep voices of the men replied.

A long time later, it seemed, Eilan found herself back in her own bed in the House of the High Priestess. The light of the torches was no longer assaulting her eyes, and the effects of the sacred drink must be wearing off at last, for she found that she could think clearly once more. For some reason a fragment of an ancient ballad was floating in her mind.

"After they stripped her ornaments away, and burned her sacred flowers . . ." She could not remember where it had come from, but she knew that her garlands had been thrown on the fire; the sweet scent of their burning had filled the air. Now other things came back to her - the singing of the priestesses, the silver moon.

But though she knew there had been questions, Eilan found she could not remember a word of her replies. Whatever they had been, the populace had seemed to find them satisfactory.

And the Goddess, she thought then. She did not strike me dead after all! At least not yet, though she might yet come to wish She had done so. Eilan's stomach was still unsettled; she felt as if she had been beaten with sticks and would no doubt feel even worse tomorrow. But it was her belly, not her womb, that was aching. She had faced her ordeal and survived.

"Good night, Lady," said Eilidh from the doorway. "May you rest well."

Lady . . .thought Eilan. It was true, then. She was Lady of Vernemeton now.

A few days later Caillean summoned Dieda to the High Priestess's rooms. Eilan sat by the fire, looking pale and strained.

"The time has come for you to keep your word. Eilan is well enough to travel now, and we are sending her into hiding to bear her child."

"This is ridiculous. Do you really think no one will notice the change?" Dieda said bitterly.

"Since she became High Priestess, she has been veiled so much of the time that few of the women in the house will know the difference, and no doubt they will put it down to the effects of the ritual."

Cynric would know, Dieda thought with longing, wishing he would appear and carry her away. But it had been over a year since she had heard from him. Even if he knew, would he have come?

"Your father is grateful to you," said Caillean.

Dieda grimaced, And well he should be. If I had insisted on leaving here to marry Cynric, what would have become of this fine charade?

"Dieda." For the first time Eilan spoke on her own behalf. "We have been like sisters. For the sake of the blood we share, and because you, too, know what it is to love, please help me!"

"At least I had better sense than to give myself to a man who would abandon me!" Dieda said tartly. "Caillean has vowed to send me to Eriu. Sister, what will you promise me?"

"If I remain High Priestess I will try to help you and Cynric. If I fail in this, you have the knowledge to destroy me. Will that be enough for you?"

"That is true." Dieda found herself smiling strangely. And when she had finished learning from the Druids of Eriu, she would be able to raise blisters on a man's skin with a word, or charm any bird or beast with her song; she would have skills of which these pious fools did not dream. She realized suddenly that it was only the constraints of the priestesses that irked her. She could learn to enjoy wielding power.

"Very well, I will help you," she said, and held out her hand for the veil.

Eighteen

Despite the tales the Romans of Londinium told about the North, traveling through northern Britain at the end of summer was no hardship for a young and healthy man. It did not rain every day, and the air was sweet with the smell of curing hay. As Gaius traveled up the eastern side of Britain through country that grew ever wilder, he observed the woods and hills with a professional interest, for on his previous campaign they had marched up the western coast through Lenacum, and the eastern was new to him. With Capellus, his father's orderly, once more at his side, the details of making camp and tending the horses were handled efficiently. And his own British tongue was enough to win them a welcome when they had to seek shelter at a native holding.

As Gaius moved further north, more of the talk was of the Governor Agricola's campaigns. From a newly retired veteran who managed one of the posting stations he learned that in the previous year the appearance of a Roman fleet off the Caledonian coast had struck the natives with such panic that they had attacked in desperation, and succeeded in savaging the already weakened Ninth Legion before Agricola sent his cavalry around to attack their rear.

"It was bad, my boy, very bad," admitted the station-keeper, "with them demons howling like wolves in the middle of our camp and men falling over tent lines as they tried to get to their arms. But somehow we held them, and I won't forget the moment when suddenly we could see the glitter of our standards and knew that day was coming at last." He took another long drink of the thin wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Then, I'll tell you, we found our courage, and when the Twentieth finally came up to help us we were ready to tell them they were too late for the party and should go home! But the General kept the men to their work. If those painted devils hadn't

scuttled back to their pestilent woods and marshes, we'd have mopped them up entirely. But I suppose we had to leave something for you young glory-hounds to do!" He laughed and offered Gaius more wine.

Gaius suppressed a smile. He had learned something of the battle from men who had been sent home to Deva, but it was interesting to hear the story from someone who had actually been inside the camp when the Caledonians attacked it.

"Ah, the General is a great man! After last summer, even those who hung back and whined about the danger are singing his praises. He'll find work for you, no doubt about it, and you'll start your career with some honors behind you! I wish I was coming with you, lad, so I do!"

Licinius had said nothing about the possibility of actually serving with the Governor, but Gaius wondered suddenly if the messages he carried were at least partially intended to bring him to Agricola's attention. As a provincial governor, Agricola was unusual in that he had got on quite well with his procurators. A word from Licinius might indeed be useful.

In the previous campaign Gaius had been no more than one of a gaggle of young officers, all eager for glory and depending heavily on their centurions. He had been impressed by what he had seen of their commander, but there was no reason for the General to remember him. Ambition stirred within at the thought of winning his commander's esteem.

Presently Gaius left the hunting runs of the Brigantes behind him and moved into even wilder country where the folk spoke a dialect he did not know. Rome might conquer these lands, he thought, as he rode over barren heaths and through shadowed forests, but he wondered if she could ever rule them. Only the need to prevent the wild Caledonians and their Hibernian allies from tearing at the richer fields of the South - as they had destroyed the house of Bendeigid - could begin to justify a Roman presence here.

The long northern twilight was deepening the sky to violet when Gaius rode into Pinnata Castra, the fortress the Twentieth Legion was building above the firth of the Tava where the fleet had made so impressive a showing the summer before. Stone walls were already rising behind the stout palisade, and the leather tents of a marching camp had been replaced by barracks and stabling of timber that looked as if they could stand up even to a winter in these wilds. The place seemed all the larger because it appeared to be almost empty.

"Where is everyone?" he asked as he rode under the legionary wild boar emblazoned on the gate and presented his orders to the officer on duty.

"Up there." The man waved vaguely towards the North. "The word is that the tribes have united at last under a Votadini chieftain called Calgacus. The Old Alan's been chasing 'em all summer, laying down marching camps behind him like stepping stones. You'll have another week's riding to catch him, but tonight at least you can sleep under a roof and put a hot meal inside you. No doubt the Prefect will give you an escort in the morning; it would be a shame to get picked off by an ambush after you've come so far!"

By this time Gaius was less interested in a meal than in soaking himself in the legionary bathhouse, but he was glad enough for the dinner once he was clean again, and his host, who was clearly lonely and a little nervous, left here with his small command, seemed glad to welcome him to his quarters and have someone new to talk to.

"Did you hear about the Usipii mutiny?" asked the Prefect as the remains of the sauced grouse on which they had been dining were cleared away.

Gaius set down his wine cup - it had been a rather nice Falernian - and looked expectant.

"A bunch of raw Germans, you know, fresh from their dismal marshes, sent up to Lenacum as levies. They mutinied and stole three ships - ended up sailing all the way from west to east around the coast of Britannia."

Gaius stared. "Then Britannia is an island . . ." That question had been a topic of dinner-table debate for as long as he could remember.

