Eilan believed that something other than her own hidden will had spoken through her before. But no single human could carry the full power of a goddess. When a divine spirit possessed a body, it not only became accessible, but took on some of that body's limitations; it had to work with the material at hand.
Goddess, help me! her spirit cried. If You are there, Lady, and not just my delusion, show me how to do Your will!
Ardanos's invocation ended, but the expectation of the crowd around her was building. As the smoke of the sacred herbs billowed from the fires, Eilan felt a Presence building up behind her.
Lady, I am in Your hands. With a sigh, Eilan allowed control to slip away. She had the sensation that soft arms were holding her, but at the same time she knew that her body was sitting up, and the One whose power now flowed through it was fixing Ardanos with a radiant smile.
Grandfather, she thought, be careful! Can you not see Who has come to you now? But he had turned to the people, and was leading them in the invocation, and she knew he could not see. Her awareness turned inward then. Goddess have mercy! her spirit cried. He works for the good of his people — give him the wisdom to do the right thing - for the sake of us all!
And in the silence of the place to which she had come, it seemed to her that there was a reply.
"Daughter, I care for all my children, even when they quarrel; and for all times, not only the one you are living through. My Light may be your darkness; and your winter the prelude to My spring. Will you accept this, that a greater good may come?"
"I will, but do not leave, me, for You are all I have," she answered, and once more that Voice spoke within her.
"How could I leave you — do you not know I love you as you love your child?"
The Lady's love surrounded her. Eilan allowed herself to sink into it as into her own mother's arms. As if from a great distance she was aware of Ardanos's questions. She remembered the answers he had told her to give, but they no longer seemed important. Knowledge came to her; she knew what she said in reply, and yet the Self who spoke those words, this time in the language of the people, was not the Eilan she knew.
Eilan could not tell how long it went on. In that state where she rested now there was no time at all. And yet a time did come when she heard her own name called. She moaned and tried to turn away. Why should she return? But the cool air with which they were fanning her and the drops of water that splashed her face and hands could not be ignored. They drew her back into her body once more.
She shuddered and gasped, and suddenly she was herself, Eilan, once more, looking at the awed faces of the people around her with wide eyes.
Ardanos was instructing the people to depart in peace. There was almost a hint of smugness in the satisfaction that filled his smile.
He does not understand, Eilan thought then. He thinks he did it all . . .But if the Arch-Druid did not understand the power of the Goddess he said he served, it was not for her to enlighten him. She could only trust that the Lady knew Her own business, and would continue to watch over them.
Gaius spent the first months of his marriage fighting the awareness that it was based upon a lie. He suspected that Julia was more enamored of being married than she was of him, but she was cheerful and affectionate, and as long as he was reasonably attentive, she seemed satisfied with his companionship. He could only thank the gods for the innocence, or perhaps the lack of emotional depth, which prevented her from realizing a relationship between a man and a woman ought to be a great deal more.
Licinius, who believed that a young couple should not be separated in the first year of their marriage, had arranged for Gaius to serve as an aedile in charge of government buildings in Londinium, which would give him some of the experience in public service necessary to advance his career. At first he had protested lack of background, and wondered if his father-in-law had got him the job simply so that Julia could continue to keep house for him, but he found that although his staff of slaves and freedmen could do the work, they needed the authority of a man of status to deal with the rest of the government. Presently, he realized that a childhood spent listening to his father deal with the problems of maintaining a major fortress had prepared him for his new responsibilities quite well.
"Treasure the time you have with Julia now, my lad," Licinius would say, patting him on the shoulder, "for you'll be parted often enough in the future, especially if you're assigned duty in Dacia or some other post on the frontier." They both knew that the path of promotion led all over the Empire; a long-term provincial post such as Camp Prefect or Procurator was awarded only at the end of a career.
These were the crucial years, when the name a young man made for himself - and the contacts - determined how far he would rise. Soon Gaius would need to spend some time in Rome itself; he found himself looking forward to it. Meanwhile he applied himself to understanding the workings of government in the smaller reflection of the capital that Londinium had become.
More quickly than he could have imagined, a year went by. From time to time disturbing news came from Rome. The Emperor had got himself elected to the office of Consul for the next ten years, and Censor for life in addition to the powers he already had. The patricians muttered darkly that it was a plot to gain control over the Senate, but did little more, for at the moment the army was quite happy with their Emperor, who had raised pay by one-third. As an officer Gaius could not object to that, but it was clear which way the wind was blowing. Even more than his predecessors, Domitian seemed to regard the remaining democratic institutions of Rome as outdated, and certainly inconvenient.
A few months after their marriage, Licinius had engaged a tutor -primarily for Julia, he said - so that she might learn to speak better Greek and more polished Latin, and Gaius, to his chagrin, was urged to share these lessons. "For if you go to Rome, it will be necessary for you to speak good Greek; and a more aristocratic Latin," he pointed out.
