"I suppose this does please him," whispered Eilan, "but do you truly believe it was his doing? Is everything I have tried to do here a lie?"

Caillean heard her pain and could maintain her own anger no longer. "My dear one - my little one." She laid a hand on Eilan's shoulder and the other woman turned into her arms. She made no sound, but her cheeks were streaked with tears. "We must not fight like children when there is so little time! There are moments when the power of the gods burns like the sun, and then it grows dark and the light seems only a dream. It has always been so. But I believe in you, my love."

"Your belief has sustained me," Eilan murmured.

"Listen," said Caillean. "This is not for ever. One day, when we are old women together, we will laugh at our fears."

"I know that we will be together," said Eilan slowly, "but whether it is in this life or another, that I cannot see."

"My Lady," Huw spoke from the gate, "the bearers are waiting."

"Now you must go." Eilan straightened, becoming the High Priestess again. "We must both serve the Lady in the places where She has called us, no matter what we feel."

"It is all right. I will return, you'll see," Caillean said gruffly, giving her a last, swift hug and releasing her.

She went away then, knowing that if she looked back at Eilan she would weep herself, and she must not, not before the young priestesses and the men. It was not until the curtains of the litter closed around her that she gave way to her tears.

She spent most of the rainy, dismal journey to the Summer Country brooding. Her mood was not improved by the fact that they had to travel by litter, a form of transportation that she detested.

She was accompanied by the priestesses chosen for the new establishment. They were mostly young, and all virtual newcomers to the Forest House who were too awed even to address her in anything but the barest commonplaces. Caillean had little to do except to nurse her rage.

It was nearing dusk when the little procession wound through the gap in the hills and transferred to barges to cross the shallow marshes that surrounded the Tor. It stood stark against the fading sky, crowned with a circle of stones, and even from here she could feel its power. The roundhouses of the Druids clustered on its lower slopes. In the hollow beyond, she could just make out a scattering of smaller, beehive huts that must belong to the Christians Ardanos had allowed to settle here. A fragrance of some scented wood, perhaps apple, hung in the air.

They were met at the foot of the hill by the young priests set to watch there, who greeted her with many expressions of deference and good will, although they appeared somewhat uncertain about why she had come. Despite her anger she found herself amused by their confusion, and began reluctantly to come to terms with the inevitable. For better or worse, the Druid priesthood had sent her here, and even they were only instruments of the Goddess, who had commanded her presence here in no uncertain terms.

When they reached the shrine itself, it was full dark. The priests greeted them politely, if not cordially - but then, Caillean had hardly expected to be welcomed. If this was exile, at least it was an honorable exile, and since she could not alter it, she might as well make the best of it.

After the ceremonial greetings, she found her women huddled in wide-eyed confusion by the bonfire. One of the young priests conducted them to a low, thatched-roof dwelling that, as they said apologetically, was not in any way suitable for the housing of a priestess, let alone one of her status. Still, where to put women was not a problem they had had to deal with until now. Since the Arch-Druid had commanded it, however, they were swift to assure her that a suitable house would be built for their use as soon as she made their requirements known, and such attendance as she and her women desired should be secured for them.

By the time Caillean had made sure that all the young women were safely bestowed in the hastily vacated dormitory which had housed the youngest novices, and was able to seek her own bed at last, she was ready to drop from fatigue. Though the bed and the place were strange to her, to her surprise she slept through the night peacefully and woke while dawn was still reddening the sky. She dressed herself without waking her women, and went out alone into the early morning. Streaks of rosy light were just beginning to flush the sky. The path before her led up the hill.

As the light grew, Caillean studied her surroundings carefully. To what, in this remote country, had her destiny led her?

As the sun rose, she could see that the Tor looked out over a vast expanse of wild country entirely surrounded by heavy mists that drifted from the great sheet of water; they had arrived so late the night before, that she hardly noticed, in her fatigue and exhaustion, that the final stage of the journey had been made by barge. The wooded slopes of other islands poked their blackish-green and forested summits through the mist. It was very silent, but as the sun rose and Caillean studied this strange country, she heard the faint murmur of chanting, from somewhere not very far away.

She turned; the sound came from a small structure at the very top of the hill. She moved higher to hear it more clearly. The music was soft and slow, the deep resonance of men's voices strange to her ears after so many years among women. After a time she made out words in the flow of sound; it seemed to her that they were singing in Greek.

Kyrie eleison, Criste eleison. She had heard that this was how the Christians addressed their lord; this must be the community of refugees the Arch-Druid had given leave to settle here. These days all sorts of strange religions were breaking out all over the Empire.

Presently the sound faded, and she saw a little old man, stooped as if with great old age, regarding her. She blinked, for she had not seen him approach, and that was unusual for a priestess of her training. As she looked at him, he dropped his eyes. He must be one of the Christian priests indeed; she had heard that many of their priests would not look upon a strange woman.

But apparently he was allowed to talk to her. He said, in the market-Latin that served as a dialect all over the Empire, "A good day to you, my sister. May I ask your name? I know that you surely are not one of our catechumens, for we have not for many years had any women among us except the venerable ladies who came with us long ago, and you are young."

Caillean smiled a little at the thought that anyone could consider her young, but the priest was white-haired and frail as a fallen leaf. At least in years, he might have been her grandsire.

"I am not," she said. "I am one of those who worship the forest god. I am called Caillean."

"Is it so?" he asked her politely. "I know something of the brothers among the Druids, and I knew not they had women among them."

"Those who dwell here have not," she replied, "or at least not until now. I was sent here from the Forest House in the North, to establish a House of Maidens. I came up the hill to see to what place the gods had led me."

"You speak as one who holds some acquaintance with the truth, my sister. Surely then you know that all the gods are one God . . ." He paused, and Caillean completed, ". . .and all the goddesses one Goddess."

His ancient face was altogether kindly. "It is so. Those to whom our Lord came as God's Divine Son would not see the Godhead in anything female, so to them we speak not of the Goddess, but of Sophia, the Holy Wisdom. But we understand that the Truth is One. So, my sister, to me it seems very fitting that you should establish here, a shrine to the Holy Wisdom after the manner of your people."

Caillean bowed. His face was very deeply wrinkled, but it no longer seemed ugly, for it positively glowed with benevolence.

"What a splendid work to which to devote the remainder of this incarnation, my sister." He smiled, then his gaze went inward. "It feels right for you to be here, for it seems to me that we have served at the same altars before . . ."

Not for the first time in this strange encounter, Caillean was amazed. "I had heard that the brothers of your faith denied the truth of incarnations," she volunteered. But what he had said was true. She did recognize him, with the kind of certainty she had felt when she met Eilan.

"It is written that the Master himself believed," said the ancient priest, "for He said of the Way-shower, whom men called Jochanan, that he was Elijah reborn. It is written as well that he said there was milk for babes and meat for strong men. Many of the babes among us, new in faith, are given such food as is right for spiritual infants, lest they neglect to amend their lives, in the belief that indeed the Earth shall abide for ever. Yet the Master said that this generation shall not pass away before the Son of Man cometh; therefore am I here, that even the folk at the end of the world shall hear and know the Truth."

Caillean said quietly, "May the truth prevail."

"Success to your mission, sister," the old man replied. "There are many here who would welcome a pious sisterhood." He turned as if to go.

"Is it permitted to ask your name, my brother?"

"I am called Joseph, and I was a merchant of Arimathea. There are holy ladies still living among us who looked upon the Master's face in life. They will welcome the company of enlightened women among us."

Caillean bowed once more. She found it a strange but good omen that she should find among these Christians who did not readily embrace women, a better welcome than her Druid brethren had offered. Servant of the Light. . .The title rang in her awareness from some place before memory. As the ancient priest moved down the hill, her hands moved in a gesture of reverence more ancient even than the Druids. If such a soul could ally himself to the Christians, there must be some hope for them after all.

As he disappeared inside the little beehive church, Caillean found herself smiling. She knew now that the Goddess would favor her work and that she had indeed been sent here with good reason. She would begin this very day.

As Caillean breakfasted with the other women it occurred to her that in this new home, where they were all far from every familiar thing, she could not quite maintain the aloofness that Lhiannon and then Eilan had observed within the Forest House. She made her first decision: they were not to be served by outsiders. It was the first step in determining just how much contact they would have with the male priesthood. An easier decision was to appoint one of the tallest and strongest of the young novices to locate a site suitable for a garden and to sow it as quickly as might be with as many vegetables as practicable. Some food would, of course, be provided by the local population, but she wished it clear from the very beginning that they would not be in any way dependent upon the Druid priests. The priests would have not the shadow of an excuse for claiming control over the lives of the women there.

She chose another young woman - probably the least intelligent of her subordinates - to be in charge of the cooking and serving of the food, promising her as much assistance as she desired. Later that day she spoke with one of the priests, and established that a building should be completed before the winter snow grew deep that could house four or five times their original number. Politely, but adamantly she discarded the old priest's suggestion that their present accommodations might suffice at least through the present winter.

When she finally dismissed him he looked rather stunned. She suspected that he was probably feeling like someone who had been rolled over by a team of big horses, and felt that for the first time she could have her own will done. It was not at all an unwelcome feeling. The Goddess was at work here indeed, for the Lady could now make use of her talents to their fullest, and that had never been true before.

She missed Dieda; she could have used the younger woman's help with the maidens and in teaching them singing. But, she thought, she was better off without hostility among her associates, especially since they would have been thrown into such close contact. Here there was no one to protest whatever rules she might make. She resolved to choose the woman most experienced in singing or chanting to learn to play upon her own harp, and perhaps even teach her the art of fashioning such instruments.

When she finally laid herself down to sleep, after an evening spent grouping the women together for their first lesson in memorizing the unwritten lore of the Goddess, she could hear the sweet sound of chanting coming once more from the distant church. It was to the renewed chant of "Kyrie eleison," that she fell into sleep, more content with the spot to which the Goddess had led her than she had ever imagined she could be. That night she dreamed of a shrine served by maidens, of courts and halls upon the holy Tor, which might one day rise here. It might not be in her own lifetime; but it would come.