"It would seem so," the man nodded. "Eventually the Suevi caught the survivors and sold them as slaves back to the Roman side of the Rhenus, and so we learned the story!"

"Remarkable!" said Gaius. The wine had done its work, and he was beginning to feel nicely toasted. It would make a good story to tell Julia when he got back to Londinium. He was a little surprised to realize that he was thinking of it as something to share with her - but it was a tale whose ironies could only be appreciated by someone from his own world. Eilan would not have understood at all. He realized that he was really two people - the Roman who was betrothed to Julia, and the Briton who loved Eilan.

The next day it began to drizzle. Gaius snuffled and coughed as they moved forward through the sodden landscape, thinking that it was no wonder they said the tribesmen could dissolve into the heather at will. It seemed to him that the hills were dissolving into the sky, and the woods into the soil, and he and his horse into the mud through which they toiled.

At least, he thought dismally, he was riding. He pitied the legionaries who had to slog along this road weighted by all their weapons and gear. Sometimes they saw sheep on a hillside, or the little black cattle the natives herded, but except for an arrow that flashed by Gaius's head from the trees as they were fording one of the streams, there was no sign of hostile forces anywhere.

"Good news for us, but maybe bad for the army," the decurion who led his escort said somberly. "If the warriors aren't guarding their own hunting runs, it can only mean they really have united at last. No one can deny they're good enough fighters when their blood is up. If the tribes had been able to join forces when Caesar came, the Empire would still end on the coasts of Gaul."

Gaius nodded and pulled his brick-colored cloak more tightly around him, wondering what fate had inspired Licinius to send his messages at just the moment when perhaps the most formidable confederation of British tribes ever to assemble was about to attack the army that Agricola had led north . . .

"You have news from Martius Julius Licinius? Tell me, is he well?" The man who emerged from the large leather tent was only of middle height, and without his armor almost slender, but despite the raindrops glittering in his graying hair and the shadows around his eyes, he projected an aura of authority that would have identified him even without the cloak, of scarlet so deep it was almost purple, that he wore.

"Gaius Macellius Severus Siluricus reporting, sir!" He drew himself up and saluted, ignoring the water that dripped from the brim of his helmet. "The Procurator is well, and sends you his dearest greetings. As you may read in his letters, sir —"

"Indeed." Agricola held out his hand for the packet and smiled. "And best read under cover before they dissolve from damp. You must be wet as well, after your ride. Tacitus here will take you over to the officers' campfire and see to your billeting." He indicated a tall, saturnine young man whom Gaius later learned was his son-in-law. "Now that you are here, you had best wait for the conclusion of the fighting so that I can send a report home with you again."

Gaius blinked as the Governor withdrew into his tent. He had forgotten the man's charm, or perhaps it had never been directed at him personally when he was just one junior officer among many. Then Tacitus took his arm, and, wincing a little as his stiffening thigh muscles protested, Gaius followed him.

It was very good to sit around a campfire with his brother officers once more, eating hot lentil stew and hard bread and drinking sour wine. Only now did Gaius realize how much he had missed that camaraderie. Once the other tribunes had been reminded of his previous campaign experience and realized he was not just a parade-ground soldier they accepted him, and as the wine jug went round, even the rain that was still beading on his cloak did not seem so cold. The tension he sensed around him was only to be expected, and morale seemed high. The loricas of the men on duty were scoured and shining despite the weather, and new paint gleamed on battered shields. The young staff officers with whom he was sitting seemed serious, but not afraid.

"Do you think the General will be able to bring Calgacus to battle?" he asked.

One of the other men laughed. "More likely to be the other way round. Can't you hear 'em?" He gestured into the windy darkness. "They're up there all right, howling and painting themselves blue! The scouts say there's thirty thousand men up on Graupius -warriors of the Votadini and Selgovae, Novantae and Dobunni and all the other little clans we've been chasing these past four years, and Caledonians from northern tribes whose names even they don't know. Calgacus will give us a battle, no doubt of it; he has to, before they all start remembering old feuds and begin to fight each other instead!"

"And how many," Gaius asked carefully, "have we?"

"From the Legions, fifteen thousand: the Twentieth Valeria Victrix, Second Adiutrix, and what's left of the Ninth," said one of the tribunes, who by his insignia, was attached to the Second.

Gaius looked at him with interest. The tribune had joined the Legion since Gaius had been in Londinium, but there must be others here from his father's Legion whom he would know.

"And eight thousand auxiliary infantry, mostly Batavians and Tungri, some Brigantian irregulars and four wings of cavalry." This was from a troop commander, who shortly thereafter took his leave to return to his men.

"Well, that's not so unequal, is it?" Gaius said brightly, and someone laughed.

"It would be no problem at all, except that they hold the higher ground."

On the upper slopes of the peak the Romans called Mons Graupius, the wind was colder. The Britons gave the mountain other names - the Old Woman, ancient and enduring, Deathbringer and Winter Hag. As the night wore on, it was in her latter aspect that Cynric was meeting her. Here, the gusts of rain that fell in the valleys were coming down in bursts of sleet that stung his cheeks and fell hissing into the fires.

The Caledonians did not appear to mind. They sat around their campfires, draining skins of heather ale and boasting of tomorrow's victory. Cynric pulled his checked cloak over his head, hoping that it would hide his shivering.

"The hunter who boasts too loudly at dawning may find himself with an empty cookpot when night falls," said a quiet voice at his elbow.

Cynric turned and recognized Bendeigid, his pale robes a ghostly blur in the darkness.

"Our warriors have always chanted thus before battle - it raises their spirits!"

He turned and gazed at the men around the fire. This lot were Novantae of the White Horse Clan, from the south-east coast of Caledonia, where the Salmaes firth ran in towards Luguvalium. But at the fire beyond them Selgovae men were drinking, their hereditary enemies. The volume rose and he saw the figure of their commander lit suddenly as someone threw a new log on the fire. The chieftain threw back his head, laughing, and the light flamed anew in his pale eyes and his red hair.

"We're on our own ground, lads, and the land itself will fight for us! The Red-cloaks are driven by greed, which is a cold counselor, but we burn with the fire of freedom! How can we fail?"

The Novantae, hearing his words, left their own fire to gather around him, and in moments the two groups had become a single mass of cheering men.

"He's right," said Cynric. "If Calgacus has been able to persuade this lot to stand together, how can we fail?"

Bendeigid remained silent and, despite his bold words, Cynric felt the serpent of anxiety that had been gnawing at him since night fell begin to stir once more.

"What is it?" he asked. "Have you had an omen?"

Bendeigid shook his head. "No omens - I think the odds for this fight are so evenly balanced that even the gods will not wager on its outcome. We have the advantage, true, but Agricola is a formidable opponent. If Calgacus, great leader though he is, underestimates him, it could be fatal."

Cynric let out his breath in a long sigh. He had fought so hard to prove himself to these tribesmen, who had begun by mocking him as the son of a defeated people even when they did not know his blood was tainted by that of Rome, defiance had become second nature. But with his foster father he need not pretend.

"I hear the singing, but I cannot join in it; I drink, but my belly remains cold. Father, will my courage fail me tomorrow when we face the Roman steel?" At times like this, he could not help wondering if he should have run off with Dieda when he had the chance.