Stung, Gaius had protested. From his earliest boyhood, Macellius had insisted that tutors should be engaged, and that he became as fluent in Latin as in the tribal Celtic language of his mother's kin.
"Plain Latin is good enough for me," he protested.
"No doubt it's good enough for an army camp," Julia argued, "but believe me, it would be better to speak to the Senate in Celtic than in that vulgar dialect of Deva."
Gaius felt like protesting that his Latin was no worse than that of Macellius; but it was true that Macellius had never had to speak to the senators of Rome. And it would do him no harm to learn the language of educated men everywhere, which would always be Greek. But the lessons did not go on for long. By the end of the summer Julia was pregnant and so queasy much of the time that the tutor was dismissed.
But by this time Gaius was conversing with the Greek house slaves whenever he had the opportunity, including Charis, Julia's chambermaid, who had herself been born on Apollo's own island of Mytilene. One of the freedmen who worked for him had originally come to Britain as a secretary to a former Governor, and was glad enough to earn a few extra sesterces by correcting Gaius's accent and making him copy out the speeches of Cicero to improve his Latin style.
He was resolved that when Julia's child was born and she felt well enough to resume her lessons — if she ever did — he would have far surpassed her.
And so the winter passed. By their first anniversary, Julia's sickness had subsided. She did not protest when her father proposed that Gaius join a hunting party for boar in the woods north of Londinium, escorting a wealthy senator with interests in the wine trade who claimed to have undertaken the hazardous journey all the way there for the sake of the hunting. Licinius did not think a great deal of the man's skill, but admitted his political power, and flattered the man by assigning his own son-in-law to escort duty.
Julia, far from resenting his absence, was a little relieved to have him out of the house. Like most men, Gaius appeared to feel that any admission of difficulty was a plea for help. Since he could not help her,
and indeed, was the cause of her condition, he was inclined to react with annoyance if she mentioned ill health or anxiety. Her father was not much better, and she had too much pride to unburden her heart to the slaves.
And so, on the morning Gaius left to go hunting, Julia sought the temple of Juno. Her maid Charis complained about walking all the way, but ungainly as she had become, Julia was sure the jolt of a wagon or the sway of a litter would have made her queasy again.
Nor did she mind when the eunuch who watched the door told her she must wait until the priestess should have time for her, for the interior of the temple was dim and cool after the brightness and dust of the street outside, and she was quite content to sit there for a time, gazing up at the painted statue.
Domina Dea . . .she prayed, I thought it would be so easy. But the slaves gossip about women who have died in childbirth when they think I cannot hear. I'm not afraid of that, Goddess, but what if my baby should die? What if I am like my mother, who bore only one child who lived beyond a year? My father has political power and Gaius can fight battles. But the only thing that I can do is give them a legitimate heir. She pulled her veil across her face so that no one could see that she was weeping. Help me to deliver a healthy son . . .please, Goddess, please!
She started as the eunuch touched her shoulder, then wiped her eyes and followed him to the inner chamber, ignoring the nagging pain in her lower back.
Juno's high priestess was a woman of middle years, her face painted to look younger, whose hard eyes silently priced Julia's jewels and gown. But she greeted Julia with an effusive warmth that sparked lively caution in the girl.
"You are worried about the birthing." The woman patted her arm. "And it is your first, so it is only natural that you should be afraid . .."
Julia pulled back a little, eyeing her warily. Didn't the woman understand that it was not for herself that she feared?
"I want a son," she began, and coughed at the wave of scent as the priestess bent closer.
"Of course you do. And if you make an offering, the Goddess will help you."
"What kind of animal should I buy for the sacrifice?"
"Well, dear —" The woman looked down at her rings. "We really have enough of that sort of thing. But they are building a lavish temple for Isis down near the wharfs, and it would be a pity if Juno should be left looking like a poor relation. Surely she will give you what you want if you offer a generous gift to her shrine."
Julia stared at her, understanding all too well, and rose heavily to her feet. "Indeed," she said dryly. "I must go now, but I thank you for your good counsel."
She turned on her heel, wishing she had the height to make an impressive exit, and stalked from the room, leaving the priestess gaping behind her. As she crossed the threshold, the ache in her back became a stabbing pain that for a moment took her breath away.
"My lady —" Charis reached out to help her.
"Go summon a chair for me," Julia told her, supporting herself against a pillar. "I believe I will ride home after all."
Gaius did not return to Londinium until late in the evening, having seen to it that the distinguished guest got the trophy he wanted, and taking leave of him with some relief. When he came in, he discovered all in chaos; for during his absence, Julia had gone into premature labor and borne him a daughter. He received the news from Licinius, who said all had been over for an hour or two, and Julia was asleep.
It was time to toast the birth of his first child, said Licinius, holding out a dusty clay flagon with a Greek seal. It was all too clear, Gaius thought, that his father-in-law had already been celebrating.