Twenty-Eight

The days waxed longer after Beltane; the cattle were driven to the hill pastures, and in the fields men tended the grain. Midsummer came, and for the first time Ardanos did not try to instruct Eilan before the ritual regarding the Oracle. When she saw him at the ritual, he seemed very frail. They told her afterward that the Goddess had foretold a time of disasters and changes, but promised peace to follow. Indeed, the whole land was full of rumors, but no one could say from what direction the danger might come.

Eilan had meant to visit the Arch-Druid after recovering from her own part in the ritual, but at this time of year there was much to do in the Forest House. The days went by and still she did not find the time. In high summer, even the maidens of the Forest House went into the fields of Vernemeton to help with the haying. Eilan supervised those who wove linen for the priests, and worked over the dye pots, preparing fabric for new robes, but it was Caillean who was missed most sorely, for she had always been the most skillful of the women at dying cloth. No law required Eilan to take her turn at this menial work but it seemed to her that as long as she had a responsibility for their little community, it was up to her to participate in it.

She was in the dye sheds, her sleeves rolled above the elbow and her forearms splattered with blue dye, when a shadow fell across the doorway. A ripple of scandalized excitement ran through the women as they realized it was one of the young Druids, flushed and perspiring in his white robe. For though the shed was not within the sacred precinct inside the walls, where only the highest of the priests might enter, they were not used to seeing men.

"The High Priestess," he gasped. "Is the Lady Eilan here?" All the women turned to look at Eilan and as the boy's flush deepened she realized that he had never seen her without her veil. He swallowed. "Please, Lady - the Arch-Druid has been taken ill. You must come!"

Eilan stopped in the doorway of Ardanos's chamber, shocked in spite of having been warned. She heard a little gasp from Miellyn, who was attending her, and motioned her to stand with Huw at the door. Then she sat down beside the bed of the dying man. And indeed there could be no doubt that he was dying. At each breath air rattled and sucked in Ardanos's chest, and she could see the skull beneath the sallow skin. With a pang she remembered how he had sat with Lhiannon during her illness. Even though at times she had hated him, she hoped that his passage would be an easy one.

"He collapsed at dinner and lay unconscious until a little while ago," said Garic, one of the older priests. "We have sent for Bendeigid."

She put back her veil and reached out to take his hand. "Ardanos," she said softly. "Ardanos, can you hear me?"

The papery eyelids fluttered and after a moment of confusion, he focused on her face. "Dieda," he whispered.

"Grandfather, do you not know me even now? Dieda is in the South, testing maidens who wish to join us as priestesses. I am Eilan." She was bitterly amused that he should still be confusing them after all these years.

His gaze focused on the ornaments she had taken the time to put on and he sighed. "You were the right one . . .after all."

"Ardanos," she said firmly, "as High Priestess it is my duty to tell you that you are dying. You must not depart without naming your successor. Tell us, Arch-Druid, who shall bear the golden sickle when you are gone?"

His eyes fixed on her face. "Goddess, I did the best . . . I could," he whispered. "The Merlin knows . . ."

"But we must know!" said the Druid who was attending him. "Who will you choose?"

"Peace!" Ardanos said with sudden strength, as if he were ordering them to be silent. "Peace . . ." The word whispered away on a dying gasp; the breath rattled in the old man's throat, and then he was still.

For a moment no one moved. Then Garic reached down to take Ardanos's pulse, waited, counting, and let the limp hand fall.

"He is gone!" he said accusingly.

"I am sorry," said Eilan. "What will you do?"

"We must summon the other members of our order," said one of the others, already taking charge. "Go now, Lady. Your part is done. We will inform you when the gods have led us to a decision, since they did not see fit to inspire Ardanos with their word."

As the fifteenth summer of the Emperor Domitian's reign passed, the weather stayed close and still, as if a storm were brewing somewhere just over the horizon. Gaius, riding through the streets of Deva, found himself constantly listening, waiting for thunder. And he was not the only one. The voices of the vendors in the town grew shrill and angry; there were more fights in the barracks and wine shops, and rumors of risings or mutinies abounded. Even his horse seemed to have picked up the tension, prancing and sidling nervously.

The ides of September . . .the Ides of September . . .The words beat at his awareness every time his mount's hoofs struck the hard ground. Since Macellius had told him the date set for the rising, sleep had eluded him. His father believed that the tribes would support them, but Gaius was not so sure. If the Eagles of Rome fought each other, the only victor might be the Ravens. Was it worth the risk of a general insurrection even to unseat Domitian?

When this is over I will be happy to spend the rest of my life running my farm, he thought as he rubbed his eyes. I was not cut out to be a conspirator.

And this was the moment that the Arch-Druid, who in his way had been a force for stability, had chosen to die. If Gaius had believed in the Christian hell of which Julia spoke, he would have cursed the old man to its flames for his timing. Mithras alone knew who the Druids would choose to succeed him, but even if his successor was friendly, it would take time to establish the kind of understanding Ardanos had had with Macellius. But at least the news had brought Gaius to a decision. The question of adoption no longer mattered. If the country was about to explode in revolution he had to make sure that his son was safe. His father's informants had confirmed that the current High Priestess was still Eilan. Armed with an official message of condolence from the Legate, he was going to see her.

He had dressed carefully for the occasion, in the Roman style but with a Celtic sense of display, in a tunic of saffron linen embroidered with acanthus leaves at the hem over dark red doeskin breeches, and a mantle of light-weight maroon wool held by a golden brooch. At least no one could expect him to wear a toga when he was riding. But despite his fine clothes, as he turned his mount up the avenue of trees leading to the Forest House Gaius realized that he was nervous. He had just pulled out the first grey hairs at his temples. Would Eilan still find him handsome?

They led him into a garden where someone shrouded in a blue veil waited beneath a shady arbor covered with eglantine. He knew she must be the High Priestess because the same dolt of a bodyguard who had fainted when the cattle stampeded at Beltane all those years ago was standing near by, glaring at him. But he found it hard to believe that this erect, veiled figure was Eilan.

"My Lady . . ." He paused, and compelled by something he did not understand, bowed. "I have come to offer the condolences of the Legate at Deva on the death of the Arch-Druid, your grandfather. He will be greatly missed. He was . . ." he thought for a moment, "a remarkable man."

"Our loss is great indeed," she answered, and though her tone was colorless, his pulse quickened. "Will you take some refreshment?"

In a few moments a maiden in the drab garb of a novice was setting down a tray with honey cakes and a flagon of some drink made with herbs and berries and water, he supposed, from the Sacred Well. He drank, trying to think of something else to say and, looking down, saw that the fabric of her veil was trembling.

"Eilan," he said in a low voice, "let me see your face. It has been too long."

She gave a little laugh. "I was a fool. I thought it would be safe to see you again." She shrugged then and pulled back the veil, and he saw that her eyes were wet with tears.

Gaius blinked, for Eilan looked not older so much as more like herself, as if the girl he had known had been only a blurred sketch of the woman she was to become. Despite the tears and the neck that seemed too slender for the weight of the golden torque, she looked strong. And why not? he thought then. In her own sphere she has wielded as much power as any legionary commander, these past years. This woman could not be the Fury who had so frightened him. His vision blurred with old memories. He wanted to throw himself at her feet and declare his love for her, but that lout with the spear would be on him in a minute if he moved.

"Listen, for I do not know how long I can stay here," he said quickly. "War is coming — not because of your grandfather's death, but because of events in Rome. I can tell you no more, except that there will be a rising against the Emperor. Macellius hopes the British will support us, but there is no telling which way things will go. I must get you to a place of safety, Eilan, you and the boy."

Eilan looked at him, and her changeable eyes went flat and hard. "Let me be sure I understand you. Now, when the Imperium is about to tear itself apart, you want to offer me Roman protection. After all these years! Isn't it rather more likely that if there should be trouble during the coming weeks I will be safer here" — she indicated the walls and the hulking figure of Huw with a graceful wave of her hand - "than you and yours are likely to be?"

Gaius flushed. "Are you so sure your own people will never turn on you? Your oracles have been a force for peace with Rome - and now that your grandfather is not here, whom do you think people like Cynric will blame if things go wrong? Can't you see that you must come with me?"

"I must . . . ?" her eyes flashed. "And what does your Roman wife say to- this fine plan? Has she tired of you after twelve years?"

"Julia has become a Christian and sworn an oath of chastity. That is grounds enough for divorce in Roman law. I could marry you, Eilan, and we could be together. If you will not, I can formally adopt our son!"

"So kind of you!" Eilan's face was now as red as it had been pale. She rose to her feet suddenly and started down the path, her skirts sweeping the gravel behind her. Gaius and Huw jumped up, both of them, it seemed to him, equally taken aback, and followed.

At the end of the garden was a hedge, just low enough for Gaius to see over it to a flat space between the buildings and the outer walls where several children were playing with a sewn leather ball. After a few moments it became clear to Gaius that one boy was the leader, a lad as leggy as a young colt who was just beginning to grow into his bones. His curls were tawny on top from a summer in the sun, but underneath they were dark, and as he turned to shout to one of his team-mates, there was something so like Macellius in his expression that it stopped Gaius's breath.

Eilan had begun to speak again, but Gaius's gaze was on the boy. His heart was hammering so hard he thought they must hear it in Deva, but the child, intent on his game, never looked around.

"When I bore him in that hut in the forest where were you?" Her voice, low and furious, was pitched for his ears. "And when I fought to keep him with me, and all these years when I watched over him in secret, never daring to admit he was my own? He does not know I am his mother, but I have kept him safely. Now, when he is almost come to manhood, you would step in and take him away? I think not, Gaius Macellius Severus Siluricus!" she hissed. "Gawen knows nothing of Rome!"

"Eilan!" he whispered. Gaius had thought what he felt for this child the one time he had held him had been some fancy; but he could feel it again, a longing that shook his bones. "Please!"

She turned her back and began to move back down the path. "My thanks to you, Roman, for your sympathy," she said loudly and clearly. "It was kind of you to come. As you say, the death of Ardanos has been a great loss. Do take our respectful greetings back to the Legate and to your father."

Gaius saw Huw looming towards him and, still looking over his shoulder, started to follow her. For a moment Gawen turned towards him, head tipped back, watching the ball. Then he dashed away. Gaius let the big man shepherd him back down the path, feeling as if all the light had gone out of the world.

