Gratillonius regarded that ceremony as pointless, when he had arrived on horseback wearing boots, but he was long since used to the other man’s antiquarian practices. At that, warm water and toweling hands, followed by slippers, soothed. He would have liked a chair with a back to it and undiluted wine, in the bookful room to which Apuleius conducted him, but such things were ordinary only in Ys.
The tribune signed his beaker before drinking. That had not been his custom earlier. “Do you care to tell me at once, in brief, what brings you?” he asked. “If not, we have enough everyday memories to exchange. But you may find relief in speaking forth.”
“I would,” Gratillonius admitted. “Not but what you can have guessed pretty well. I know how you keep abreast of developments, also beyond Armorica. That’s why I’ve come, for your thoughts and, maybe, your help.”
“Suppose you describe the situation as you see it.”
Gratillonius did, in words he had carefully chosen and condensed on the way here—the situation with respect to the Imperium. Dahut and the rest, no, he could not talk about that. If rumors had drifted this far, Apuleius had the kindness not to mention them. The whole story might shock him, and Gratillonius needed him calm, Euclideanly logical. Besides, what had any of it to do with Rome?
In the end the listener nodded, cupped his chin, gazed out the window at the pale autumn sky, where rooks rode a bucking bluster of wind, and murmured: “Approximately what I expected. I’ve already given the matter thought—since hearing of that scandalous Franldsh affair, in fact—and made various inquiries. We must talk at greater length, of course, but I think I know what I will recommend.”
“Well?” Gratillonius exclaimed. He curbed himself. “I’m sorry.” He tossed off a draught. It was Rhenian, tartly sweet. He was a little surprised that he noticed; he had not done so before.
“Best I speak bluntly,” said Apuleius with some difficulty. “Your prospects of winning a favorable judgement in Lugdunum are poor. Your enemies in Turonum have connections you lack; and, to be sure, they can make a not unpersuasive case for your having allowed Ys to become a subversive influence. You plan to appeal step by step until at last you reach the Augustus—well, between us, as you yourself put it, Stilicho. This would be a mistake. It could cause proceedings to drag on for two or three years, during which you must often go in person to defend yourself, first here, then there. Such absences would weaken your standing in Ys. You could lose what control you have over events, or it could be pried away from you. Or… anything could happen. Stilicho, for example, is not so almighty as he seems. Greater men than he have fallen overnight; or God may call him from this world. Do not delay.”
Gratillonius looked into the hazel eyes. A tingle passed through him. “You do have a recommendation for me.”
“We must explore this,” Apuleius warned. “However, I feel we will reach much the same conclusions. Send a letter directly to Stilicho. I’ll help you compose it and give you one of my own to accompany it, for whatever that may be worth. Far more valuable will be a testimonial from Bishop Martinus, which I believe we can get, and perhaps other prominent Armoricans.
“We do not do this behind Glabrio’s back. You inform him of your action, as soon as it is too late for him to halt it somehow or dispatch a courier who’ll arrive ahead of yours. He then has no grounds for complaint about plots against him, nor any reason to get you summoned to Lugdunum. You may quite likely have to attend a hearing in Treverorum, but that won’t be for months, when Stilicho’s reply has come. God willing, it should dispose of the business.”
“Stilicho may not be easy to reach,” Gratillonius said, mostly because he wanted everything laid out plain to see. “The way he moves around, holding the Empire together.”
Apuleius nodded. “Like the carpenter on a foundering ship, who dashes about as timbers and cordage come apart in the storm,” he answered sadly. Brightening: “But this will be Glabrio’s problem in equal measure. Meanwhile you have time to strengthen your position, marshal your advocates.”
“You think Stilicho will give me a favorable judgment?”
“At least, he ought not to condemn you out of hand. Your reasoning about him appears sound to me. He is a soldier himself, a practical man, experienced in statecraft; and, I hear, being half a barbarian, he nourishes a wistful admiration for everything civilized—as Ys is, in its perverse fashion.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Gratillonius, startled.