Bendeigid turned him so the Druid could look into Cynric's eyes. "You will not fail," he said fiercely. "These men are still fighting for glory. They do not understand their enemy as you do. But in battle your despair will only make you more terrible. Remember that you are a Raven, Cynric, and what you will seek down there tomorrow is not honor, but revenge!"

That night Gaius lay listening to other men's breathing and wondering why sleep came so hard. This was a drier bed than any he had slept in for some time, and he had been in battles before. But his other fights, he reflected, had been unexpected skirmishes that were over almost as soon as they had begun.

He sought for some distraction, and suddenly found himself remembering Eilan. During the journey north it had been Julia he thought of, imagining her amusement at some bit of odd gossip or army tale. But he could never admit to Julia the things that in this moment of darkness were haunting him -

Surrounded by all these men I feel alone . . . I want to lay my head on your breast and feel your arms around me . . . I am alone, Eilan, and I am afraid!

Finally he passed at last into an uneasy slumber, and in his dreaming it seemed to him that he and Eilan were together in a hut

in the midst of the forest. He kissed her, and realized that her body was rounding with his child. She smiled at him and pulled her gown tight over her belly so that he could see; he laid his hand upon the hard curve and felt the child move within and thought that she had never been so beautiful. She opened her arms to him and drew him down beside her, murmuring words of love.

Gaius fell into a deeper sleep then. When he woke, men were stirring around him, pulling on their tunics and fumbling to lace their armor in the dim gray hour before the dawn.

"Why isn't he putting the Legions in the battle line?" Gaius asked Tacitus in an undertone.

They sat their horses with the rest of the General's personal staff on a little hill, watching the light infantry spread out in a long line below the mountain with the cavalry to either side. The pale light gleamed on the smooth tops of their bronze helmets and their spear points, and glinted on their mail. Rough pasture rose towards the lower slopes beyond them, where the dry grass gave way to broad swathes of garnet-brown bracken and the paler purple of heather. But much of the topography of Graupius could only be guessed at, for the lower part of the mountain was hidden by armed men.

"Because they're under strength," the answer came. "The Emperor siphoned off men from all four Legions, remember, for his German campaign. As a result, three thousand of our crack troops are kicking their heels in Germania while the Chatti and the Sugambri laugh at them, and Agricola will have to use every trick he knows to compensate. He's got the Legions formed up in front of the entrenchments where they can support us if we fall back, but he hopes it won't come to that."

"But it was the Emperor who ordered the Governor to secure northern Caledonia, wasn't it?" Gaius asked. "Domitian is a soldier. Wouldn't he know -?"

Tacitus smiled and Gaius felt suddenly like a child.

"Some would say," he answered softly, "that he knows all too well. Titus gave our Governor a hero's honors for his successes in Britannia, and when this campaign is over Agricola's term as Governor will be done. Perhaps the Emperor feels there is not room tor two victorious generals in Rome."

Gaius looked towards their Commander, who was watching the deployment of his troops with grave attention. His armor, of dagged scale over mail, glittered in the growing light, and the horse-hair crest of his helmet stirred slightly in the breeze. Beneath the mail, tunic and breeches were snowy white, but in the early morning light his crimson cloak glowed balefully.

Years later, on a visit to Rome, Gaius read the passage from the biography of Agricola in which Tacitus described that day. He had to smile at the speeches, which had been elaborated for literary effect in the best rhetorical tradition, for while they had both heard the General's words, the wind brought them only fragments of the harangue of Calgacus, which Gaius no doubt understood much better than Tacitus.

Calgacus had begun first; at least they could see a tall man with hair the color of a fox-pelt striding back and forth before the most richly dressed of the enemy, and assumed it must be he. Echoing from the slopes behind him, phrases drifted across the open ground.

". . . they have eaten the land, and behind us remains only the sea!" Calgacus gestured northward. ". . .let us destroy these monsters who would sell our children into slavery!" The Caledonians began to roar approval, and the next words were lost. When Gaius could hear again, the enemy leader seemed to be talking about the Iceni rebellion.

". . .ran in terror when Boudicca, a woman, raised the Trinobantes against them . . . do not even risk their own people against us! Let the Gauls and our brothers the Brigantes remember how the Romans have betrayed them, and let the Batavians desert them as the Usipii have done!" There was a little stir in the ranks of the auxiliaries from those who understood this as Calgacus continued his appeal to the Caledonians to fight for their liberty, but a word from their commanders calmed them.

The tribesmen were crowding forward, singing and shaking their spears, and Gaius trembled, hearing in that wild music a call that awakened memories almost too old for him to have words for them, of songs that he had heard among the Silures when he was a babe in arms. And the hidden side of his soul, the mother's side, wept in answer, for Gaius had seen the Mendip mines, and the lines of British slaves being marched on to ships for sale in Rome, and he knew that what Calgacus said was true.

The Romans, understanding the tone if not the words, were stirring angrily. It was in that moment, when it seemed that their discipline, if not their loyalty might break, that Agricola raised his hand and reined his white horse around to face them, and hi? officers drew close to hear what he would say.

The General seemed to speak quietly, like a kindly father reassuring an excited child, but his words carried. He spoke of the distance they had covered, their courage in going beyond the boundaries of the Roman world, and gently pointed out the dangers of trying to retreat through such a hostile country.

". . . a retiring general or army is never safe . . .death with honor is preferable to life with ignominy . . .Even to fall in this extremest verge of earth and of nature cannot be thought an inglorious fate."

As for the Caledonians, whom Calgacus had called the last free men in Britain, in Agricola's version they became fugitives, ". . . the remaining number consists solely of the cowardly and spiritless; whom you see at length within your reach, not because they have stood their ground, but because they are overtaken." For a moment, listening to that calm and kindly voice destroy the Caledonian vision of glory, Gaius almost hated him. But he could not deny the General's conclusion, which was that a Roman victory today could bring an end to a struggle that had gone on for fifty years.

It seemed to Gaius that in this man he saw the essence of what Macellius meant by a Roman. Despite the fact that Agricola's family was of Gaulish extraction and had risen through successful public service first to the middle rank of equestrian and then to senator, he made Gaius think of the old heroes of republican Rome.

Licinius's clerks held their master in affection, but in the way Agricola's officers watched him Gaius sensed something else, an intensity of devotion that kept them steady even when the savages on the mountain began to raise their courage to battle heat by war cries and beating on their shields. Apparently this attitude extended to the men under Agricola's command, and Gaius, observing that stern profile and hearing the General speak as calmly as if he had been conversing in his tent with a few friends, thought suddenly, This is the kind of devotion that makes Emperors. Perhaps Domitian was right to be afraid.

The Caledonians were ranged upon the rising ground, their ranks rising in tier upon tier above the plain. Now their chariots came rushing down the slope with the horsemen ranging about them, agile ponies careering at full tilt with their drivers swaying on the wickerwork platforms while the spearmen they carried shook their weapons and laughed.

To Gaius they were an image of beauty and terror. He understood that he was seeing the warrior soul of Britannia as Caesar and

Frontinus had seen it, sensing that after this it would never be seen in all its glory again. The chariots hurtled forward, turning at the last moment as their javelins thudded into the Roman shields, and the warriors ran out along the poles between the horses, throwing their swords glittering into the air and catching them again. They had come to this battle as if to a festival, and the sun glinted from torques and armrings. Some had mail and helmets, but most fought in brightly checked tunics or half naked, their fair skin painted with spiraling designs in blue. Gaius could hear their boasting above the rattle of the chariot wheels, and felt not terror but a terrible sorrow.