Eilan had pulled her veil back down. His last sight of her was a shadow disappearing into a dark doorway. As Gaius let his horse choose its own way back down to the road he wondered how it could all have gone so wrong. He had been so relieved to find Eilan was unchanged, and he had meant to tell her he still loved her; but he realized now that she was something worse than a Fury: a woman like the old Empresses, or Boudicca, a woman warped by pride and power.

Abruptly a vision of Senara as he had last seen her gazing up at him overlaid his memory of Eilan's rage. She was so good, and so innocent - as Eilan had been when first he knew her. Eilan had never truly understood him, but Senara was half Roman, as he was, and torn by the same conflicts and uncertainties. If he could win her, it seemed to Gaius he would be whole once more.

He was not yet beaten. One way or another, he would have Senara, and he would have the boy, though all the Legions of Rome and warriors of the tribes stood between.

Eilan spent the days after Gaius's visit in seclusion. The priestesses thought that she was grieving for her grandfather, but although his death had left her shocked and startled, relief rather had predominated. Her reaction to Gaius, however, was another matter entirely. She herself had been as surprised by her own fury as he was. She had not realized how much she had resented his abandonment all these years. It was true that she had agreed to it, but surely he could have tried to contact her before now! How dared he think that he could walk in without a word of love and take her child away . . .

When her thoughts reached this point she would have to stop herself, walk a little or spend some time in the disciplined meditation Caillean had taught her, and try to recover her serenity. It was several days before she began seriously to consider what he had said to her. Who, indeed, would now feel himself privileged to instruct her in what she was to say in the name of the Goddess? The last she had heard, the Druids were still arguing. By now it had become clear that a new Arch-Druid would not be chosen until after Lughnasad, so she need not worry about preparing for the festival. But by Samaine, the new leader would be firmly seated in his power. And if it were someone like her father, he would demand that the Goddess call the tribes to war.

When Dieda returned to the Forest House and came to see her, Eilan found her own offers of sympathy quickly shrugged off.

"Ardanos is no loss," said her kinswoman callously. "My father was always in the hands of the Romans. I wonder who will give the orders to the Oracle now?"

Ever since Gawen's birth, Eilan had felt constrained in Dieda's presence. Still, it seemed impossible she should have no feeling whatever for her own father. Eilan missed Caillean, who might have been able to make some sense out of all this, more with every passing day.

Dieda was still with her when one of the girls came in to tell them that Cynric had come. So, the Ravens are gathering, Eilan thought grimly, but she greeted Cynric kindly as a kinsman when Huw brought him in. He looked older than his years, she thought painfully, shaggy as a mountain pony, his fine skin marred by old scars.

"What are you doing in this part of the country? I thought you safely away to the North after things went wrong with Brigitta and the Demetae."

"Oh, I can come and go as I please," he said, "even under the Commander's nose. I am too clever for them." He spoke with a kind of brittle gaiety she found disturbing.

"The proudest beast is soonest taken in the snare of the hunter," murmured Dieda sardonically. She pretended to care nothing for Cynric, but Eilan thought she was not so indifferent as she seemed.

Cynric shrugged. "I might well think some god favors me more than common; it is true that I seem to bear a charmed life. I think I could go into Londinium and pull the Governor's beard."

"I would not try it, if I were you," Dieda said, and he returned her laughter.

"I do not intend to try it at this moment; in another month or two it may be a very different matter. I do not grieve at Ardanos's death; nor should you, Eilan. He was all too eager to have all things ordered as he chose."

"He was indeed," she said honestly, though her blood ran cold as she connected what Gaius had told her with Cynric's words.

"Good; you are honest so far," he said. "I wonder, foster sister, how far your honesty goes."

She said warily, "I, at least, know what I want."

"Do you? And what is that, Eilan?"

"Peace!" So that my son can grow to be a man, she thought grimly. But there was no way she could say that to Cynric. Ardanos had blighted her own happiness, and that of Cynric and Dieda as well, but at least in the West, the tribes had been at peace for a dozen years.

Cynric grimaced. "Peace - women think too much of it," he snorted. "You sound like Macellius's mouthpiece; as I sometimes thought old Ardanos was. But he is gone. Now we may have a chance to drive out these Romans. Brigitta waits, knowing what we want of her."

"I should think Brigitta had seen enough of war," Eilan said.

"Say rather that she has seen enough of Roman justice," Cynric said bitterly." But there are strange rumors going about these days. If the Romans do fight each other, perhaps we can free ourselves of what they call justice. Then every Roman home shall be laid waste as was the home of Bendeigid!"

Eilan interrupted. "Have you forgotten it was not the Romans who leveled the home of my father and killed my mother, but the Hibernians and the wild tribesmen of the North? The Romans themselves punished them."

"For our own homes, who but we should be responsible?" asked Cynric. "It is for us to punish or to spare as we see fit. Are we to accept all this like tame dogs, and let the Romans determine whom we should fight and where?" An angry flush was building beneath the weathered skin.

Eilan said stubbornly, "However it comes, peace is a good thing."

"So you will still speak the traitorous words of Ardanos? Or are they the words of Macellius, or perhaps of his handsome son?" he asked, sneering.

Behind him the giant bodyguard shifted weight uneasily. Eilan hardly noticed, she was so distressed. "At least Macellius has the good of both our peoples at heart."

"And I do not?" Cynric demanded, his eyes flashing.

"I did not say that, or anything like to it."

"But that is what you meant," he threw back at her. "I know Macellius's cub came here. What did he say to you? With you in the high seat, it seems we hardly need the Romans. But we shall hear such traitorous counsels no longer. Bendeigid has been chosen as Arch-Druid - that is what I came to tell you - and he will give you a very different set of instructions at the next festival!"

Dieda was looking from one to the other, her face flaming. Eilan strove for calm, knowing that Cynric was simply trying to hurt her.

"It is true that Ardanos told me what he wanted and interpreted the Oracle's answers. But what the Goddess says while I am in trance is not my doing. I do not declare my own will, Cynric," she said quietly.

"Are you trying to tell me the Goddess wishes for this treason?"

"Why should She not?" shouted Eilan. "She is a mother." As I am. Eilan swallowed the words, and added angrily, "You have no right to speak so to me!"

"I am the vengeance of the Goddess," snapped Cynric, "and I speak as I will - and punish —"

Before Eilan could react, his lifted hand had connected with her cheek. She cried out, and Dieda exclaimed in shock, "How dare you?"

"Cathubodva knows I dare deal this way with all Romanized traitors!"

A shadow loomed behind him. Still glaring, Cynric started to turn, Huw's cudgel caught him in motion and his head exploded in a shower of blood and brains. Dieda screamed, and Eilan lifted her hand but it was too late.

For a moment Cynric's body stood swaying, a surprised look on what was left of his face. Then his body understood its death at last and he crumpled to the floor.

Shaking, Eilan touched his wrist, knowing already, as the gush of blood from his head slowed, that she would find no pulse. She looked up at her guard, who was beginning to turn a little green as he stared at the blood.

"Huw - why did you do it? Why?"

"Lady . . . he hit you!"

Eilan bowed her head. Even if the offender had been Ardanos himself Huw would have struck him. He had been taught that the Priestess was inviolable. But Cynric's death would have to be concealed. His followers were not many, but they were desperate. If they decide to avenge him, the precarious unity she had built among her people would be shattered. Cynric dead might be more dangerous than he had ever been alive.

Dieda turned away, weeping. Eilan felt that she herself was beyond tears. "Go away, Huw," she said tiredly. "Go tell Miellyn what has happened and ask her to send a message to the new Arch-Druid." My father . . .she thought numbly, but she had no time now to consider the implications. "Speak to no others," she instructed, "and when you have carried this message, forget what has happened here today."

She got to her feet, feeling suddenly a hundred years old. "Dieda, come to the garden. There is nothing you can do for him now." She went to comfort the weeping woman, but Dieda jerked away.

"Is it so you reward faithfulness to our people? Then have your tame bear kill me too."

Eilan winced. "I tried to save him. I would have willingly given my own life —"

"Oh indeed, that's easy enough to say —" Dieda turned on her. "But you take lives, not give them. You fed on Caillean's wisdom, and sent her into exile when you had drained her dry. You stole my reputation, and walked away with your honor as bright as a newborn babe's. And now you have taken the life of the only man I ever loved! Your Roman was lucky to be rid of you! Eilan the inviolate! Lady High and Mighty! If only they knew!"

Eilan said wearily, "None of us held a sword to your throat to bid you take vows here, Dieda. When it was clear they had chosen me, you could have been released, and when you went to Eriu, no force was used to bid you return. I have said this before, but I suppose you could not hear." She tried to speak calmly, but the other woman's words struck harder than Cynric's blow.

"I told you once to beware if ever you betrayed our people. Was Cynric right, Eilan? Have you been working for Rome all along?"

Eilan lifted her head and, trembling, stared into that other face, so like her own. "I swear . . .that I have served the Goddess as well as I could," she said hoarsely, "and may the sky fall and cover me, the earth rise up to swallow me, if I lie." She took a deep breath. "I am still High Priestess of Vernemeton. But you may go to Caillean, or wherever else you will, if you feel that you can no longer serve the Goddess in my company!"

Slowly Dieda began to shake her head, a sly expression that Eilan liked even less than her rage creeping into her eyes.

"I won't leave you," she whispered. "I wouldn't leave now for the world. I want to be here when the Goddess strikes you down!"

Senara was already waiting outside the hut in the forest when Gaius arrived, her bright hair like a flame against the dark trees. "I see you have come," he said softly.

Senara turned and, although she had expected him, gave a small startled cry. "Is it you?"

"No other," he said, almost gaily, "in spite of the evil weather. I dare say we shall have rain, and that speedily." He looked at the sky. "What, think you, would Father Petros say to lending the shelter of his roof to a couple of wayfarers?"

"For converts I think he would be delighted. I do not think he would do so to pagans," she said reprovingly.

They moved inside together. The hermit's furnishings consisted of some dilapidated benches and, against the wall, a clumsy box bed. But where, this evening, was Father Petros? Outside the storm broke with a rattle of wind and a slam of rain. Gaius winced, listening to the thunder.

"You see, we made it here just in time," he said. "Bellissima!"

"You must not call me so," she said timidly.