"I do not know how to thank you for this great gift," he said somewhat drunkenly. "I have always wanted to be a grandfather; and if the child is only a daughter, well, I do not mind that; Julia has been as good a child to me as forty sons, and she brought you into our family. No doubt that your next child will be a boy."
"I certainly hope you are right," Gaius said. It would not be his fault if she did not, since he had begotten one son already.
"I put this wine away when Julia was born, to be drunk when my first grandchild was born," Licinius said, removing the seal. "Drink with me, my son; and don't spoil it by putting too much water with it."
Gaius had had no supper and would much rather have had a cup of ale with a bowl of beans or a roast fowl, but with the household in such disarray he'd be lucky to get some cold bread and meat if he could corner one of the household slaves. He resigned himself to going to bed half drunk, and joined Licinius.
"To your daughter," Licinius said. "May she be as good to you as Julia has been to me."
Gaius drank and then the old man proposed a toast to his son.
Gaius blinked and sputtered, and his father-in-law elaborated, "Surely you will have a son next year."
"Oh, yes, of course."
But as Gaius lifted his goblet it was of Eilan and the son he already had that he was thinking. By now the boy would be a year old. Was he walking? Had the fuzz of dark hair turned to gold?
And then of course they had to drink to Julia; if the serving woman had not come in at around that point to say he might see her, Gaius would have been very drunk indeed. Grateful for the interruption, he followed the woman to the bedchamber.
Julia struck her husband as very small, small and pale. Tucked in her arms was the tiny swaddled form of the child.
Julia looked up at him and began to cry. "I'm so sorry. I did so want to give you a son - I was so sure . . ."
Made generous by the thought of Eilan's son, far to the west, he stooped and kissed her. "Don't cry," he said. "We will have a boy next time, if the gods wish it."
"Then you accept her?"
The slave woman picked up the child and held it out and they all looked at him expectantly. After a moment Gaius realized what he was supposed to do and took the baby, rather awkwardly. He looked down into the crumpled features, waiting for the tide of tenderness that had overwhelmed him when he held his son. But his only emotion was amazement, for it seemed to him impossible that something so tiny could be real. He sighed.
"In the name of my ancestors I claim this child as my daughter," Gaius said loudly. "Macellia Severina shall be her name."
Just after Beltane, Bendeigid sought audience with the Lady of Vernemeton. By this time Eilan had settled into her role as High Priestess, but it still seemed strange that her own father, a powerful Druid, should seek permission to visit her. Yet she sent an equally formal reply that she would gladly receive him, and when he appeared in her outer chamber that afternoon, she made ready to give him a cordial welcome.
Truth to tell, Eilan did not feel all that cordial. She could not help but remember that it was her father's refusal even to consider her marriage to Gaius that had placed her in a position in which, while she had comfort and honor, had also made her a stranger to her own son. She made certain that Gawen was out of sight and hearing for the afternoon. Bendeigid at least would know that Mairi had not borne another child, and Gawen was getting to look more like his father.
She set out a pitcher of fresh water, newly drawn by Senara from the Sacred Well, and indicated to Huw that he could let her visitor come in. It gave her a certain pleasure to have her bodyguard looming over them. His bulk made even her father, who was a big man, seem small. She had thought that to be the recipient of such dog-like devotion would make her uncomfortable, for Huw had gratefully transferred his loyalty to her as soon as she emerged from her ritual seclusion and began to go about again, but he never intruded. He was simply there, and she gradually came to appreciate his usefulness in getting rid of visitors, or, as now, to overawe them.
"How may I serve you, my father?" she said coolly, remaining seated. Her tone was the same as she would have used to any highly placed Druid. Indeed, his time in the North had changed him. He was still a powerful man, but the comfortable solidity she remembered had been worn away until he was all sinew and bone.
Bendeigid stopped shor
t, eyeing her oddly. What was he seeing, she wondered? Not the daughter he remembered, for certain. The face she saw when she looked into the Sacred Pool had lost its girlish roundness, and suffering and responsibility had given a certain air of watchfulness to her shadowed eyes. But perhaps those subtle signs of maturity would be less striking than her golden ornaments and the crescent between her brows.
Although she had pushed the sheer veil of fine, dark blue linen back from her face, its folds were draped about her head and shoulders. She had continued to go veiled in the fashion Dieda had adopted to aid in the deception; and by the time it might have been safe to go without it, she had grown used to its protection. It seemed to lend an air of authority; certainly, it added to her mystery.
"I only wanted to pay you my respects, daughter - or should I say Lady," replied the Druid. "It has been long since we met. I wanted to be sure that you were well . . ."
It has taken you long enough, she thought grimly. But she could see that the past few years had not been easy for him either. It was not entirely Huw's bulk that made him seem smaller; his hair had gone completely gray and there were new lines around his mouth and in his brow. He had always been stern, but now purpose burned in his eyes like a dark flame.
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