One of the tribunes protested loudly as Agricola dismounted and a man came up to lead his horse away, but the faces of the others set grimly at this evidence that whatever happened to his army, Agricola would not flee. They would give their lives to protect him, thought Gaius, and so, he realized suddenly, would I. Some of the General's personal staff were dismounting as quiet orders set others cantering down the lines. Gaius reined back, uncertain what to do.

"You." The General gestured him closer. "Get down to the Tungri and tell them to spread out further. Tell them that I know it weakens the center, but I don't want the enemy outflanking us."

As he kicked his pony into a gallop, Gaius heard the thunk of javelins slamming into shields behind him and realized that the British chariots had pulled away and their first line of infantry were moving in. He bent over the animal's neck and urged it to better speed. The space between two armies that were closing for the first, devastating exchange of missiles was no place to be. He saw the gleam of the Tungrian standard before him and the line parted to let him through; then he was gabbling his message, moving behind the men as they began to press sideways, and watching from the corner of his eye as the enemy attack expanded outward.

The British warriors were good, he thought as he saw them deflecting Roman spears with their round shields. Their greatswords were longer even than the Roman spatha, slashing weapons blunt at the tips but wickedly sharpened along the side. The Roman trumpets blared and Agricola's center bulged forward, closing with the enemy.

Gaius knew he could do no more good here with the infantry, but the General had given him no further orders; with sudden decision he kneed his mount further down the line to join the cavalry there. Over the heads of the auxiliaries he saw the battle

lines breaking up into a close, confused struggle in which the Caledonians had no room to swing their longer swords. This was the Batavians' favorite kind of fighting; they pressed forward, stabbing with their gladii and smashing enemy faces with the bosses of their shields. There was a shout from the Romans as the first line of foes gave way, and Agricola's center began to advance up the lower slopes of the mountain after them.

More slowly, the infantry to either side tried to follow them, but now the British chariots, seeing their lines thin and sensing a weakness, plunged towards them, bouncing on the rough ground. In another moment they were in among the infantry like wolves in a sheepfold, savaging the footsoldiers with sword and spear. Someone screamed at the men to close ranks; men and horses and chariots swirled in confusion; Gaius saw a blue-painted warrior loom up before him and thrust with his spear.

In the moments that followed, things happened too fast for thinking. Gaius stabbed and parried as weapons flared around him. A chariot plunged towards him and his pony whirled, throwing him hard against the back horns of his saddle. He felt the spear wrenched out of his hand and ducked as a javelin sped towards him. The missile clanged on his helmet, caught for a moment in the crest and fell away. Gaius blinked dizzily, understanding now why only officers wore crests on their helms in battle, but the pony, wiser than its master, was already carrying him out of danger.

For a moment he was clear; Gaius tugged his spatha from its sheath and straightened. He could see now that the chariots, having failed to break through the Roman lines, were becoming entangled within them. A chariot lurched towards him on the uneven ground; wood crunched as a wheel hit a boulder and it slewed round. He saw the driver hacking at the traces. Whinnying wildly, the horses sprang free, joining the others that careered in panic through the battle, knocking down friend and foe.

Battle was fairly joined now; the slopes of Graupius seethed with knots of struggling men, clumping and unraveling and knotting again in a constantly shifting tapestry. But it appeared to Gaius that little by little, the Romans were gaining ground.

Then a spear seemed to thrust up from the ground before him with a snarling face behind it; his pony reared as he whacked the shaft aside with his sword and slashed downward. Red covered the blue designs as the blade bit, then the horse leaped forward and the face was gone, and Gaius was slashing and guarding with no time for thinking at all.

When he next had a moment to focus, they were well up the mountain. From the left he heard shouting; the Caledonians who had been watching the battle from the summit were now descending, leaping down the slope with appalling swiftness to take the Romans from the rear. Could Agricola see it? Gaius heard once more the bray of the Roman trumpets, and grinned as the four wings of cavalry the General had been reserving swung into action at last. They outflanked the Britons and hammered them against the anvil of the infantry; then the true slaughter began.

Calgacus's force had lost all cohesion. Some men were still fighting, others tried to flee, but the Romans were everywhere, killing or making prisoners only to slay them in turn as yet more enemy warriors came their way. Gaius saw a gleam of white near by and spotted Agricola in the middle of the battle with only two tribunes and a couple of legionaries to guard him. He turned his mount that way.

As he neared them, one of the tribunes shouted. Three Britons, their finery soaked in blood and armed only with knives and stones, were charging. Gaius kicked the pony hard. He swung and his blade tore a crimson gash through the chest of the first man. Then his horse stumbled on something soft; Gaius felt himself falling, released his shield and wrenched himself free as the animal went down. He saw a knife flash and felt pain sear his thigh; the horse tried to struggle to its feet and the knife flared again, sinking into its neck; the animal jerked and went back down.

Gaius got up on one elbow, sank his own dagger into the Briton's chest and then used it to cut the throat of the dying horse. Then, grimacing as his thigh began to throb, he started to get up, searching around for his shield and sword.

"You all right, lad?" Agricola was looking down at him.

"Yes, sir!" he started to salute, realized that the dagger was still in his hand, and sheathed it again.

"Fall in, then," said the General, "we still have work to do."

"Yes —" Gaius began, but Agricola was already turning away to give someone else an order. One of the tribunes helped him to his feet, and he tried to catch his breath.

Blood had dyed the bracken at his feet a deeper crimson. The field seemed a mass of broken men and weapons, and those enemies left alive were scattering, pursued by the cavalry. The Romans on foot followed more slowly as the Caledonians fled towards the forest on the other side of the mountain. Agricola ordered some of the men to dismount and beat through the wood while the others circled round behind it.

It was at the edge of the wood as dusk was falling that Gaius whirled to face a man who sprang out at them. He swung instinctively, but he was tired and the blade turned in his hand, taking the warrior on the side of the head and bearing him to the ground. He drew his dagger and bent over the man to finish him, and swore as a bloody hand seized his arm. He lost his balance and came down on top of his enemy; the two of them rolled over and over, fighting for possession of the blade.

Gaius's arm began to shake as muscles that had never quite recovered from the old wound where the boar stake had gone into his shoulder began to give way. Panic tapped his last reserves of energy, and his fingers closed on the other man's throat. For a moment they heaved, the dagger digging uselessly into his armor. Then all the fight went out of the other man and he lay still.

Shaking, Gaius pulled himself upright and plucked the weapon from his enemy's nerveless fingers. He bent over to finish the job he had begun and found himself staring into Cynric's dazed eyes.

"Don't move!" he said in British, and the other stilled. Gaius looked quickly around him. "I can save you — they're beginning to take hostages. Will you surrender to me now?"

"Roman." Cynric spat, but weakly. "I should have left you in the boar pit!" It was then that Gaius realized the other man had recognized him as well. "Better for me . . .and for Eilan!"

"You have as much Roman blood as I do!" Guilt added venom to Gaius's reply.

"Your mother sold her honor! Mine died!"

Gaius found himself pushing down on the blade, and at the last moment realized that was what Cynric wanted him to do.