"No?" he queried, watching her carefully. "But I thought truth was one of your Christian virtues. The Stoics say so, and even among the Druids, I have heard, truth-telling is valued. Would you have me lie to you, then?"

"You know how to best me with words," she said crossly. "We came here to speak of the state of your soul."

"Ah, yes; a thing that I am not yet convinced I possess."

She said, "I am no philosopher. But do not even the Stoics whom you have mentioned, speak of that part of a man which deals with the evidence of that which you can neither see nor feel?"

"They do; it is that which convinces me that of all women you are the most desirable."

He knew that he was pushing the girl, but the storm, rather than relieving the tension, seemed to have filled him with its own intensity. He had spent the days since his meeting with Eilan in turmoil, alternately raging and in despair. He would have taken her away and done his duty by her, but she had denied him. Julia too had forfeited her claim to him. Surely he was free now to seek comfort elsewhere! And when he told Senara she was beautiful, he had not lied.

She blushed and said timidly, "It is not well done of you to speak so to me."

"On the contrary, I think it is very well done, and you would have me speak the truth. And for what else were you created as a woman?"

Now she was on familiar ground, having listened to many catechumens. "Scripture tells us," she replied, "that we were created for the purpose of giving worship to the Creator."

"How dull for him," Gaius answered. "If I were a god, I would ask more of men than that they should spend their leisure in worshipping me."

"But it is not for the Created to question the ways of the Creator."

"Why not?" Gaius pursued.

"Is there anything better to do than worship God?" she demanded, raising her eyes to his. Flushed, like this, she looked still more beautiful.

Certainly there is, Gaius thought, and I would rather be doing it with you. If there was a god, he had created women's beauty, and Gaius could not believe he would condemn any man for appreciating it. But it was not yet time to say so.

"Tell me, then about this Creator."

"Almost every faith - except perhaps that of Rome who worship only their Emperor who is all evil - speaks of a Creator. It was He who made all things that were made, and He placed us here to worship Him."

"Properly speaking, it is the genius of the Emperor that we honor, the divine spark that guides him, and through him, the Empire, not the man. That is why those who will not burn incense are prosecuted as traitors."

"There may have been good Emperors, though some of the priests would not believe it," Senara conceded. "But even you will own that Nero, who burned so many Christians in his arena, was an evil one."

"I will grant you Nero," Gaius said, "and Caligula. And there are those in Rome who feel that Domitian in his hubris has gone too far. When that happens, those who made a man Emperor have the right to replace him." And soon, he thought, shivering. September was passing quickly.

"You are very proud of being a Roman," she said then. "I do not know very much about my mother's family and have always wondered what it would have been like to be raised that way. Were you born in Rome?"

He grinned at her. "Indeed not; I am half British, just as you are. My mother was a royal woman of the Silures. She died when I was very young, bearing my little sister."

"Ah, how sad for you." Her eyes suddenly overflowed; he had not noticed that they were so blue. "What did you do then?"

"I stayed with my father," Gaius told her. "I was his only son, so he had me well educated by tutors, and taught to read Latin and Greek; then I went into the Legions. There is really nothing more to tell."

"And were there no women in your life?"

He could see her fighting this purely worldly curiosity; but he thought it a good sign that she wanted to know.

"My father arranged my marriage with Julia when I was very young," he said carefully. One day she would have to know about Eilan and their son, but not yet. "And as you may know, my wife has taken a vow of chastity, which means I am alone," he said sadly. Outside, the thunder crashed.

She said, "I should not say this, and I am certain Father Petros would not approve, but that seems not fair dealing. I know that a vow of chastity is supposed to be the best of all ways to live, but when she has pledged herself to you —"

"If you were married to me, would you take such a vow?"

She flushed again, but said seriously, "I would not. The learned Paulus wrote that those who were married should continue in that state, and those who were not married should not marry."

"If I had married you, you would have taken your vows more seriously than Julia," he said softly.

"I could never be untrue to a vow to you."

"And you have not taken vows in the Forest House?" She was still looking at the floor, but Gaius moved a little closer, feeling the blood run faster beneath his skin.

"I have not," she said. "They have all been very kind to me, and asked very little, but I cannot serve their Goddess without giving up my Roman heritage. I will have to decide soon."

"There is another alternative." His voice grew hoarse as he took in the sweet scent of her hair, but he kept it low. "Julia has forfeited her rights as my wife by her vow of chastity, and we were married by Roman, not by Christian rites. I would marry you, Senara — or Valeria, as your mother called you. Your uncle Valerius is a good man; he would be happy if I were to take you away from here."

He heard her breath catch. She was like some bright bird hovering almost within reach of his hand, like Eilan when she came to him at Beltane so many years ago. But Eilan and Julia had rejected him; they were shadows, banished by the living reality of this girl who stood so close to him now.

"If only it could be," she whispered. "Where would we go?"

"To Londinium, or even to Rome. Great changes are coming. I can tell you no more, but there is nothing we might not do, together, if you would come with me!"

Not to touch her then seemed the hardest thing he had ever done, for he was mad now with uncertainty and need. But he knew that if he did he would lose her. Senara looked up and he faced her, letting the ardor that filled him glow in his eyes.

She did not flee. Trembling, she said softly, "I wish I knew what to do."

Be mine, he said silently. Help me to raise my son! Surely, she would accept Gawen. That was why he needed her, after all, and not some wealthy Roman maiden who would despise Gawen's British blood. It was for the sake of the boy . . .

Now, at last, Gaius dared caress her; she did not pull away, but he felt her tremble at his touch. Afraid to frighten her, he lifted his hands.

"Oh, what shall I do? God help me," she whispered, turning her head so that her cheek lay against his hand.

"I think," he whispered into her ear, "that it must be your God who has brought us together."

"God grant you are right."

"I will go to your uncle and get his authority to take you from the Forest House. Be ready to leave when I come for you," he said. "By the time the next moon has waned you will be on your way to Londinium with me."

Once again, with a great effort, he did not touch her. He had his reward when she shyly stood on tiptoe and whispered, "My brother, let us exchange the kiss of peace."

"Ah, Valeria, it is not the kiss of peace I want from you," he whispered into her fine-spun hair. "And some day you will know it."

She broke away from him; and with a new wisdom - or guile — he let her go. Just in time, for in the next moment a step sounded, and the hermit, Father Petros entered. Senara, he was surprised to see, greeted the hermit without a blush. Had all women that trick of hiding their feelings on the instant? He remembered with what swiftness Eilan, too, had been able to conceal her emotions.

She said, "Rejoice, Father. Gaius Macellius has promised to take me from the Druid temple and find me a new home, perhaps even in Rome."

Father Petros looked sharply at Gaius; he was not as naive as the girl. Gaius said, "Senara has been trying to show me, Good Father, why I ought to become one of your congregation."

"And will you do so?" The priest regarded him suspiciously.

Gaius said quietly, "She has certainly been most persuasive."

Father Petros positively glowed. "I will welcome you to my flock as a son," he said fulsomely. "You will set a fine example for the others of your class."

Indeed, thought Gaius, a Roman nobleman with my connections would be a good catch for this fisher of men. So much for the idea that Christians were no respecters of persons. But there must be some good in it, to have attracted a girl like Senara.

Twenty-Nine

Eilan! Eilan! The Emperor is dead!" Senara burst through the door, then stopped short, trying to assume the dignity with which the High Priestess of Vernemeton should be approached.

Smiling, Eilan set her spindle on the little table beside her and invited the girl to sit down. With Caillean gone, Miellyn suffering from one of her periodic bouts of depression, and Eilidh busy supervising the maidens, she found herself depending more and more on Senara for company. Dieda had not spoken to her since Cynric died. At least they had managed to bury him without arousing comment. Two of the Druids had come by night and taken the body to the ancient mound on the Hill of the Maidens. Perhaps Cynric's death had been without honor, but he had a hero's burial.

"The man that brings us fresh eggs heard the news in Deva," said Senara, her eyes wide with excitement. "He was assassinated a week ago, just before the Equinox, and the world from Caledonia to Parthia is buzzing like an overturned hive! Some say that a senator will be the next Emperor, and others think one of the Legions will elevate their Commander to the purple. More likely still, several will claim it and there will be civil war!"

"What is happening in Deva?" Eilan asked when she could get a word in.

"The men of the Twentieth are uneasy, but so far they have stayed quiet. The Commander has ordered a great feast for them, with unlimited wine and beer. Lady Eilan, what do you think will happen now?"

Eilan sighed. "No doubt the Roman Commander is hoping that they will all get very drunk, and awaken too sick to make trouble for anyone." If they were lucky that was how it would go. If the drink sent the legionaries righting mad instead, there was no knowing what they might do.

Senara giggled and shook her head. "I meant about the Emperor. Do you think the senators will take power and Rome will go back to being a Republic again?"

Eilan stared at her, wondering why the child was worrying about events in Rome. Of course she was half Roman, like Gaius, but she had never seemed much concerned about that side of her heritage.

"I am a great deal more concerned about what is going to happen in Britannia," she said grimly. "Cynric was not the only one who would see this as a golden opportunity to raise the tribes, and then we could have a civil war here, too!"

My father, for instance, she thought with an inner shudder. What in the name of the Goddess was she to do when he began making demands on her with both the power of the Arch-Druid and a father's authority? Once more she wished desperately that she could discuss this with Caillean.

Senara's eyes widened. "What should we do?"

"There is something you can do," Eilan said thoughtfully. "Take the new lengths of linen over to the house of the Druids - you are not under vows yet, and they will not think it odd. Ask, in all innocence, if they have heard the news, and let me know what they say."

Senara gave her a conspiratorial grin and jumped to her feet. In another moment she was gone, leaving Eilan to envy her energy.

"What indeed should I do? she wondered then. Perhaps she ought to have taken Gaius up on his offer, but from the sound of it, he must have problems of his own by now. The existence of Gawen had been Ardanos's weapon against her. She had thought that with her grandfather dead, she would be free, but though her father did not know her secret, Dieda did. How long, she wondered, before Dieda's hatred gave the new Arch-Druid a power over her he would not hesitate to use? Unless, of course, he killed her out of hand?

She rested her head in her hands, feeling the beginnings of the headache that had troubled her increasingly during the past few days. How can I deal with this? Goddess help me now!

