The Forest House

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Hail unto Thee," the women sang.

  "Jewel of the night!" the Druids replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Eighteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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