"You saved my life once. Now I give you yours, and Hades take your damned British pride! Surrender, and another day you can fight me." He knew this was foolish; even lying in his blood Cynric looked dangerous. But saving him was the only thing he could do for Eilan.

"You win . . ." Cynric's head fell back in exhaustion, and Gaius saw new blood seeping from the gashes on his arms and thighs, ". . . today . . ." Their eyes met, and Gaius saw the hatred still burning in his eyes. "But one day you will pay . . ." He fell silent as the wagon that was picking up the wounded creaked towards them.

Gaius watched two battered legionaries load him in with the others, his satisfaction in the Roman victory dissipating as he realized that he had lost his friend as surely as if he had seen Cynric die before his own eyes.

With darkness Agricola called off the pursuit, not wishing to risk his men on unfamiliar ground. But for the Caledonians who survived it was not yet over. Far into the night the Romans could hear women calling as they searched the battlefield. Over the next few days returning scouts reported an ever-widening circle of devastation. The land that had once supported a thriving people was now a silent world in which the bodies of women and children killed by their own men to save them from slavery gazed blankly at the heavens, and the smoke of burned housesteads darkened the weeping sky.

When the numbers were finally tallied it was estimated that wounds or battle had accounted for ten thousand of the enemy; while only three hundred and sixty Romans died.

As Gaius rode along the column of men marching south to winter quarters, he remembered the words of Calgacus: "To ravage, to slaughter, to usurp under false titles they call Empire; and where they make a desert, they call it peace."

Certainly the North was peaceful now, the last hopes for British freedom as dead as the men who had defended it. It was this, more than the fact that the despatches he carried included a very flattering description of his own conduct on the battlefield, that made Gaius realize that he must become entirely a Roman now

Nineteen

Despite Agricola's hopes, the pacification of the North was not to be neatly accomplished with a single battle. And though the people of Rome danced in the streets when the triumphant account of Mons Graupius was proclaimed, a great deal remained to be done to secure the victory. The despatches that Gaius bore southward included an order for him to return as soon as his wounds were healed, for the Governor was not inclined to let so useful a young man go to waste in Londinium.

One of Gaius's assignments was to visit the compound where they were keeping the more important prisoners. Cynric was still there, scarred and embittered, but alive, and grimly triumphant that Calgacus had not been captured to grace Agricola's triumph in Rome. Indeed, no one seemed to know what had happened to the British leader. There were rumors that the Druid Bendeigid was hiding out in the hills.

"I was taken in arms, and expect no mercy," said Cynric in a momentary softening, "but if your general has any regard for you, ask him to pardon the old man. I pulled you out of the boar pit, but he saved your life. For that, I think you owe him something, don't you?"

And Gaius had agreed. In truth, his debt was greater than Cynric knew, and since it could not be proven that Bendeigid had fought against Rome, Agricola was willing to let word be circulated through the North that the Druid could safely return home.

In the event, it was not until the Governor himself headed south to prepare for his return to Rome that Gaius was given leave to do the same. And so it was the end of winter by the time he found himself on the road to visit his father in Deva, free at last to follow the instructions Julia had given him months before to make his peace with Eilan.

Winter in the North had been black and chill, with bitter winds and nights that seemed to have no end. Even this far south the air was brisk, though the first buds were beginning to tip the branches with green, and Gaius was glad of his wolfskin cloak. In Britain even the deified Julius had sometimes worn three tunics, one above the other, against the cold.

It felt strange to ride through a country that was at peace. It seemed to Gaius that everything must have changed since last he saw it, as if he had been gone for years. But as he neared Deva, the raw wind that blew in off the estuary was the same, and the dark mountains that hung on the western horizon were the brooding shadows that had haunted him since he was a child. He rode past the mighty embankments of the fortress to the main gate, and found the timber stockade that crowned them only a little more weathered than he remembered. It was he himself that had changed.

His footsteps rang on the stone pavement of the praetorium as he strode towards his father's office. Valerius looked up as he entered, frowning for a moment until Gaius began to strip off his wrappings. Then he grinned. But it was when Macellius emerged from the inner office that Gaius realized he was not the only one to have grown older.

"Well, my boy! Is it you indeed? We had begun to fear that the Governor would take you back to Rome with him. He wrote very favorably about your work up there, lad, very favorably indeed." Macellius held out his arms, and clasped Gaius in a hearty embrace, cut short, as if the older man were afraid to betray himself if he held on to his son for too long.

But Gaius had felt how his father's fingers gripped him, as if he needed to reassure himself that his boy was there in the flesh, alive. He had no need to ask if Macellius had been worried; he did not think that settling the petty squabbles of men in winter quarters and tallying up stores had put the new gray in the Camp Prefect's hair.

"So how long are we to have the pleasure of your company before they need you back in Londinium?"

"I have a few weeks of leave, sir." Gaius forced a smile. "I thought it was time I came home for a while." With a pang he realized that Macellius had not said a word about his wedding. The old man must realize that I have grown up at last!

But Macellius no longer needed to ask about it. Since the battle of Mons Graupius Gaius had somehow begun to take his marriage to Julia for granted. But now that the familiar hills of Deva were bringing back old memories he wondered. Could he really go through with it, and if he did not, what would he do?

But Gaius had found out one thing about himself in these last months: he was ambitious after all. Agricola was a great man, and he had been an excellent Governor, but who could say whom Domitian would send after him? And there were things about this land that even Agricola could never understand. The old Britannia of the tribes was dead. Its people would have to change and become Romans, but how could some Gaul or Spaniard understand them? To make this country the gem of the Empire could require the leadership of someone both British and Roman. Someone like himself, if he made the right moves now.

". . .invite a few of the senior officers to join us for dinner," his father was saying. "If you're not too tired?"

"I'm fine," Gaius smiled. "After the roads in Caledonia, it was a pleasure to ride here."

Macellius nodded, and Gaius could see the pride radiating off of him like heat from a fire. He swallowed, suddenly realizing that Macellius had never before given him such unqualified approval — and how much he needed to see that glow in his father's eyes.

It was usual for the High Priestess to spend some time in seclusion after the great festivals, recovering from the ritual. The women of the Forest House had become accustomed to this when Lhiannon ruled them, and no one thought it odd that after Eilan's first appearance as High Priestess her recovery should be protracted.

And once she was up and about again, they might have been disappointed that she did not participate much in the life of their community, and so often went heavily veiled, but they were not surprised. Lhiannon was the only High Priestess that most of them had ever known, and during her last years she had kept mostly to her rooms, served by Caillean, or by her chosen attendants. In any case a period of retreat was required so that the new Oracle could commune with the gods.

And the reclusiveness of their new High Priestess was less intriguing a topic of gossip than the disappearance of Dieda. Some were sure that she had gone voluntarily, angry because she had not been chosen High Priestess. Others suggested that she had run away to join Cynric, whom several had seen when he visited the Forest House in the company of Bendeigid.

But when someone heard from a woodcutter that a pregnant woman was living in the hut in the forest, the solution to the mystery became appallingly obvious. Dieda must be with child; she had been sent to live in the isolation of the forest until she should be delivered of her shame.

The truth, of course, was so impossible that no one guessed it. In the event, Dieda's part in the deception was not even very taxing, for after the battle of Mons Graupius the Governor had forbidden all public assemblies lest they spark unrest. This far south they had heard only rumors of the destruction; for most folk, getting in food for the winter was a more pressing concern. At the feast of Samaine folk had to make do with the little divinations of apples and nuts and the hearthfire, for there was no fair or festival, and no Oracle.

