Diana by the Moon

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  It was one more niggling doubt added to the pyre of Diana’s confidence in her decision.

  Sosia took charge of the women of the household. For two days, the normal estate duties were given over to wedding preparations, for which Sosia would allow Diana no input or guidance. The older woman brooked no protest from her, either.

  “A woman’s marriage is too significant to be dealt with in the off-hand manner you intend. You cannot hope to have it creep by unnoticed. How will you know you are properly married if it is not celebrated?”

  Diana felt her whole body ripple in response to the thoughts Sosia prompted. “I will know.”

  Sosia smiled. “Your body, perhaps. But your mind must know. And so too, must we all share in your passage.”

  In this matter Sosia would not be brooked, despite Diana’s demands that she at least oversee the arrangements. Diana retired, defeated in the face of a tradition far older than Sosia and one for which she had no direct experience to gainsay Sosia’s implacable decisions.

  She spent her time in the library. The time alone meant her thoughts were free to germinate and grow in the fertile soil of her doubts and imagination.

  Alaric abruptly reappeared two days later, shortly after breakfast, weary and unkempt. Diana was traversing the colonnade when he returned. He strode up to her, every line of his body speaking of haste and stood over her. Despite the public place they stood in and the ordinary circumstances, Diana felt her heart quicken a little at his nearness and the way his size seemed to make her feel smaller and weaker.

  “I have made arrangements for the ceremony,” he told her shortly. “Meet me in the courtyard here at sunset.”

  “We marry today?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Should I bring an attendant?”

  “Only yourself. All will be provided for you. You need bring nothing.”

  “Not even my wedding garments?”

  His jaw rippled as if he clenched his jaw. “No,” he growled.

  Diana thought of the traditional flame-colored veil and yellow cloak the more nimble seamstresses in the villa had been working on. “There will be an outcry about that.”

  Alaric seemed to properly hear and consider her words for the first time. He frowned and his thumb bracketed his mouth, rasping across his unshaved chin. Finally he responded, “Do not concern yourself with it. You will be here?”

  “At sunset? Yes.”

  He nodded. “I have tasks that cannot wait longer. ’Til sunset, my lady.” He turned and with long strides moved down the colonnade to his room and disappeared inside.

  Diana stared after him, the flames of doubt and worry leaping up to consume the last shred of pleasure in the idea of marrying Alaric of Mariddunum.

  * * * * *

  At sunset, Diana stood upon the verandah, as requested.

  She wore her tunic and trews and the long black cloak that had once been her best. The cloak was stained about the hem and bore rents here and there for she had worn it all winter long, while plowing, chopping wood, climbing and pruning fruit trees and all the other tasks she had turned her inexperienced hand to this last year. Her hair was bound back in its usual ties.

  She had made absolutely no preparations. She had deliberately omitted them and she presented herself upon the verandah, her mood defiant. She had not seen Alaric since his arrival that morning and she told herself that she did not care.

  As the sun dipped below the new barbs at the top of the villa’s wall and the long shadows slowly turned black and melded with the night, there was a murmur from the soldier’s quarters and the door opened.

  Alaric stepped out, murmuring a parting comment over his shoulder as he did so. He strode across the courtyard to where Diana stood at the edge of the verandah, close by one of the columns. He had shaved and bathed since she had seen him last. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” Diana lied.

  He held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  Diana slid her hand into his, feeling the hard calluses along the inner edge of his hand. Soldier’s calluses, caused by long hours spent wielding a sword and knife. But the rest of the hand was surprisingly soft. And warm.

  She stepped off the verandah and Alaric put her on his left side so his sword hand would be free and led her toward the villa gates.

  No one saw their departure. No one emerged to bid Diana farewell or god speed. She was alone in this venture. Alone with Alaric.

  His pace was greater than hers and his hand tugged on hers, pulling her along. It felt as impatient and harried as Alaric had been over the last few days.

  Her heart was reluctant and heavy as she moved beyond the rough-dressed timbers of the gate into the darkening night.

  Griffin stood waiting just beyond the gates, holding the reins of Alaric’s horse. Alaric took the reins and climbed up onto the horse. He held out his arm to Diana. “You will ride behind me,” he told her.

  “But…to where do we travel?”

  “The hour grows late, my lady.”

  Griffin smiled reassuring at Diana. “I’ll help you up,” he murmured, lacing his fingers together for a makeshift step.

  Muffling further protest, she slipped her foot onto the platform Griffin made of his fingers and he boosted her up so she could slide onto the horse behind Alaric. Alaric’s hand reached back to catch at her waist, steadying her.

  “Until then.” Griffin touched his finger to his brow in a subtle salute. He walked back inside the villa and shut the gates behind him. They closed with a heavy thud.

  Diana swallowed on a throat gone dry. Panic was nestling inside her, growing swiftly with every passing minute. She was afraid of the man before her, of the rushing approach of a ceremony that would change her life forever. She feared that she was being taken somewhere unknown and would have neither family nor friend by her.

  She had acknowledged she would be marrying into a culture that was strange to her but until this moment it had borne no significance.

  Alaric pressed the horse into a fast gallop, heading south and Diana clutched at him quickly lest she be thrown off. There was no comfort in the grip. She could feel his body working under her arms—he was fully involved in controlling the horse and spared her no attention.