One day, when they all knew why she had done what she had -when all this land was at peace and there was neither Roman nor Briton - ah, then she might be forgiven! She shook her head in anguish, seeing nowhere to turn.

And at that moment, pain like a bolt from heaven lanced through her temple. From what seemed a very great distance, the thought came, But I shall be long dead by then . . . Then consciousness fled.

When Eilan came to herself she was slumped over her table. She felt curiously drained and at peace, but with an inner certainty she knew that something had changed. She had always been aware that some of the herbs in the sacred drink she used before giving the Oracle could dangerously thin the blood, and sometimes cause a weakness in the brain. Perhaps that was what was happening now.

"When it comes to you," Caillean had told her once, "you will know." A lingering death like Lhiannon's was unusual. Old Latis had said once that most of the High Priestesses died suddenly. But not, Eilan suspected now, without warning.

Is this my warning? she wondered. But my work will not be finished.

"It is finished." Awareness came once more, as in trance when the Goddess spoke to her.

But who should succeed her at her work, declare the Oracles in her stead? She must not leave matters in confusion as Ardanos had done.

"It does not matter." With the words came calm. The Goddess had spoken. What was to come was in Her hands, and not Eilan's concern any more. If she died, it would be a bolt of mercy, not of vengeance, that would strike her down. Caillean had been correct. The Druids had no right to declare how the priestesses should live. What mattered was that she try her best to do the Lady's will.

In autumn the mists rose thick above the marshes of the Summer Country and wreathed around the Tor. On such mornings, when Caillean made the climb to the standing stones that crowned it for her morning meditation, it seemed as if the Tor were an island indeed and she was gazing out over a rolling grey sea. But as the year drew on toward Samaine, she found herself thinking quite obsessively of Eilan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That ain't nothing to us," said one of the bandits, jeering. "What can she do? Throw fire at us, maybe? There's a stall at every market with a juggler who can do that same trick."

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

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

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

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

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

It was many hours before she became conscious again.

In the days that followed that first pain, Eilan tried to accept the will of the gods. But although she could believe that the Goddess would watch over Vernemeton and her people, she still feared for her child. She could have trusted Gawen to Caillean. But Caillean -at her work at the far end of the country - was not there. Dieda was kin to the boy, but since the death of Cynric she was the last person to whom Eilan could entrust him. Lia, she knew, would die for her nursling, but she was only a poor woman with no place to go. Perhaps Mairi might be willing to take the child, but Gawen would not be safe even with her if their father should learn his identity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Senara looked up, the bright drops still making glistening tracks down her cheeks in the lamplight. "That's part of it," she whispered, "the least part." She struggled for words. "I'm not worthy to be here at all; I'm not fit; if you knew, you'd cast me out of here -"

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

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

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

Eilan caught Senara in her arms. "Ah, my poor child," she whispered. "But you are still free to leave us and even to marry if you wish. You were brought here so young. It was never really intended that you should take vows among us; but that was so long ago now that most of us had forgotten. Tell me about it. Where did you meet this man? Who is he? I have no objection if you want to marry, but I care for you as much as any mother, and I would like to be sure you are choosing well."

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

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

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

"This man . . ." she faltered. "He has come for me . . ."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your son?" Stricken, Senara looked back and forth between Gaius and Eilan. "Tell me this is not true," she said to Gaius, pleading. Her voice caught in her throat.

"You do not understand," Gaius muttered.

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

As she turned from him, the door swung wide and the giant Huw thrust into the room, cudgel upraised. But after the death of Cynric he had been severely chastised, and he did not want to make the same mistake again. "Lady," he mumbled, "they said a man was here. I heard shouting. What shall I do?"

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

Senara stared at Gaius for a moment and then flung her arms around Eilan. "Oh, I would not," she cried, "not for the world and everything in it would I go with him now!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that it mattered any more, he thought, feeling the cool fire of the wine going down. Senara didn't love him. Julia didn't love him. And Eilan — especially Eilan - didn't love him at all. He shuddered, remembering the face of the Fury once more when she had ordered him away.

The door to the taverna was flung open and another bunch of legionaries crashed in. The Commander must be wondering by now if he had miscalculated, thought Gaius sourly. The feast he had offered had done no more than weaken military discipline. If this had been Rome, the Emperor would have been emptying the treasury to give the men circuses, but a little bear-baiting was all this godforsaken province could provide. It wasn't nearly enough to distract them, and the soldiers seemed to be getting wilder with every day.

But nobody paid any attention to the lone man getting quietly drunk in the corner, and that was all that mattered to Gaius right now. He sighed, and reached for the flagon again.

A hand closed around his wrist. He looked up blearily, and blinked to see Valerius standing there. "By Mercury, man, you've led me a chase!" Valerius stood back to look at him and made a face. "Thank the gods your father can't see you now!"

"Does he know - ?" Gaius began.

"Are you crazy? I care about his feelings, even if you do not. One of the men told me he'd seen you. What possessed you to get drunk now? Never mind that," he said as Gaius started to protest. "First, my lad, we've got to get you out of here!"

Gaius was still protesting when Valerius hauled him into the street and across the town to the bathhouse. But it was not until he had been shoved into the cold pool that Gaius began to sober up enough to understand what was said to him.

"Tell me," Valerius said as he came up, sputtering, "is my niece Valeria still in the Forest House?"

Gaius nodded. "I went there, but she . . . changed her mind, wouldn't come with me." Events were coming back to him. He had given Valerius an expurgated version of the situation and gained his permission to marry Senara - that gave the man some rights - but why was he so upset about it now?

"Listen," said Valerius quickly. "You're not the only one who's been drinking. Last night I was with some of the legionaries attached to the Quaestor's office - their names don't matter - who were speculating about the priestesses at Vernemeton. And one of them said, "It's not as if the women there were anything like real Vestals; they're just barbarian women like any others." I protested, but it finally came to a wager that they could carry off one of the sacred virgins there, and it wouldn't be sacrilege."

Gaius picked up a towel and began to rub himself furiously, trying to understand.

"Come into the hot room," said Valerius, offering his arm. "You'll sweat the poisons out faster." When they were settled, gasping as the hot steam hit them, the secretary continued. "I thought it was the sort of silly bet that drunken men make - no more than words born of wine, and nothing to worry about - till this morning, when three of the men turned up missing at muster. One of my drinking companions of the night before told me that they had left Deva this morning to try and win the bet."

"The centurion . . ." Gaius's head was pounding, but he was becoming able to think once more.

". .. has more than enough on his hands without this, and so do the tribunes. Discipline has gone to hell since the assassination. You and your father know the British better than anyone. What do you think will happen if some of our men are discovered raping a native priestess? Boudicca's rebellion will be nothing to it, and we're in no condition to respond!"

"Yes . . . of course," said Gaius. "I will go. Do you know exactly when they left? Have you any idea which way they took?"

"None whatever, I'm sorry to say," Valerius replied. "I suppose I could ask around."

"No, there's not enough time. I'll have to go home for clothes." He rubbed his eyes.

"I have them," said Valerius. "I had an idea you might need a change."

"My father was right," muttered Gaius, "you do think of everything."

He let the slaves dry and shave him, and forced himself to eat something. He had been a fool, he thought bitterly, trying to drown his sorrows in wine when the world was falling to pieces around him. Somewhere during the process of returning to sanity he had realized that tomorrow must be Samaine. Half the tribesmen in the West would be converging on Vernemeton for the festival. It didn't matter what Eilan and Senara thought of him. His blood ran cold at the thought of their danger if a war started there.

"I'll get your niece to safety," he told Valerius as he prepared to ride out of Deva. And Eilan, and the boy . . .and if they still hate me they can tell me about it on the way home. He folded back his cloak to free his arms, and patted the last thing he had borrowed from Valerius — a sword.

Not all the years since the coming of the Romans - not all the years since the building of the great Temple of the Sun on the plain, could have been longer to Eilan than the next two days. The night before the Samaine festival seemed to last a thousand years. She had sent Senara away hours ago. As the lights burned down, it seemed to her that the growing shadows were engulfing her own spirit as well.

This must have been what was meant when the warning had come to her; death had waited within her heart and spirit like a

seed; it seemed now to expand through her body like an unfolding flower. Her heart pounded as if it would break through walls of bone. Even when her child was born she had felt no such pain. But whether the pain was of the body or of the mind and spirit she could not tell.

When she dozed, her dreams were chaotic; she saw Caillean surrounded by evil men. Then the priestess raised her arms to heaven, lightning flared, and when Eilan could see again, her attackers were stretched lifeless on the ground. But Caillean was lying still as well, and Eilan could not tell if she lived.

She came to herself, shaking, her cheeks wet with tears. Had that been a true seeing? Caillean ought to be safe on the holy Tor with her priestesses. But if she was not, then what hope was there in the world?

Toward morning, Eilan crept into the room where Lia had put Gawen to bed. Huw, barefoot, padded softly at her heels. For almost the first time since she had taken up her duties as High Priestess, she found herself resenting the big man, as if Huw was taking up air which she needed for her own breath.

She remembered a horror story she had heard in the House of Maidens; how a Priestess of the past had been attacked by her own guard, and given him over to the priests to be put to death. For the first time, she could understand how that woman, desperate for a little human warmth, could have reached out to the only thing human within her reach, and how her appeal might have been misunderstood. Shuddering, she turned to Huw and told him to wait at the door.

Ah, gods, she thought, if only Caillean were here - or Lhiannon - or even my mother - or anyone so that I were not so desperately alone. But there was no one. In her mind even Senara, for all her weeping and denial, was a foe. And her father? He was the greatest of her enemies.

She looked long on Gawen's sleeping face. It seemed impossible that the pounding of her heart should not be loud enough to awaken him. Had this big boy actually been so small that he could lie in his father's two hands? He had grown from something smaller than the seed of a flower, engendered in that moment in the forest when her last defenses had gone down before Gaius's need. And yet at the time she had been triumphant, certain that this was a sacred thing.

And Gawen was beautiful. How, out of such sorrow could such beauty be born? She scanned again the childish features, and the long body with hands and feet just a bit too big, discerning within them the promise of the man he could become. She could not see that he resembled Gaius all that much. Once, that had disappointed her, but at least now she would not have to suppress a flicker of hatred whenever she glimpsed his father in his eyes.