As for Eilan, she spent the winter snug in the round hut in the forest, visited from time to time by Caillean, and attended by an old woman who did not know her name. She made a little altar to the Goddess as Mother by the fireside, and as she watched her belly ripen, she wavered between joy in the new life that was growing within her and anguish because she did not know if she would ever see her child's father again.

But it was the natural course of things that even the longest winter should one day give way to spring. Though there were times when Eilan had felt that she would be pregnant for ever, the feast of Brigantia was approaching, when her child should be born. A few days before the festival Caillean appeared in the doorway, and though these days she came easily to tears or laughter, Eilan felt so glad to see her that she thought she would weep.

"There is fresh oat bread that I baked this morning," she said. "Sit here and join me in my noon meal —" She hesitated. "— unless you feel that I contaminate you by my forsworn presence?"

Caillean laughed, "Never," she replied. "If it had not been for the snows, I would have come before."

"And how are things in the Forest House?" Eilan asked. "How does Dieda in my place? Tell me everything; I am very dull here; growing like a vegetable!"

"Surely not." Caillean smiled. "Perhaps a fruit tree come to harvest not in autumn but spring. As for Vernemeton, Dieda performs your duties faithfully, though perhaps not as well as you would do. I promise you I will come when your child is born. Send me word by the old woman when the time comes."

"How will I know?"

Caillean laughed, not unkindly. "You were present when your sister's second child was born. How much do you remember?"

"What I remember of that time is the raiders, and how you carried fire," Eilan said meekly.

Caillean smiled. "Well, I think it will not be long now. Perhaps you will deliver on the Feast of the Maiden — your hands were busy this morning, and such restlessness is often seen when a child stirs in readiness to be born. And I have brought you a gift, a garland of white birch twigs, sacred to the Mother. See - I will hang it above your bed that it may bring you good fortune at Her hands." She rose and drew the wreath from her bag.

"The gods men follow may seem to shun you, but the Goddess cares for all Her daughters who stand where you stand now. After the festival I will come again, though it will be no pleasure seeing Dieda in your place there."

"How delighted I am to hear your opinion," someone said from the doorway, the sweetness of her voice intensifying the sting of her words. "But if you do not like me in the role of High Priestess, surely it is a little late to be saying so!"

A figure heavily veiled in dark blue was standing there. Eilan's eyes widened and Caillean flushed angrily.

"Why have you come here?"

"Why not?" Dieda asked. "Do you not think it gracious of the High Priestess to visit her fallen kinswoman? All of our dear sisters are aware that someone is living here, you know, and have concluded it is me. I will not have a shred of reputation left when I eventually 'return'."

Eilan's voice shook. "Did you come only to gloat over my shame, Dieda?"

"Strangely enough, I did not," Dieda put back her veil. "Eilan, in spite of all that has been between us, I wish you well. You are not the only one who is alone. I have had no word of Cynric since he went north, and he has sent no word to me. He cares for nothing but the fate of the Ravens. Perhaps when this deception is over I should go north instead of to Eriu and become one of the warrior women who serve the goddess of battles."

"Nonsense," said Caillean tartly. "You would make a very poor warrior, but you are a gifted bard."

Dieda shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps, but I must find some way to atone for serving Ardanos's treachery."

"Do you truly call it so?" asked Eilan; "I do not. I have had time to think, living here, and it seems to me that the Lady has allowed this to happen to Her priestess so that I may understand the need to protect all the children of this land. It is peace, not war, that I will work for when I return."

Dieda looked down at Eilan. She said slowly, "I never had any wish for a child by Cynric or any other man. And yet I think that if I were bearing a child to Cynric, I might feel as you do." Her eyes were glistening with tears and she dashed them angrily away. "I must return before busy tongues have time to spin too many tales. I came only to wish you good fortune; but it seems that even here, Caillean has forestalled me."

She turned, pulling her veil over her face once more, and before either of them could find words to reply, was gone.

Every day, it seemed, the light lasted a little longer. The branches blushed with returning sap and the swans began courting in the marshes. Though winter storms might still come to lash the land, there was a sense that spring was coming. The men who worked the land took down their plowshares from the rafters, and the fishermen began to caulk their vessels, and the shepherds stayed out all night on the cold hillsides with the lambing ewes.

Gaius rode out, listening to the sounds of new life all around him, and counted the days. It had been Beltane when he and Eilan lay together, and since then nine moons had passed. She would be giving birth soon now. Women died in childbirth sometimes. He watched returning waterfowl unraveling across the sky and knew that whether he married Julia or not, he had to see Eilan once more.

The higher he rose among the Romans, the more he could do for Eilan and their child. If it were a son, perhaps Eilan would let him raise him. She certainly could not keep him in the Forest House. It did not seem so unlikely; his mother's people had been willing enough to give him up completely into his father's hands.

As he rode back to the fortress his thoughts went round and round. It would be hard to tell her that they could not be married, at least not yet. If Julia did not give him a son, well, he sometimes thought divorced couples were more common than married ones in the Roman world. When his position was assured perhaps they could marry; at least he could give his child a good start in the world. Would she believe that? Would she forgive him? He bit his lip, wondering what he would say to her.

But mostly his heart beat hard simply at the thought of seeing Eilan again, even at a distance; just to know that all was well with her.

Of course, there was still the problem of how he was going to get in to see her. At length he realized that he would have to trust to the gods to help him.

The Legate who commanded the Second Adiutrix Legion had retired the preceding winter and it was just at this moment that his replacement arrived. Gaius knew that his father would have more than enough to do helping the new Commander settle in. When he announced he was going off for a few days' hunting, Macellius hardly had time to say farewell.

It was at the festival of the goddess the Britons called Brigantia that celebrated the end of the winter that Gaius rode once more past the Hill of the Maidens, just at that time when the young men dressed in costumes of straw and carried an image of the Lady from house to house to give Her blessing in exchange for cakes and ale. But here, he had heard, the priestess who was the Voice of the Goddess came out to proclaim the coming of spring to the people. In the wood outside the village Gaius changed into the British clothing he had brought along. Then he joined the others who were gathering to await the priestesses. From conversations overheard around him, he learned that this year the crowd was bigger than usual.

"The old Priestess died last autumn," one of the women told him. "And they say that the new one is young, and very beautiful."

"Who is she?" he asked, his heart beginning to beat heavily in his breast.

"The Arch-Druid's granddaughter, I am told, and some whisper there was more than chance in her choosing. But I say that the old blood is best for the old ways, and who should be better fitted for such a task than one whose fathers and mothers before her have served the gods?"

Eilan! he thought. How could it be? Had she lost the child? If she was really High Priestess, how was he ever to see her again? He waited with ill-concealed impatience for nightfall, and grew silent with the others as they saw the procession of white-robed maidens emerge from the timber gate of the Forest House and come towards them down the avenue. At their head walked a slender woman with a scarlet cloak over her white gown. Beneath the thin veil he could see the glint of golden hair. She came crowned with light and attended by harpsong. Eilan . . . his heart cried. Can you feel me near you, Eilan?

"Out of the winter's darkness I have come —" she said, and her voice was like music. Too much like music, thought Gaius; Eilan's voice had been sweet to him, but it had not this resonance. He pressed closer, trying to see. This woman's voice sounded as if she were a trained singer.

