The Forest House

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Her eyes wide and grave, Eilan nodded.

  "Was I wrong to leave Eilan alone with the stranger?" Dieda whispered as Cynric led her away. "After all, he has lived among the Romans and may have their ways with women."

  "He is a guest in our house; even if he were the son of the Procurator himself . . ."

  "He can't be," Dieda giggled suddenly. "My father says that the Procurator has only a single daughter."

  "— if he were, surely, he would respect the daughter of his host. And Eilan is only a child," Cynric replied.

  "She and I were born in the same year," Dieda said. "You think her a child because she is your sister."

  "What were you expecting?" Cynric asked irritably. "That I should tell you how much I love you before them both?"

  "What is there left to say? Certainly not enough -" And she stopped, for his arms were around her, and he stooped to cut off her words with a kiss.

  She clung to him for a moment, then broke uneasily away. "That doesn't help," she said. "And if we should be seen . . ."

  He laughed mirthlessly. "They haven't put you under vows yet, have they? And I could always say it was Eilan I kissed." He put his hands under her elbows, lifting her on tiptoe, and bent to kiss her once more. After a moment all her resistance melted, and she let him mold her against him, kissing her again and again. When he broke away, his voice cracked, "How sane I sounded, a few moments ago! But I was wrong. I can't let you do this thing!"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I can't let you be walled up with all those women."

  "What else can I do?" Now she had to be the sensible one. "Cynric, you're Druid-bred, you know the laws as well as I. Lhiannon has chosen. Where the hand of the Goddess has fallen . . ."

  "You are right, I know it, but still . . ." He pulled her to him roughly, but his voice was very gentle as he said, "It's Beltane. Lie with me tonight, and your family will be glad enough to let us marry."

  Her mouth was too young to be so bitter. "Perhaps you would like to explain nicely to my father how it happened? Or to yours."

  He said, "Bendeigid is not my father."

  "Yes, I know," she said. "Not that it makes any difference. But whether he is your father or not, Ardanos is mine, and he would strangle me and take a bullwhip to you. It is done, whether I like it or not. I am now a pledged virgin of the Sacred Grove and you are a Druid's son - well, at least you have been raised as one - and you are the son of a priestess in any case," she added quickly. "Cynric, you said it yourself. I can ask to be released at the end of three years. And then —"

  "And then," he promised, "I will take you away to the other end of the earth if that is what I have to do."

  "But you said you ought not to encumber yourself with wife or children," she protested, for the sake of hearing him say, "I don't care what I said; I want you."

  Then he added, "Sit here beside me, then; let us watch the fires. It may be for the last time. Or for three years, which," he added despondently, "is almost the same thing."

  The Arch-Druid of Britain stood at the gateway to the Forest House, watching the last light fade from the sky. From the hilltop he could hear the sounds of many voices, their clamor faded by distance to a music like a lake full of migrating birds, and beneath the other sounds, the deep heartbeat of the drums. Soon they would be lighting the Beltane fires.

  Though time was passing, Ardanos felt curiously unwilling to move. That morning he had been in Deva, listening to the Roman Prefect. Tonight he would have to hear the complaints of the people the Romans ruled. There was no way he could satisfy all of them. The best he could hope for was to maintain an uneasy balance until - what, really, was he waiting for? — for all the old wounds to heal?

  You will be dead before that happens, old man! he told himself. And Lhiannon too. He sighed, and saw that the first star had pricked through the darkening sky.

  "The Lady is ready," said a soft voice behind him. Ardanos turned and saw one of the maidens, Miellyn, he thought, holding open the door.

  Lhiannon's chamber was lit by hanging lamps of bronze. In their flickering light he saw her already slumped in her chair, Caillean standing watchfully by her side. For a moment the younger priestess met his gaze defiantly, then she stepped aside.

  "She has taken the sacred herbs," Caillean said in a neutral tone.

  Ardanos nodded. He was well aware of the girl's hostility, but as long as Caillean observed the forms of respect, he cared little what she thought of him. It was enough that she was devoted to Lhiannon.

  Still frowning, Caillean left them alone. At such a time, when the High Priestess was already beneath the shadow of the Goddess she served, even her bodyguard might not be present here.

  "Lhiannon," he said softly, and saw a tremor run through her thin frame. "Can you hear me?" There was a long silence.

  "I always hear you . . ." the High Priestess said at last.

  "You know that I would not be doing this, my dear," he said, almost to himself, "if there were any other way. But I have learned that there is more trouble over the levies. Bendeigid's son-in-law Rhodri went after the men they took from the Druid's clan and attacked the soldiers who were guarding them. There was a fight and Rhodri was captured.

  "Macellius has managed to keep his identity a secret, but there is no way he can save him. The fool was taken in arms against Rome. If that word gets out there surely will be a rebellion. You must counsel peace, my dear." His voice dropped to a croon. "Let there be peace in the land — the Goddess wills it. Rome's time will come, but not yet, and not through war. The people must help one another and be patient - tell them, Lady. Let them pray for peace to the gods."