Apuleius sighed, leaned forward, laid a hand on the knee of his guest, smiled like a herald offering truce. “No intent to offend you,” he said. “Ys is a wonder of the world. I came back from it so enchanted that it was only after much thought, prayer, austerity I fully understood how it trembles—dances, in its heedlessness—on the brink of hell. And I had been there—” He paused. “You are not corrupted, dear friend. In you the antique virtues survive. But you should realize how Ys appears when seen not by its own many-colored lights but by the Light. Pray God it be redeemed before too late.”
“Meanwhile,” said Gratillonius stiffly, “my job is to keep it on guard duty for Rome.”
“True, good soldier. Come, let us put this aside for now, let us drink together and talk of happier matters. Surely you’ll have time to share a few innocent pleasures with us?”
—As the men returned to the atrium, Rovinda and Verania entered. The woman was still comely, if somewhat faded. At thirteen the girl had lengthened into thinness, with curves of hip and breast shy beneath her plain gown. She could barely whisper greetings to Gratillonius, while staring downward. Afterward, though, from beneath billows of fawn hair, whenever she thought he was not looking, her gaze followed him always.
2
Wearying of confinement—his work, which had been undemanding in summer, became nil after Mumach traffic shut down—Tommaltach left Ys, as often before, for a ramble in the countryside. Sometimes on these excursions he was days agone, far into Osismia. On his back were sword and bedroll, in his hand was a spear that doubled as a staff, at his belt hung a few necessities including a packet of food and a sling for knocking down small game. Most evenings, though, he could charm a family into giving him supper, a doss, perhaps a companion for the night.
This morning was clear and chill. Outside High Gate there rose a clamor from smithies and carpenter shops, pungency from tanneries, dyeworks, soapworks, all such industries as were banned in the city, bunched along Aquilonian Way. Their buildings were mostly small, many primitive, cob or wattle-and-daub with thatch roofs, but cheerful well-being bustled in and out of them. A number of men recognized Tommaltach and called greetings. He responded affably. Once their long isolation had ended, Ysans soon became apt to make much of any foreigners.
Having traversed the section, Tommaltach had the amphitheater on his left. Just beyond, Aquilonian Way bent south and went up onto the heights. He followed it. That was a stiff climb. At the top he halted, less to catch his breath than for a look around. From here the road would bear him out of sight of Ys and then, turning again east, presently to Audiarna, at the frontier of the Empire.
Gorse grew thickly at his feet, rustly beneath the wind that shrilled off the sea. Below reached the valley, closely hemmed in but nonetheless, in its peace and wealth, radiating a sense of spaciousness. Harvests were gathered, leaves fallen, pastures sallow; the sobriety of the land brought forth its sculpturing and made the homes on the hillsides gleam like jewels. Exquisite, too, at this distance, lay the amphitheater, the canal a silver thread behind it. The wood of the King squatted there, but one could look away from its darkness.
Westward swept Cape Rach, out to a spire that was the pharos. The tombs in front seemed a mere huddle, moldered into meaning-lessness. Closer by, grazing sheep and an occasional wind-gnarled evergreen livened the tawny earth.
Point Vanis was scarcely visible. The towers of Ys crowded it from view. They soared in brilliance, as if cut from crystal, over the city wall, which itself became a ruddy chalice
for them. Sea fowl were flocking yonder—drawn by the carts that lumbered out with offal at this time of day, but still a storm of wings which the towers pierced on their way to the sky. Beyond surged Ocean, sapphire, emerald, and leaping ivory, onward to worldedge where holy Sena lay. Sails danced; the sons of Ys were not yet ready to withdraw for the winter from her seas.
“Glorious you are,” Tommaltach said. “Would I were a poet, to chant the praise of Dahut’s home.”
A while later, realizing in surprise how much later, he was pulled from his dreams by a sound of hoofs. The rider approached from the east at a gallop. Sunlight flashed off armor. When he drew close, Tommaltach identified him as a Roman legionary—Guentius, he was. As he came in earshot, the Scotian cried, “What’s the haste this fine day?”
“Gratillonius returns,” called back the newcomer, and went on downhill.
Tommaltach nodded. He should have remembered who had accompanied Dahut’s father to Aquilo. They liked to have a proper reception ready for their King in Ys.