"Light-bearer am I, and bearer of blessings. Now comes the springtide; new leaves shall spring soon from the branches, and the rainbow flowers. May your beasts bear in abundance; good fortune to your plowing. Take now the light, my children, and with it my favor."

The Priestess bent, and they lifted from her head the crown of candles. As they lowered it to the ground before her, Gaius saw her face for the first time in full light. It was the face he had dreamed of, and yet, even in a single moment of illumination, he knew it was not Eilan. He remembered, now, how beautifully Dieda had sung.

He pulled away, shaking. Had the woman got it wrong or was Eilan the victim of some dreadful deception?

"Hail to the Lady!" the people cried. "Hail to the Holy Bride!" Cheering, the young men touched their torches to the candle crown and began to form the procession that would carry the light to every hut and farm. It was certainly Dieda, and she must know where Eilan was. But he could not approach her now.

He turned away and recognized another face in the crowd. At this moment, danger meant nothing.

"Caillean," he whispered harshly. "I must speak to you! In the name of mercy - where is Eilan?"

In the half-light he felt sharp eyes on him; he heard a voice speaking in a whisper, "What are you saying?" A hard grip closed on his hand. "Come away from this crowd; we cannot speak here."

He went unresisting. It seemed to him that if death should descend on him, it would be no more than his due. But when they were beyond the crowd, he stopped in his tracks and turned to the priestess.

His voice was low and hoarse. "Mistress Caillean, I know how Eilan loved you. In the name of any god you cherish, tell me -where is she now?"

Caillean pointed to the dais where the white-veiled woman presided over the festivities.

"Cry out and betray me if you will, but do not lie to me." Gaius stared into her eyes. "Though every man here should swear that is Eilan, I know better. Tell me if she is alive and well!"

Caillean stared back at him with widening eyes in which he read amazement, anger, and fear. Then she let out her breath in an explosive sigh and pulled him after her, further away from the circle of torchlight where Dieda was lifting her hands to bless the crowd. As he followed Caillean into the shadows, Gaius told himself that the catch in his throat was only from the smoke of the fires.

"I should tell them who you are and let them kill you," she said finally. "But I, too, love Eilan, and she has had enough pain."

"Is she alive?" Gaius's voice cracked.

"No thanks to you," Caillean retorted. "Ardanos would have put her to death when he heard what you had done! But he was persuaded to spare her, and she told me everything. Why did you never come for her? Is it true that you have married someone else as we were told?"

"My father sent me away —"

"To Londinium," she confirmed. "Then it was one of the Arch-Druids's lies that you had been married off to some Roman girl?"

"Not yet," he said. "But I have been on service and was not free to come. If Eilan was not punished, why do I not see her here?"

Caillean looked at him with contempt; and Gaius felt it withering him. At last she said, "Would you expect her to be out here dancing when she has just given birth to your son?"

Gaius's breath caught. "Is she alive? Is the child?" It was dark here, away from the fires, but it seemed to him that Caillean's stern expression softened.

"She is alive, but weak, for the birth was hard; I have been very frightened for her. You do not seem to me worth dying for, but seeing you might be the medicine she needs. The gods know I am no judge. I care nothing what Ardanos might say. Come with me."

Caillean was only a dark shadow in the night as she led him around the crowd and back along the road, away from the Forest House and the Hill of Maidens. When they could no longer see the light of the fires, Gaius asked, "Where are you taking me?"

"Eilan is not in the Forest House now; she has dwelt in a little house in the deepest part of the woods since the child began to show." After a moment Caillean added hesitantly, "I have been very troubled for her. Women are sometimes very sorrowful after

they have had a child, and the gods know that Eilan has enough reason to be unhappy; perhaps when she sees that you have not abandoned her, she will recover more quickly."

"They told me that if I did not attempt to see her, she would not be mistreated —" he protested,

Caillean laughed, a brief bitter sound. "Ardanos was furious, of course, the wretched old tyrant. He is convinced that only if you Romans think of our priestesses as Vestals will you protect them. But the choice of the Goddess had fallen on Eilan, and he could not deny it, when Lhiannon with almost her dying breath had proposed this deception."

Caillean did not speak again. After a time Gaius saw through the trees a small glimmer of light against a greater darkness.

"There is the house."

Caillean's voice came soft in his ear. "Wait in the shadows while I get rid of the old woman." She opened the door.

"The blessing of the Lady to you, Eilan; I've come to keep you company. Annis, I'll care for her now. Why don't you go out and enjoy the festival?"

Presently he saw the old woman emerging, well-swaddled in shawls, and as she passed down the pathway he drew back beneath the trees. Caillean stood in the open doorway behind her, framed by the light. She gestured, and as he came forward, heart thumping like a charge of cavalry, said quietly into the golden glow behind her, "I have brought you a visitor, Eilan." He heard her going out to keep watch behind him.

For a moment Gaius's eyes were dazzled by the light. When he could focus again, he saw Eilan lying on a narrow bed, at her side the bundle that he knew must be the child.

Eilan forced her eyes to open. She supposed it was kind of Caillean to come to her, but why should she bring a visitor? She did not want to see anyone except Caillean, but she had been sure the older priestess would be busy with the festival. A dull curiosity stirring within her, she opened her eyes.

A man's shape was standing between her and the light. Her grip on the child tightened in instinctive alarm and the baby made a little squeaking sound of protest. At that, the man took a quick step forward, and as the light fell full upon his face, she knew him at last.

"Gaius!" she exclaimed, and at once burst into tears. She saw him redden, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, unable to meet her eyes.

"I was sent to Londinium; I had no choice," he said. "I wanted to come to you."

"I'm sorry -" she said, though she was not really sure why she was apologizing, "I seem to weep very easily these days."

His gaze flicked swiftly to her, and then to the bundle.

"Is this my son?"

"No other," she said, "or do you really think perhaps that because —" suddenly she was crying so hard she could hardly speak — "that because I gave myself to you, I would lie down for any other man who came along?"

"Eilan!" From his face, she could see that the thought had never occurred to him, and did not know whether to be flattered or indignant. His hands clenched and unclenched. "Please! Let me hold my son."

Eilan felt her tears ceasing as abruptly as they had come. She looked up at Gaius, for the first time really seeing him as he knelt beside her, and lifted the baby into his arms. He looked older and grimmer, fine drawn by hardship and with a shadow in his eyes as if he too had known pain; on his cheek was a new scar. But as he held the child she saw his face begin to change.

"My son —" he whispered, gazing at the crumpled features, "my first-born son . . ." Even if he went through with his marriage to the Roman girl, thought Eilan, this moment was hers.

As the baby's pale blue, wandering eyes met those of his father and seemed to fix on him, Gaius's arms tightened protectively around him. All the hardness had gone from his features now; his focus was entirely on the baby, as if he would do anything to safeguard this child who lay so trusting and helpless in his arms. It came to Eilan that even when Gaius had been making love to her she had never seen him look so radiant. She recognized the Father-face of the God.

"What sort of world will this be for you, little one?" Gaius whispered, his voice cracking. "How can I protect you, give you a home that will be secure?" For a long moment he and the child seemed lost in mutual contemplation; then the baby burped suddenly and began to chew on his thumb.