But he was Gaius's son; and because of him, she had been willing to let Gaius marry the daughter of a Roman official. Only now, it seemed, he was going to divorce Julia and renounce all his promises for the sake of Senara, who might as well have been her own little sister. Senara, who was younger, and apparently to Gaius, more beautiful.

At Eilan's waist hung the curved dagger she had been given when she became a priestess. She fingered it for a moment. So often, at the rites, she had used it to draw the ritual drop of blood for the cauldron of prophecy. There, at the wrist where she could see the pounding of the blood, one stroke, hard and deep, would end all her troubles, at least for this lifetime. Why should she wait for the fate that the Goddess had promised her? But if she took her life, what would become of Gawen?

Deliberately Eilan took the sickle and returned it to the small sheath at her waist. In the faltering light of the lamp her face must have shown something she had not intended, for Huw rushed forward.

"Lady?"

"We will go back to my rooms now, and then you must bring Senara to me."

It was not long before he returned with the girl in tow. Senara's dress was wrinkled; her eyes were hot and her cheeks smeared as if she had been crying. She saw Eilan and cried out, "Lady, forgive me; not for the world —"

"Be quiet," Eilan said. "I haven't the strength for any more of this. I have had a warning of death; it is a gift of the Goddess that the High Priestess shall know her time." She drew breath, and Senara, seeing the little dagger loose in its sheath at her waist, went white beneath her tears.

"That cannot be true," she said desperately. "It is written in the holy books that no man knows what a day may bring forth —"

"Silence," Eilan said tiredly. "There is something very important that I must say to you. If I am wrong, it will not matter whether you believe me, but if I am right, there is something I must ask."

"Of me? Anything," Senara said submissively.

Eilan drew a long breath. "You heard me say that Gaius and I had a son. Gawen is that child. I want you to marry Gaius and take his son away with you. Promise me" - her voice, which had been perfectly steady when she spoke of her own death, broke - "promise me only that you will be good to him."

"Oh no," Senara cried out. "I would not now marry Gaius Severus if he were the only man on the face of the earth."

"You promised to do as I asked," Eilan said quietly. "Is this how you keep your word?"

Senara looked up, and again her eyes spilled over. She said, "I want only to do what is right. If you think -" She stopped, breathing hard. "If God has chosen to take you, I suppose it is His business, but you must not lay hands on your own life, Eilan!"

Eilan drew all her dignity about her like a cloak as she said, "It does not really matter to me whether you believe it or not. But if you will not help me, Senara, then you may go."

Senara trembled. "I will not leave you alone in this state."

"Then for Gaius's sake, take care of his boy."

"It is for the boy's sake I tell you that you must live," Senara entreated. "You have a child, however that came about, and your life is not your own. Gawen is a beautiful boy. You must live to see him grown. And Gaius —"

"Ah, don't speak of him, I beg you —"

"My Lady," said Senara, shaking, "I tell you, Gaius still cares for you and for his son."

"He has forgotten me."

"I am sure he has not," Senara insisted. "Let me remind him of what is due to the mother of his son. Let me speak to him of his duty as a father, and as a Roman. I am sure that would reach his better nature even if nothing else could do so."

Was it possible? Could Senara actually do that? And would she?

"I believe the warning that the Goddess sent me," she said finally, "but if I live through Samaine, you may try. But before you do so, you must get Gawen to safety. I am afraid of what may happen at the festival. Tomorrow - no, tonight," she corrected herself, for it was nearly dawn, "leave the Forest House. Take Gawen to your Father Petros in the forest. No one will think to look for you there!"

Thirty

When Caillean recovered her senses, she knew that she must have been unconscious for some time, for her gown was soaked through. What had wakened her was the sound of a farm cart jolting over the ruts and pits of the road. In the cart were four or five men well armed with cudgels, and a couple of hefty guards walked a few paces ahead with torches. Had they frightened her attackers away? Something must have, for she had not been violated after her assailant struck her down.

Caillean managed to pull herself upright, though the effort made her feel as if the top of her head would fall off. Sprawled around her she could see bodies, and a stink of burnt flesh reached her even through the rain.

One of the men with the torches saw her and quavered, "Be you a ghost, lady? Don't hurt us . . ."

"I give you my word I am no ghost," Caillean said as steadily as she could, "but a priestess from the temple in the Summer Country, left here after an attack by bandits."

Now she could see her litter, turned on its side, the two young priests lying beside it, their throats cut, their golden torques plundered, staring up emptily at the sky. Caillean regarded them with dismay.

And then she looked at the blackened corpses around her and realized that where she had been powerless the gods at least had not. She would rather have saved the young men, but at least they had been avenged.

"Where were you a-going, lady?" asked the farmer from his perch in the driver's seat of the cart.

She controlled her voice with an effort, turning away from the dead men. "To the Forest House near Deva."

"Ah, that explains it then; I understand there's still one of the Legions left there, and the roads are patrolled. These days, no one puts his nose outside his own door around here without a couple of bodyguards. It will be a good thing when we have a new Emperor, and can get some protection again."

Caillean blinked, for the man spoke the British tongue like a native. It was a measure of the degree to which Britain had become Roman that the native folk should regret the lack of an Emperor.

"I see they killed your bodyguard, lady," said the man driving the cart. "Did you have slaves to carry your litter? You don't any more - no doubt they've taken to their heels." He drew up in the road beside her and stopped, staring at the bodies of the Bacaudae. He looked at her again and made an ancient sign of reverence.

"My Lady — I see that the gods watch over you. We're bound the other way, but we'll take you to the next village, where you can get litter bearers and guards."

He helped her up into the cart and wrapped her in a dry blanket. Some of his men lifted the bodies of the young priests into the wagon. Caillean, huddled in her cloak and the farmer's rough blanket, reflected miserably that from now on she would be getting the best of whatever these folk could offer her, but no power on earth could bring her to the Forest House before Samaine.

Gaius was surprised to find the road south from Deva crowded with other travelers. It took him a moment to remember that they must be going down to the festival. But the glances he got as he rode by were not friendly, and after a time he felt it wiser to turn off the road and take a path through the hills so that he could come at the Forest House from the direction of Father Petros's hermitage.

A cold wind was rattling the bare branches like bones, though for the moment it had ceased to rain. Samaine was the feast of the dead; the Romans considered it a day of ill omen. Well, he thought, it was certainly that for him. But he did not consider turning back. He had fallen into a fatalistic mood he remembered from his days with the Legions; the grim acceptance men find sometimes before battle, when survival is less important than honor. He was not sure he had any left, after the last few days, but he would redeem what he could, no matter what it cost.

As he rode, the beauty in the autumn woods moved him despite, or perhaps because of his grim mood. Gaius realized then that in the past year or so he had learned to love this land. Whoever triumphed in the current conflict, he would not go back to Rome.

Hard as he tried to fulfill Macellius's ambitions, he had never completely belonged in his father's world, yet he was far too Roman to feel anything but an impostor among the tribes. But the trees did not despise him as a barbarian or the stones hate him as a conqueror. In the peace of the forest, Gaius was at home.

He saw smoke rising from Father Petros's hut, and thought for a moment of going in. But the place made him remember Senara. Gaius did not think he could bear that memory, and he was certain he would not be able to keep his temper if the priest came out with any of his holy platitudes.

He supposed that his errant legionaries would be hiding somewhere until nightfall. He tethered his mount loosely enough so that it could pull free if he did not return soon and began to make his way carefully around the building, keeping to the woods that edged the cleared land.

Dusk was falling before he saw movement in the bushes ahead of him. Cautious as a cat, he moved forward. Two soldiers were crouched in the lee of some hazels. They had been dicing to pass the time, and now they were arguing about whether or not to light a fire.

"Flavius Macro!" Gaius snapped in his best tone of command. Automatically, the man came to attention, then looked wildly around him.

"Who is it —" the second soldier had his hand on his sword. Gaius trod loudly on a branch to warn him and moved into the last of the light.

"It's, why it's Gaius Macellius," said Macro. "Sir, what are you doing here?"

"I should think it is rather my place to ask that of you," said Gaius, releasing his breath. "They know in Deva that you are gone. What do you think will happen if they find out you came here?"

The man's face turned gray-white. "You wouldn't tell them, would you, sir?"

Gaius pretended to hesitate long enough for the men to shudder, then shrugged. "Well, I'm not your officer. If you head back now you shouldn't get into too much trouble, not with all that's going on in the town."

"Sir, we can't do that," said the other man. "Longus is still in there."

Gaius felt his heart sink. "You can't help him by staying here," he said evenly. "Go on, that's an order. I'll do what I can for your friend."

His tension eased a little as he heard them crashing off through the trees, but even one legionary was too many if found where he had no business to be.

Moving as if he were leading a patrol back on the border, Gaius slipped across the open space to the wall. There should be a back gate somewhere - the wall was intended more as a symbol of separation than an actual defense. His hand touched the latch, and then he was easing into the open space where he had seen his son playing ball. Senara had chattered a great deal about her life here. The big building in front of him must be the House of Maidens. There was a dark patch behind the kitchen that looked like a good place to watch from. He crept towards it.

Someone else had thought so too. As he knelt, he touched bare skin. Someone yelped and there was a brief struggle before Gaius got the fellow pinned with a hand over his mouth.

"Longus?" he whispered. His captive nodded vigorously. "Your wager is off. Your companions have gone home, and if you know what's good for you you'll follow them." Longus sighed, then nodded again, and Gaius let him go. But as the man crossed the yard, a door opened and lamplight spilled across the ground. Longus froze like a trapped hare. "Run, you fool!" Gaius hissed from the shadows.

Longus scrambled over the gate, but suddenly the place was alive with men in white robes. Druid priests! thought Gaius. What were they doing here? His hiding place would be revealed in a moment, for they were bringing torches. He began to edge around the building. Somebody swore in British behind him and he whirled, instinctively drawing his sword.

The man screamed as the blade went in and the others came pelting towards him. Gaius fought as well as he could, and he supposed he must have done some damage, from the brutality with which they clubbed and kicked him after superior numbers had finally brought him down.

"Well, Daughter, are you ready for the festival?" Bendeigid, arrayed in the ceremonial bull-hide cloak and the golden ornaments of the Arch-Druid over his white woolen gown, looked magnificent, but Eilan's heart sank as she returned his salutation.