He squinted. Following the horsemen, his gaze had encountered a runner just emerged from the industrial cluster. A woman, young, to judge by speed, grace, and shapeliness. A white gown fluttered loose about her ankles, a blue cloak from her shoulders, as hastily as she went through the wind. Her left hand gathered the mantle at her throat so that the cowl should not fall back, but instead, keep screening. She lowered her head while Guentius neared and went by; his curious glance did not find her face.
Tommaltach ran fingers through his hair, puzzled. The woman stayed on Aquilonian Way. He decided to wait till she reached him. Maybe she had need of male help, and was bonny.
She reached him, stopped, drew away the hood. Sunlight blazed off her braids. The spear dropped from his grasp.
Dahut smiled. A trace of moisture gleamed over a fair skin only slightly flushed. She breathed deeply but easily. “Why, Tommaltach,” she said, “would you have left with never a farewell to your friends?”
“My, my lady—” It was he whose heart and lungs shuddered. “Sure, and I’d not—But I’d no idea…. How may I serve you?”
“Come, let us stroll onward, ere folk below notice us and gawk,” she laughed.
Numbly, he retrieved his spear. She took his free arm. They paced down the middle of the road. Ys sank from sight. It was as if they had the world to themselves, they and the wind and a pair of hawks wheeling high above.
“Did you intend one of your lengthy wanderings?” she asked.
He gulped and nodded.
“I feared that, when I saw you go past outfitted like this,” she said. “’Twas sheer chance I did, unless it be the will of some kindly God. I was off to fetch a horse and make a solitary trek of my own for several hours. But then, instead, I covered me and went on afoot like any nameless girl. Let those who spied her breaking into a dash wonder why.” She squeezed his arm against her side. “Belike they think what a lucky scoundrel yon Tommaltach is, that his women pursue him.”
His countenance burned. He stared directly frontward. “’Tis well I decided to wait, my lady,” he pushed out of his gullet.
“Oh, I think I could have overhauled you, long though those legs be. You see, I was determined. Of a sudden, a half-formed thought that had been in me sprang from my brow full-grown.”
“Wh-what is that?”
“Did you truly mean to be elsewhere at Hunter’s Moon?”
“At—? Oh, Samain. Well, I’d not meant to, my lady. It only happens that in Ys I’ll have no rites to take part in as at home, and this seemed a good time to travel, before the days grow too short and wet. I’d find me somebody’s roof to spend the eve under.”
“Are you ignorant of our celebration that night? ’Tis the maddest, merriest revel of the year.”
Tommaltach frowned. “I have heard tell,” he answered slowly.
“And you’d miss it, a lively young man like you?”
He walked in silence for a while.
“Why this? Why?” Dahut insisted.
Tommaltach summoned resolve. He released himself from her, halted, turned and leaned on his spear, holding it fast with both hands. “’Tis the worst of nights for being abroad,” he stated. “Then the doors between the worlds swing wide. All kinds of beings wander free, sid dwellers, the Sky Horse, the Fire Hounds, bogles, werebeasts, evil witches, vengeful dead. The Law stands down and black sorcery rules over the earth. ’Tis the next day and night are joyous, when the wickedness is gone again and the year passes from the Goddess to the Horned One.”
Dahut raised her brows. “Oh, surely you’ve put spooks behind you,” she said. “You, who’ve traveled, met educated people, lived these past months in Ys, and wintered here ere then. Why, you worship Mithras.”
“That doesn’t mean a man cannot or should not pay respect to the Gods of his fathers and, and the old usages,” he replied unhappily.
The slightest scorn tinged her voice: “I’ve heard that some of the Scotic tribes make a human sacrifice that eventide, to appease the demons. Have you such plans?”
“I have not!” He perceived his own indignation and stood bemused.
Dahut trilled laughter, stepped close, laid hands over his, looked up at him. “Well, set the rest of it aside too. In Ys the time is simply occasion for festival, and has been for centuries. Yet Ys flourishes, Ys is free of ghosts.”
“’Tis less sure I am of that than when I first came here—But I’m sorry, I beg my lady’s pardon, and her pardon for my rash tongue as well.”