  As he spoke, he saw her begin to sway, and knew that his words were reaching that deep place beyond conscious memory through which the words of the Oracle came. Despite what Caillean might believe, Ardanos had never doubted that something spoke through the High Priestess when she was thus tranced. But the Druids knew well that the ability of a spirit to speak through a human oracle was directly related to the content and sophistication of the mind that was its vehicle. An ignorant girl, no matter how sensitive, could only speak in simple, homely, terms. It was one reason why the Druid priestesses were so carefully selected and trained.

  Some might have accused him of manipulation, but to the Arch-Druid it seemed that he was only adding his own particular knowledge of the country's needs to the resources at the Oracle's command. Though he did his best to impress certain information on the Oracle's memory, the Goddess, if it were truly She who was speaking, was surely at liberty to decide what to say.

  "Peace and patience . . ." he repeated slowly. "Rome will fall when the gods will it, but not by our hands . . ."

  Five

  Gaius watched Dieda and Cynric disappear into the crowd, fighting a desire to call them back again. Eilan, grown suddenly shy, was staring at her feet. He wondered what he could say to her. Hearing the story of the priestesses of Mona had left him feeling oddly diffident, not at all the lord of the world, as a Roman ought to be. Thank the gods Cynric did not suspect his real identity. He had the uneasy feeling that old Ardanos had guessed, but if so, the Druid had kept his secret, which in its way was even more disturbing.

  He cast about for some harmless topic of conversation, and said at last, "Tell me more about how your tribe keeps this festival. The Silure customs are somewhat different, and I do not wish to offend against your ways." A safe way, he thought, of covering the fact that he had only been to one native Beltane celebration, when he was six years old.

  She colored. "Are they?" Now she was genuinely embarrassed. "It is a very ancient festival. Perhaps once all the tribes kept it the same way. Ardanos says our people brought it with them when they came to these islands. And he should know."

  "Yes indeed," Gaius said. "He is so old - your grandfather - do you suppose he came over with those first ships from Gaul?" She giggled, and Gaius sighed with relief, feeling the tension between them ease.

 
; "You have seen how they made the sacred flame," she said then. "Tonight when the Priestess comes out to bless the fires we will hail her as the Goddess. I do not know how it is with the southern tribes, but in the North, in the olden times, women were more free than now. Before the Romans came, the Queen sometimes ruled the tribe in her own right. Now it is the Priestess and the Druids. That is why Cartimandua could command the Brigantes, and the Iceni followed Boudicca."

  Gaius stiffened. Among the Romans, Boudicca, the Killer Queen, was still a name to frighten children. In Londinium you could see the marks where the basilica had burned, and workmen digging foundations as the city grew sometimes found the bones of those who had tried to flee the bloodlust of the Iceni hordes. Eilan, oblivious, was still talking.

  "Only in wartime did she appoint a duke of war to lead the armies; sometimes he was her brother, and sometimes her consort, but whatever he was, it gave him small power in the tribe. The Queen ruled of her own right, and whatever you may say, women know more of ruling, because each woman runs her own household. Isn't she better qualified to rule over a tribe than a man who can only do what his war chief says?"

  "Over a tribe, perhaps," said Gaius. "Absurd it would be indeed, for a woman to command a Legion - or to rule a great empire like that of the Caesars."

  "I cannot see why that should be so," Eilan said. "Surely a woman who can govern a large household is as fit to rule an empire as any man. Have there been no mighty queens among the Romans?"

  Gaius grimaced, remembering the history that his Greek tutor had insisted he learn. "In the days of the Claudian Emperors," he said carefully, "I have heard there was an evil old woman named Livia, the mother of the deified Tiberius. She poisoned all her kinfolk. Perhaps that is why the Romans are not fond of female rulers."

  Their walking had brought them to the far side of the fires, where the barrow mound sloped down to the festival ground.

  "Gawen, do you think women are evil?" Eilan asked.

  "You are not evil, certainly," he said, meeting her clear gaze. Her eyes were like a well of pure water into which he could sink for ever. A well of truth — at that moment it seemed to him monstrous that he should have to live this lie. Though it made no sense, he felt that he could trust her with his life; and if he entrusted her with his true identity, he might be doing just that.

  There was a stir behind them. The shouts and singing grew closer. Gaius turned, and saw men bringing up images made out of wicker or straw. Some were human in shape, some, figures out of nightmare. One was even clad in a recognizable simulation of a legionary's helm.

  The hair lifted on his neck. Earlier he had told Eilan he remembered nothing of the Beltane rites, but now, whether because of the drumming or the flickering light or the scent of sweet herbs they had cast on the fire, he suddenly knew that he had seen something like this before. He closed his eyes, seeing in memory tattooed dragons coiling up strong arms, hearing a young man's laughter. For a moment the drumming deafened him; blood filled his vision, and a grief so long suppressed that even now he could not give it a name.

  His grip tightened on Eilan's arm.