"I am ready," she said quietly. The maidens had come as they did before every festival to prepare her. For the last time, her heart cried as they bathed her and set the sacred wreath of vervain on her brow. At least she would go the Goddess cleansed and sanctified.

For a moment he leaned on his staff, looking at her. Then he gestured to the priests and her women to leave them.

"Listen, child, there is no longer any need to dissemble. They have told me how Ardanos used to come to you, and the tricks he used to bind your will. I am sorry I accused you of betraying us before."

Eilan kept her gaze lowered, afraid he would see the anger in her eyes. For thirteen years she had been High Priestess, mistress of the Forest House, the most respected woman in the land. Why was he talking as if she were still a child? But this was the loving father who had once said he would rather see her drowned than a Roman's bride. She could not afford to antagonize him; in the confusion, it had been afternoon before Senara and Lia had been able to leave the Forest House with Gawen. She had to buy time for them to get well away.

In the same neutral tone, she asked, "What do you want of me?"

"The Romans are tearing each other to pieces." He grinned wolfishly. "There will never be a better time for us to rise against them. This is the season of slaughter, when the doors open between the worlds. Let us call on Cathubodva, let us raise the spirits of our dead against them. Raise the tribes against Rome, Daughter, summon them to war!"

Eilan repressed a shiver. Much as she had resented Ardanos, her grandfather had been a subtle man, never so blinded by his own dreams that he could not be talked round if he saw something else that would serve. Her father was far more dangerous, because he would sacrifice all else to his inflexible ideals. Yet all she had to do to stay safe was to agree with him. Then she felt the familiar throbbing in her temple, and remembered that whatever she did would not be for long.

"Father," she began, "Ardanos interpreted my answers as it pleased him, and I suppose that you will do the same, but you do not understand about the sacred trance and how the Goddess comes."

She heard a tumult outside and realized that he was no longer listening. The door crashed open, and priests with tangled hair and blood on their robes pushed through the crowd, dragging something that had been a man.

"What is this?" Eilan put all the hauteur a dozen years had taught her into her tone and the babble stilled.

"An intruder, Lady," said one of the priests. "We found him outside the House of Maidens. There was another man, but he got away."

"He killed Dinan!"

"He must have been after one of the priestesses!"

"But which one?"

This time it was the Arch-Druid who brought silence by striking the floor with his staff. "Who are you, fellow, and what were you doing here?"

Eilan shut her eyes, hoping no one would notice that the man's ripped tunic was made from good Roman cloth. Even grimed with blood and dust she knew Gaius, but perhaps no one else would, if she made no sign. Did he come here for Senara, she wondered, or for his son?

"Don't you recognize him, Lord Druid?" Dieda pushed her way forward. Eilan winced at the edge in her laughter. "Well, perhaps he is not so handsome now. Your men have netted a fine pig for our feasting. If you look, you will see the scar of the boar pit on his shoulder there."

Bendeigid should have been your father, thought Eilan hysterically, and Ardanos mine! They pulled the prisoner's head up and for a moment he met her appalled gaze, then the sense left his eyes once more.

"You!" Bendeigid's voice held mingled astonishment and fury. "Have you not done enough damage to me and mine that you should trouble us now?" Suddenly his expression changed. "Well, you shall do so no longer. Dieda, show my men where they can bathe him and tend his wounds, but by no means unbind him. Garic and Vedras" - he pointed to the two most senior Druids — "we must talk. The rest of you, leave us alone!"

The priests dragged Gaius away and the room emptied. Eilan sat back in her chair, wondering whether the pain in her belly was an echo of the throbbing in her head, or fear.

"I see that you know the man," said Vedras, the elder of the two Druids who had remained, "Who is he?"

"His name is Gaius Macellius Severus the younger," snarled Bendeigid.

"The Prefect's son!" exclaimed Garic. "Do you think he came for one of the priestesses as they say?"

"It does not matter why he came," said Vedras. "We must get him out of here. The Red-cloaks would deny our right to punish

even an ordinary legionary. The gods alone know what they will do to us for laying hands on a chieftain's son!"

"Indeed," Bendeigid smiled craftily. "But I do not believe his own people know where he has gone. And no one here knows his name or even that he is a Roman but Dieda and ourselves."

"Then you mean to kill him secretly?"

"Not secretly." Bendeigid's gaze burned like a flame. "Do not you understand? For such a man as this to deliver himself into our hands is a sign from the gods. Let his death at least serve some purpose. We will never find a more noble offering!"

He turned to Garic. "Go tell the men who are guarding the prisoner to dress him in the finest robe you can find."

Eilan felt a chill lift the hair on her arms. An image of the Year-King walking through the Beltane fair came to her, garlanded and clad in an embroidered tunic.

"And if the Romans learn of it?" asked Vedras.

"It is true, their wrath will be terrible," said the Arch-Druid triumphantly. "So terrible that even those who call for peace now will have no choice but to follow us to war!"

For a long moment the other Druid looked at him. Then he nodded, and followed Garic out the door.

"Did Gaius come with your knowledge, Eilan?" Bendeigid asked when they were alone. "Have you been seeing this monster all along?"

"I have not," she whispered, "by the Goddess I swear it!"

"I suppose it does not matter whether I believe you," the Arch-Druid muttered. "All truth will be tested at the Samaine fire."

"Behold, the holy priestess comes, the sacred herbs are in her crown" the priests were singing, but tonight there were more verses to their hymn, with different words.

"War! War! Let British woods A warrior bear for every tree;

As ravening wolves attack the sheep So shall we make the Romans flee!"

Gaius groaned, but the prick of a spear kept him moving. If only that bitch Dieda had not identified him! Macellius would grieve when he heard of the death of his son; but he would be shamed when the manner of it was known. How could he have blundered so badly, provoking the very incident he had hoped to prevent? He had not even succeeded in saving those he loved. The only ray of hope in all this was that he had not seen Senara anywhere, or the boy.

The road up the Hill of the Maidens had never seemed so steep before. He much preferred the last time he had come up here, he thought grimly, with a weapon in his hand and a detachment of cavalry behind him! The embroidered robe rasped his abrasions, and the sacred garland pricked his brow. They had cleaned him up and given him a drink that cleared his head, but Gaius had no illusions about what was in store for him.

From the top of the hill he could see the glow of a great bonfire. Memories of a time before he had entered his father's world were returning with frightening clarity. The Silures had sacrificed one of their own princes in those last days before the Romans crushed them utterly. The man had been one of his uncles, with the royal dragons tattooed on his arms. Gaius's mother had tried to hide her half-Roman child, but he had seen them take the Year-King away. He had been smiling, believing his death would help his people.

And what is it, he wondered then, that I will be dying for?

Then they were on the hilltop. A ring of priests surrounded them; beyond, Gaius saw a sea of faces, grim or gleeful as they listened to the Druids' song. Was Eilan glad or sorry to see him here? He wished he could see her face behind the veil.

Eilan stood beside her father with Dieda and two other priestesses behind her. For the first time he wondered if she also was a prisoner. She had rejected him. It seemed to him that he should be glad of her downfall, but even his own danger had not filled him with such fear as the thought of hers.

"Destroy them all! Avenge our shame! Now let the slaughter be begun! In ranks the Roman troops shall fall As by the scythe the corn is mown!"

The singing ended and the drums grew silent, but a murmur swept through the people and Gaius knew this was only a pause in the storm.

"Children of Don!" the Arch-Druid cried. "It is Samaine Eve! This is a time of changes! The new year is beginning, and a new era for this land! Let the changing of the seasons sweep away the Romans who have blighted Britannia! Tonight we shall gladden the gods of war with a sacrifice. But we must purge our ranks of all offenders. Traitor," he turned to Gaius, "we can make your death hard or easy. Tell us what you came to Vernemeton to do!"

"Kill me, if you will, but ask no foolish questions!" Gaius said hoarsely. "I will say only that I meant no harm to any here." Perhaps he had not lived well, but at least he could die with dignity.

"You were in the sacred precinct, where no men but the Druids may come. Have you seduced one of our maidens? Which of them did you come to carry away?"

Gaius shook his head and gasped as a spearpoint pressed into his side. There was a sensation of warmth and he felt blood trickling down.

"Was it Rhian, Tanais, Bethoc?" the litany went on. For each name they cut him again. Once he tried to drive himself upon the spearpoint, but his captors knew their business and held him still. Loss of blood and the ill-treatment he had already endured were making him dizzy. Soon, he thought, I will pass out and it will not matter what they do to me.

"Senara . . ."

At the name, Gaius jerked involuntarily. In the next moment he tried to conceal his reaction, but no one was watching him. Eilan had stepped forward and thrown back her veil.

"Stop!" she said clearly. "I can tell you who the Roman came for. It was I!"

What is she saying? Gaius stared at her in horror. Then he understood that she must be trying to protect Senara, and perhaps the child. In that moment she had an unearthly beauty. In comparison, Senara's unformed prettiness was a star paled by the full moon's majesty. As had happened sometimes in the moment before battle, Gaius saw his own heart with a terrible clarity. He cared about Senara, but his desire for her had not been love. In the younger woman he had only been trying to recover Eilan as she had been when he first knew her, the maiden that time and his own mistakes had put forever beyond his grasp.

In the shocked silence, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. For a moment some powerful emotion contorted the Arch-Druid's features, then he mastered it and turned from Eilan to Gaius.

"For your sake and hers, on your honor I ask you to tell me if this is true."

True . . .For a moment the word had no meaning. Torn between Rome and Britannia, he did not even know who he was himself. How could he know whom he loved? Slowly Gaius straightened and met Eilan's clear gaze. Her eyes seemed to be asking him a question. At that, all the tension went out of him in a long sigh. "It is true," he said softly. "I have always loved Eilan."

For a moment Eilan closed her eyes, dizzied by a tide of joy. Gaius had understood her, but he had not spoken only for the sake of Senara. She had seen such a look - such an expression of wonder — on his face once only, when he held her in his arms on that Beltane so long ago.

"Have you betrayed us all along then?" Bendeigid hissed, bending close to her ear. "Were you lying when you swore to me that he had not touched you? Or did it begin later, when you were a sworn virgin of the temple? Has he been teaching you Roman lies along with his love-talk, and treason with his caresses? Did you lie with him in the sacred precincts, or in the Sacred Grove?"