She dimpled and beamed. “Ah, you can jest. I forgive you on condition you turn back and keep the night with me.”
He could only gape.
“You are not afraid to, are you?” she challenged.
“I am not!” He shook his head violently.
Dahut grew yearning. “Hear me, Tommaltach. Take pity on me. You know how torn my life has been of late. Nay, you cannot truly know, but mayhap you can guess. I, who was young, glad, hopeful, am as trapped and alone between the worlds as any homeless phantom. What shall I do? What can I do? What will become of me? Or of Ys, whose King defies its Gods?” She let go of him, stood with fists doubled at her bosom, and went on bravely: “But I’ll not bewail myself. Rather, I’d fain be merry once more, though it be for the last time ever. Why should I sit in my empty house and weep while Ys holds revel?”
“Oh, my lady.” Pain made raw his voice.
Dahut blinked her eyes free of tears and smiled anew, a smile that turned mischievous as she spoke. “Going forth to sing, dance, carouse the night away, that will hearten me, will be my message to fate that I am yet unbroken. Who knows? It may turn my fortunes around. The Gods favor the bold. I’ve heard that you Scotic warriors often kiss your spearheads ere a battle, and go into it laughing. Then you must understand me.” (He nodded, stricken mute.) “Now I cannot very well join the frolic openly. Even as a vestal, I was supposed to keep discreet. As one who claims to be a Queen, I should attend the solemn banquet of the Gallicenae, but I can beg myself free of that. My wish is to go out masked, unbeknownst, and mingle with the throng. For both pleasure and safety, I need an escort, a strong young man who’ll afterward keep my secret. I could not trust any of Ys with it, but you, Tommaltach, you I trust utterly.
“Will you be my companion on the eve?”
“My lady,” he croaked, “I would die for you.”
“Oh, that should not be needful. Thank you, dear sweet Tommaltach, thank you!”
“’Tis you I must thank—”
“And you’re handsome and lovable too!” Dahut skipped into a dance, there on the highway, arms raised to the sun. She caroled. He stood in his daze and stared.
She took his arm again at last, and got them walking onward. “We’d best start back home erelong, separately,” she said. “However, this little while is ours, and so will the whole night be, two moonrises hence.” He having partially regained balance, they chattered blithely about plans.
A noise from the rear interru
pted them, hoofbeats. They stepped to the roadside and Dahut shadowed her face with the cowl. A woman sped by. She barely glanced at them as she passed, perhaps not recognizing the man either. They knew her, light-brown hair streaming back in disarray from delicate features, tall body that years and two childbirths had matured without causing to grow ungainly—clad in haste, careless of appearance, and her mount doubtless taken from the livery stable among the industries in the same hurry—She thudded on down the road.
“Queen Tambilis,” Tommaltach said in wonderment. “What might she be wanting? Oh, of course. Today the King comes home. She’s off to meet him.”
“I should have known,” Dahut hissed. “When I met Guentius, I should have known. But I did not stop to think.”
Looking sideways, he saw her gone white; the very irises of her eyes seemed to have paled. Abruptly she whirled from him. “I don’t want to see them together,” he heard. “I will not. Not him and her.”
She strode back toward Ys, her pace just short of becoming a run. He followed. “My lady—” he gobbled in his helplessness.
She threw her command behind her: “Abide a while. I must return by myself. Say naught. You will hear later—concerning Hunter’s Moon.” He jerked to a stop and watched her go from him.
3
Samain Eve was bitterly clear. That was good, for there was much to do. Great folk and their attendants opened the seasonal fairs held for three days all over Ériu. Most tenants could not arrive that early. They must first finish bringing in their flocks for the winter and dig up any root crops still in the ground, lest the terrors of that night wither these. They must douse every hearth and meet on hilltops to take new fire from the blazes freshly kindled, after their chieftains had led them in sacrifice. Meanwhile their wives and children must make houses ready, plaiting together withes of hazel, rowan, and yew to fasten across doorways and windows, setting food outside for the dead who would come wandering by, fetching water from sacred springs or pools, preparing a porridge of certain wild grains and seeds for the family, making sure of enough lamp grease or rushlights to last out the dark.
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