  "Silly!" Eilan laughed at his expression. "They are only effigies. Even in the old days it was only every seven years that the Summer King or his substitute was offered to renew the land."

  "You are a Druid's daughter," he said, easing down upon the grass. "I suppose that you would know."

  She smiled and sat down beside him at the edge of the circle. "I have not the lore they teach them in the Forest House, but I have heard that tale. They say that the Chosen One would be treated like a king for the year before his doom. It was a great honor for his family. His every wish was fulfilled, he had the best of food and wine, and the most beautiful young women were brought to him. It was an honor to bear a child to the god; even the women of the sanctuary were not forbidden to him; though it is death for any other to lie with one of the priestesses. And at the end of his time . . ." She hesitated. "He was given to the fire."

  Eilan was sitting very close to him. He could smell the fresh, wild-flower scent of her hair.

  "I have heard that there is a new cult in Rome called the followers of the Nazarene who believe that their prophet was the son of their god and died for their sins," said Gaius. Personally, he favored Mithras, the soldiers' god.

  "They are not only in Rome," she said. "My father says that some of them fled to Britannia when the Emperor was killing them. And the Druids allowed them to build a sanctuary at the Isle of Apples far to the south in the Summer Country. But here we have only the consort of the Goddess - or his substitute, who gives his blood to the land."

  Shouting, teams of young men swung the effigies on to the bonfires, cheering as the flames surged against the sky. Eilan flinched as another group ran past, and Gaius put his arm around her protectively.

  "Now they are burning all the evil spirits, and presently they will drive the cattle between the fires to keep them safe throughout the summer when they pasture them in the hills. The fires are very powerful . . ." She went red suddenly with something more than the heat of the flames.

  "What else happens around the fires?" he asked gently, trembling a little with the effort it took not to draw her closer. Even through the gown he could feel the slender softness of her body. When he first met Eilan, he had thought her a child, but now, slender though she was, he realized that she was a woman, and knew that he wanted her.

  "Well," she began hesitantly, looking fixedly into the flames, "on this night, while the fires of the Goddess burn, couples who are pledged leap over them, hand in hand, to honor the Goddess and to plead with her for children. And then they go into the forest together. Perhaps in the old days it was not known how children were made; but Ardanos says that they observed that children were born after they so honored the Lady - and folk still honor her by following that old custom . . ."

  "I see," said Gaius gently, and felt his pulsebeat quickening.

  "Of course," Eilan went on quickly, "it is not a thing that the daughters of chieftains or Druids do —"

  "Of course not," said Gaius, very softly. His body was telling him that this was something the son of a Prefect could do very well, but he hoped he could keep it from Eilan. As the daughter of his host she should be as sacred to him as his own sister. "And yet, it would be lovely if . . ." he took a deep breath, "if we might honor the Goddess thus together . . ."

  He could sense the heat and color in her cheeks, though it was now almost too dark to see. She stilled within the circle of his arm.

  "I never thought . . ." She said softly, and stopped, beginning to tremble a little in turn. But she did not pull away.

  "That is how I would show you what I feel for you," he said even more softly, as if he feared to frighten a wild bird that had alighted on his hand. She had told her tale with such innocence! Clotinus's daughter had made it clear that she would welcome his advances; and Gaius had only been disgusted by her boldness, but it seemed to him that he had never before felt for any maiden what he now felt for Eilan, sitting so trustingly by his side. She was so close to him that he could feel the warmth of her body. And every breath filled him with the flower scent of her fair hair.

  As the shouting died down he heard the faint small sounds of the night: small animals rustling in the grass where the hill fell away behind the barrow; the rustle and snap of the fires, the cry somewhere of a bird. And now, excited by her story, he could hear other sounds in the spring night. On the slope behind them, men and women were making love.

  He touched Eilan's cheek, and it was like the petal of a flower. Gently he turned her face towards him. Her eyes were wide and wondering, her lips a little parted. He felt her start of surprise as he kissed her, but she did not pull away. Her lips were sweet, so sweet that he held her against him and kissed her again, and after a moment of resistance felt her mouth opening beneath his like a flower.

  Gaius fell into her sweetness. Dazed, every pulse pounding, it took him a moment to und
erstand what had happened when she pushed him away.

  "We must not!" she whispered. "My father would kill us both!"

  Gaius forced his hands to open, to let her go. To lay hands on the daughter of his host was an impiety of the worst kind. Eilan should be as sacred to him as his own sister. Sacred . . . he understood abruptly that what he felt for her was a holy thing. He realized that when he let her go he had plunged his fingers instead into the grass, and sat up, wiping his hands.

  "It is true." He was surprised that he could speak so steadily. His senses were still awhirl, but he felt the warmth of certainty within him. Since that first moment when he saw her looking down into the pit where he had fallen, haloed in light, it seemed to him that this moment had been preordained.

  "It would shame us both, and there is no dishonor at all in what I feel for you. I love you, Eilan, as a man loves the woman he would make his wife."