Gaius's gaze returned to Eilan, and as he set the child once more within the curve of her arm she realized that, wan and exhausted though she might be, to him she was the Goddess as well.

"So, how do you like him, my dear?" she said gently. "I have called him Gawen, the name that your mother gave you."

"I think he is beautiful, Eilan." His voice was shaking. "How can I ever thank you for this great gift?"

Run away with me! her heart cried. Carry us both away to some land where we can all live together and be free! But the lamplight glinted balefully on the signet ring he wore, and she knew that there was no such country, beyond the reach of Rome.

"Make a world that will be safe for him." She echoed his own words. She remembered her vision; in this child the blood of the Dragon and the Eagle had mingled with the old line of the Wise; the saviors of Britannia would come from his line. But for that to happen he must live to be a man.

"Sometimes I wonder if that is possible." His gaze went inward, and she saw the grim shadow once more in his eyes.

"You have been in battle since I saw you," she said gently, "you did not get that scar in Londinium . . .Tell me."

"Have you heard about the battle of Mons Graupius?" Gaius's voice grew harsher. "Well, I was there." As the story poured out of him in a succession of images, she flinched, feeling the horror, and the pity, and the fear.

"I knew that something had happened," she said in a low voice when he was done. "There was a night, a moon after Lughnasad, when I felt that you were in great danger. I spent the following day in terror, but the feeling passed off after nightfall. I thought then that perhaps you had been fighting, but though I could sense nothing more I was certain that you had survived! You are part of me, my beloved. Surely if you had died, I would know!"

Gaius reached out blindly and took her hand. "It is true. I dreamed I was in your arms. No other woman will ever live in my heart as you do, Eilan. No other woman can give me my first-born son! But —" His voice cracked. "I cannot acknowledge him. I cannot marry you!"

His face working, he looked down at the child. "When I could not find out what had happened to you, I kept telling myself that we should have fled together when we had the chance. I could have endured a life on the run if we were together — but what kind of a life would that have been for you, and what kind of life for him?" He reached out and touched the baby's cheek.

"He is so little, so soft," he said wonderingly. "If anything tried to harm him, right now I think I could kill it with my bare hands!" Gaius's gaze flicked from the child to Eilan and he grew red, as if embarrassed by his own emotion.

"You said to make the world safe for him," he went on in a low voice. "As things are now, I can think of only one way to do that. But you will need as much courage as some ancient Roman matron of the Republic." At the moment neither thought it odd that despite their great Emperors, Romans always invoked the days of the Republic whenever they wished to call great virtue to mind.

"You are trying to tell me that you are going to marry your Roman girl," Eilan said harshly. She was crying once more.

"I have to!" he exclaimed. "Don't you see? Mons Graupius was the last stand of the tribes. The only hope of mercy for your people now is in rulers who are both Roman and British, like me, but my only hope of gaining power in the Roman world is through alliance to an important family. "Don't cry," he begged raggedly. "I have never been able to endure your tears, my little one. Think of him." He gestured toward the sleeping baby. "For his sake, surely we can bear whatever we must."

You will not have to bear what I do, she struggled against her tears, what I have already borne!

"You won't be alone for ever, I promise you that," he said. "I'll claim you as soon as I can. And," he added disingenuously, "surely you know that among our people a marriage is not indissoluble."

"Yes, I have heard that," Eilan said acidly, sure that if he was marrying into a noble family, that the union would be as tight as the girl's kinfolk could make it. "But what is she like, this Roman girl? Is she beautiful?"

He looked at her ruefully. "She has not half your beauty, my precious. She is a little thing," he added, "but very determined. There are times when it seems that I have been thrown unarmed into the arena to face a war-elephant, or a savage wild animal unarmed, as I have heard is done with criminals in Rome."

Then she will never let go of him, thought Eilan, but she managed a smile. "Then you do not. . .really care about her?"

"Darling," he said, kneeling at her side, and the relief in his voice made her want to laugh, "if it were not that her father is the Procurator, I give you my word, I would never have looked twice at her. With his help I can become a senator, even a Governor of Britain one day. Think of all I could do for you and the baby then!"

Gaius bent over the child and once more that fierce protectiveness flickered in his eyes. Then, sensing that Eilan was watching him, he looked up again.

Eilan continued to stare until she saw him becoming uneasy again. Caillean was right, she thought with bitter resignation, he has fallen in love with a delusion and persuaded himself it is reality - like every other man! Well, that should make it easier to tell him what she had to say.

"Gaius, you know that I love you," she began, "but you must believe that even if you were free to offer me marriage I could not accept you." She sighed, seeing confusion flicker in his eyes.

"I am High Priestess of Vernemeton, the Voice of the Goddess, did not they tell you? What you hope to be among the Romans, Gaius, among my people I already am! I risked my life to prove myself worthy, and the ordeal was every bit as dangerous as your battle. I can no more give up that victory than you can throw away the honor you have won!"

He frowned, trying to accept it, and Eilan realized that they were really far more alike than he knew. But it seemed to her that he was prompted by ambition, while she — if that were not also a delusion - was obeying the will of the gods.

"Then, though no one else knows it, we will work together -said Gaius finally, his gaze returning to the child. "And with a Governor and a High Priestess for parents, what might this little one not do? Who knows; perhaps he will be Emperor himself someday."

At that, the baby opened his eyes, considering them both impartially with his vague gaze. Gaius picked him up again, cradling him awkwardly. "Be still now, Lord of the World," he whispered as the baby squirmed, "and let me hold you."

At that thought - that anything so small and pink could ever grow up to be Emperor - his parents laughed.

Twenty

Gaius returned to Londinium in a kind of bittersweet daze. He had found Eilan, and lost her. He had been forced to leave

the child she had borne him, and yet, he had a son! At times, as the capital and Julia drew nearer, he wanted to turn his horse

and gallop back to Eilan, but he could find no way they could stay together as a family. And he remembered how stern her face had grown when Eilan told him what being High Priestess meant to her. For a few moments she had not looked like his Eilan at all. It chilled him to think of the risk she had run to prove herself worthy, and how she had risked his son!

And yet she had wept when they parted. So, to be truthful, had he. If Eilan thought he got any pleasure from the thought of being married to Julia Licinia, she was very much mistaken. As he breasted the last hill and saw the tile roofs of the city basking in the afternoon sun, he reminded himself that he was only doing this for her sake and for the sake of their child.

It was twilight by the time he reached the house of Licinius. The Procurator had not yet returned from the tabularium, but Gaius found Julia in the women's atrium. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him; making her prettier than he had ever seen her. Not, of course, as pretty as Eilan; but then no one could be as beautiful as Eilan had become. Still, Julia might become very handsome in time.

She greeted him demurely. "So you are back from the West Country, Gaius."

"As I stand before you, what would you say if I told you I was still in the North?"

She giggled. "Well, I have heard that the spirits of the slain sometimes appear to those they leave behind." Suddenly she was frightened, and the mirth went out of her voice. "Gaius, tell me you are only teasing me and that I truly see you here, alive and well!" Abruptly he realized how young she was.

"I am flesh and blood," he said wearily. But since he had been here last he had seen death and dealt it; he had seen his future in the eyes of a new-born child. Before, he had been a boy. He was a man now, and had learned to think like one. No wonder if Julia was confused by the change.

Julia came forward and touched his arm. "Yes - you are alive," she said, more steadily. "And you have seen your British girl?" She gazed up at him.