She could feel her father's fury, but she seemed to see him through a wall of Roman glass. In the end it had all become so simple. She was living under sentence of death already, and had faced its terrors. Now that the time was come, she was not afraid at all.

"I lay with the Sacred King once only," she said calmly, "as was my right, at the Beltane fires . . ."

"What do you mean?" Miellyn exclaimed behind her. "It was Dieda who had to be sent away - it was Dieda who had a child!"

"It was not!" The shocked echo of speculation ceased as Dieda hurried to the Arch-Druid's side. "They made me agree to the deception. I took her place while she went away to have the baby, and when she returned, they exiled me! She has queened it over the Forest House ever since as if she were as chaste as the moon, but it was all a lie!"

"But I always served the Goddess, not the Romans!" Eilan cried, her composure cracking at the threat to her child. She saw fury replacing the questions in Bendeigid's eyes as he turned on her. The people crowed closer, trying to hear; voices rose in query or condemnation. Rumors of trouble among the Romans had made them like tinder that any spark could set aflame. If she appealed to them, would she set in motion the very catastrophe she had suffered so to avoid?

"Why should I believe you, bitch?" snarled her father. "Your whole life has been a lie!"

He lifted his hand to strike her. A bulky form burst through the line of Druids; Huw, with his cudgel upraised to defend her one last time. But more priests were running between them. Before Huw could reach Bendeigid, bronze blades flared in the firelight, came away a deeper crimson and stabbed once more. Again the Druids struck, and again, and Huw, still struggling towards her, fell without a cry.

Huw would have attacked the Arch-Druid himself, if he had threatened me . . .Eilan thought numbly, and in the end, he had.

"Take him away," Bendeigid was breathing hard. "He was a fool." Abruptly he turned, and grasped Eilan by the arm. "If you had been true, I would have asked you to invoke the Goddess to bless us. But instead, you shall be Her sacrifice!"

Why should that frighten me? My life has been one long offering, thought Eilan as her father dragged her across the circle to stand at Gaius's side. There was a mutter from the people at that. Some of those who had heard the accusations wanted her blood immediately, others thought it sacrilege to lay hands on the High Priestess, whatever her crime.

"Eilan, can you forgive me?" Gaius said in a low voice. "I was never worthy of your love. You wanted me to be your Sacred King, but I am only an ordinary man . . ."

She turned to look at him, and found a nobility in his bruised face that had never been there before. She wished that she could take him in her arms, but the priests were holding her and she realized that he did not need it; she no longer saw the lost child that before had always waited in his eyes. He met her gaze without flinching, at peace with himself at last.

"I see a god in you," Eilan answered fiercely. "I see a spirit that will never die. We did what was required of us, and if we did not do as well as we would have wished, the Lady's purpose was accomplished all the same. Surely it will be given to us to walk together in the Summerland for a time before we come back again."

"You have called him a Sacred King," said Bendeigid hoarsely, "and as such he shall die."

Slowly she saw the stern acceptance that had upheld Gaius deepen to a kind of wonder. He continued to gaze at her as they slipped the noose around his neck and began to tighten it. But before the sword went in beneath his ribs, his eyes had lost focus, fixed for ever on something beyond the world. The blood was still pumping from his breast when they carried him to the fire.

"Tell me, Priestess, what omens do you read in this sacrifice?" Eilan turned her gaze from the flames to her father, and something in her face made him take a step backwards, though she had not moved.

"I see royal blood that sanctifies the ground," she said in a still voice. "In this man the seed of Rome and Britannia was mingled, and you have bound it for ever to the land by giving him to the sacred fire."

Eilan took a deep breath. Her head was pounding so that she could hardly see, but it no longer mattered. The final thing she had desired to see in this world was the glory in Gaius's eyes. There was a roaring in her ears. She felt the surge of trance taking her though she had not tasted the sacred herbs, and heard a voice that was not her own ring out.

"Hear me, ye men of the Cornovii and the Ordovices and all you others of the tribes, for this is the last time a priestess shall prophesy from this sacred hill. Hide your swords, oh warriors, and put away your spears, for not until the ninth generation has been born and died shall the Roman Eagles depart. And when they have flown, those who bear your blood and theirs together shall be left to defend the land!"

"You are lying! You must be lying!" Bendeigid's voice cracked. "You betrayed your oaths!"

Eilan felt herself falling back into her body; pain stabbed her temple, but she shook her head. "I did not, for Gaius was the Year-King. You yourself have made it so, and thus my love for him was no sin!"

Bendeigid swayed, his face contorting with the agony of a man who sees all his certainties crumbling. "If what you say is truth," he cried, "let the Goddess show us a sign before I give you living to the fire!"

Even as he spoke, it seemed to Eilan that a great thunder crashed through her head; startled by the weight of it, she felt herself slip to her knees. Her father reached out, but she was sliding down a long tunnel away from him. Her heartbeat was a fading drum; then it ceased suddenly, and she was free.

So the Goddess struck me down after all, Eilan thought with an odd clarity. But it was Her mercy, not Her wrath!

Far below she could see people bending over her motionless body. This was the ending that had awaited her since she had lain in Gaius's arms, but she had delayed it long enough to build a bridge between her people and his. Two of the Druids were holding her father upright; he was still shouting, but the people were turning from him with frightened faces, beginning to stream away down the hill.

She saw the priests lifting the flesh she had abandoned and carrying it to the pyre on which Gaius was already burning. Then she turned away from that lesser light to the radiance that was opening before her, brighter than the fire, more lovely than the moon.

Epilogue

CAILLEAN SPEAKS

When I arrived at the Forest House the following evening, all the Samaine fires had burned out and only ashes remained. It took some time to find anyone who could give me a coherent account of what had happened. Miellyn had not been seen; some people thought she had died trying to shield Eilan. Eilidh had been killed in the fighting that followed the sacrifice. Dieda was dead also; she lay in the sanctuary, and it was clear that she had fallen by her own hand.

There was certainly no sense to be got from Bendeigid and, except for those Druids who had stayed to tend him, the priesthood had scattered. So, thank the gods, had the warriors who had gathered for the festival. But I found that the folk who remained were eager to obey me, for I was the closest thing they had to a High Priestess now.

I moved through the tumult, giving orders with a calm that astonished me, for I dared not give way to a grief that might prove measureless. Yet there had to be some meaning to all this; a life -or a death — must not be wasted.

The following day I was awakened by the news that a party of Romans had requested an interview with the High Priestess. I went out and saw Macellius Severus with his secretary behind him and another man whom they said was the father of Gaius's Roman wife, sitting their horses under a weeping autumn sky. I was impressed by the fact that he had come here without a detachment of soldiers to back him. But then his son had been brave enough too, at the end.

It was hard to face Macellius, knowing the answer to the question he did not quite dare to ask me, and realizing that I could never tell him how his boy had died. By now the most amazing rumors were flying about the countryside. Gaius had died as a

British Year-King, and though some thought he was a Roman, the only people who knew his name had a powerful reason for keeping silence.

Disorganized the Romans might be, but they still had the force to drown the countryside in blood if they found proof that a Roman officer had been sacrificed on that hill. But of course there was no body, only a pile of ashes mingled with the embers of the Samaine fire.

As they were leaving, Macellius turned to me, and I saw that hope was not quite dead in his eyes. "There was a boy living in the Forest House," he said. "They called him Gawen. I believe he is . . . my grandson. Can you tell me where he is now?"

This time, at least, I could answer truthfully that I did not know, for Gawen had not been seen since Samaine Eve, the day that his nurse and Senara had also disappeared.

For it was not until the third day afterward that Senara came creeping back, her young face haggard with tears, followed by a lanky lad who looked about him with troubled eyes.

"She died for my sake," Senara sobbed when we told her what had happened to Eilan. "She condemned herself to save me - and her child."

My throat was aching, but I forced myself to speak calmly. "Then her sacrifice must not be wasted. Will you take the vows and serve the Goddess in her place, now that she is gone?"

"I cannot, I cannot," wailed Senara. "It would be a sin, for I am a Nazarene. Father Petros is moving into Deva. He will let me stay in his hermitage, and I will spend the rest of my days in prayer!"

I blinked, for suddenly it seemed to me that I could see that small house in the forest surrounded by many others. In time, I thought, more female hermits would gather around her. And what I saw then has indeed come to pass, for this was one of the first of the pious sisterhoods that now serve the people as the Forest House did then; but that was many years in the future. Did Eilan foresee it? Either way, the younger woman had played her part. Senara might refuse to become High Priestess of Vernemeton, but in a sense she was still Eilan's heir.

"Will you take Gawen to his grandfather?" Senara asked. "I cannot keep him with me once I have taken Christian vows."

Which one? I wondered wryly, and then I realized that I was unwilling to surrender the boy to either of those old men, both still prisoned by the hatred of a dying past.

"Gawen . . ." I looked at him, and saw a creature neither Roman nor Briton, neither boy nor man, standing on the threshold of possibility. In the end, Eilan had died so that this child might live in a new world. "I am going back to the Summer Country, where the mists roll around the vale that they call Afallon. Will you come with me?"

"Is that the Summerland?" he asked. "They tell me my mother has gone there."

"Not quite." My eyes filled. "But close to it, some would say."

He looked around him and shivered, and I thought how hard it must be for him, not yet really knowing what he had lost. Almost as hard as it was for me, who understood all too well.

Then he looked up at me, and I saw a spirit that resembled neither grandfather, nor his parents either, looking out of his eyes.

"Very well. I will come with you to Afallon."

Here at the heart of the Summer Country I sometimes wonder why of all who played such a part in this story, I alone have been spared. I know that I am only beginning to see the great design in all of this. Can it be that Eilan's child, who represents two great strains which have gone into the making of our people, will be the founder of a line from which their savior shall one day spring?

I have not been told. I have not even the counsel of the Merlin, although Eilan said once that he had spoken to her of her destiny. There must be some pattern. I know only that it is from the Eagle and the Dragon, not the Raven of vengeance, that a defender shall come for our land, and perhaps the Merlin will take flesh to aid that hero in his day . . .

Here in the Summer Country, where the ringstones shadow the mighty Tor and the promise of power remains, I await the outcome of the tale.