  They rode as the dusk faded into full, deep, black night and the first of the stars appeared. Protected behind Alaric’s back, Diana felt no chill. Indeed, as time passed on, she felt Alaric grow warmer under her arms and against her chest and knew it was the heat of exertion.

  Finally, after what seemed to be several hours to Diana, perched blindly as she was, but was probably only a short while, she felt Alaric straighten and the horse slow as he pulled on the reins. The horse halted and Alaric threw his leg over and slid down to the ground.

  Somewhere to their left, Diana could hear flowing water.

  “Hurry,” Alaric said quietly, reaching up to help her. His hands slid around her waist and she was lifted and set down on the ground. He tied his horse to a nearby tree. There were many hereabouts, Diana realized. Their shapes were black silhouettes in the night sky.

  He fumbled at the carrier straps for a moment, then sought her hand again. This time his grip seemed a little more familiar. “This way.” He hurried into the trees, heading for the water.

  After a few dozen paces they found themselves on a path worn smooth by many feet, yet the trees and bushes crowded close to the edges and lifted up high on either side of them. Even during daylight one could stand within a pace or two of the path and still not suspect its existence. It was a secret byway, used by mysterious people for strange purposes.

  The path sloped gently downward and came to a halt at the edge of a swift-flowing stream. Alaric paused on the brink and looked upriver. He made a sound of approval and turned to her.

  “Go with them. They will take care of you and help you prepare.”

  “Who?”

  “They.” Alaric waved toward the stream.

  Edging carefully toward them throug
h the swiftly flowing water was a small, fragile boat. There were two dark shadows in it, one tall and handling the single oar and the other sitting at the prow. The oarsman reached out for an overhanging tree branch—a temporary tether—and the boat swung around neatly in the flow and bumped broadside against the bank. Alaric grasped the bow, steadying it.

  “Hurry,” he encouraged Diana.

  “Who are they?” Her voice trembled. The panic was very close to the surface now.

  From the figure in the prow of the boat came a low, startling beautiful woman’s voice. “You need not fear us, Diana. We are here to help you prepare for your wedding.”

  “Who sent you? Where do you come from?”

  “Alaric spoke to me late yesterday. He requested our help.”

  “Our?”

  Diana glimpsed the pale shape of a hand stretched out toward her. The fingers were long, slender and graceful. “We would never harm anyone who goes by a name such as yours. Come.”

  The slender, gentle hands and the woman’s soothing voice reassured Diana a little.

  “They will care for you,” Alaric repeated, his voice low. “But you must hurry.”

  “Yes, the time draws nigh,” the woman agreed.

  Diana allowed herself to be assisted aboard the craft. Alaric thrust the neck of a small bag into her hand. “This is to redress the deprivation I forced upon you as a result of my plans.”

  He was gone before Diana could form either question or protest. Even as she opened her mouth to speak, she realized the boat was already loose and beginning to move down the stream.

  “Sit, Diana,” the woman invited. Diana felt her slender hand on her wrist, guiding her to a small low seat.

  “Who are you?” Diana seated herself.

  “Much will be explained to you later but for now silence is our form of discretion. Sound carries too well even on water as swift as this.”

  Deprived of explanation, Diana looked out at the passing land for other clues. The moon had not yet risen and the starlight revealed only vague dark shapes on the water’s edge. She had at first thought this to be the river Derwent but it was too small and too swift for that water. A minor tributary, perhaps.

  She remembered the small sack she was clutching in her lap. It held something heavy. Curiously, she opened the bag and laid the contents out on her lap—a small loaf only the size of her hand, a handful of dried apricots and raisins, strips of the aromatic meat Sosia cured with the smoke from herb stems and twigs. The heaviest item was a small, carefully sealed flask. From the gurgle and sloshing she guessed it held wine. Everything was wrapped in a snowy white napkin.

  She had overlooked supper but Alaric had remembered. His thoughtfulness in the face of two day’s frantic preparations helped diminish Diana’s fear. He would hardly send her into peril with such careful attention to her smallest needs.

  “There is something wrong, my lady?” the woman in the bow asked, her voice very low.

  Diana shook her head. She picked up the apricots and began to eat, suddenly ravenous.

  The wine gave her a warm glow that offset the chill of the river air. She finished everything and was almost content when the silent oarsman began to fight against the river to bring the boat to shore. The boat halted next to a level piece of land similar to that from which they had departed. The woman climbed out carefully and held the bow steady just as Alaric had done.

  Diana stepped back onto dry land. Her fear swooped back. Where were they?

  The woman released the bow. With a strong push with his oar, the oarsman thrust the boat back into the stream and was pulled swiftly away.

  The woman laid her hand on Diana’s shoulder. “This way,” she murmured. Diana followed her along another narrow, nearly invisible path. The air was warm away from the water and the bushes they brushed past let out a woodsy, fresh smell that invigorated.

  The path followed a tortuous route that took time to traverse. Eventually, the path ended at a clearing. Diana’s eyes were accustomed to the low light under the trees now and she saw the outline of a building on the far side of the clearing. The woman was leading her toward it.

  Closer to the building, Diana realized that the wall facing them held no window, nor door but the woman moved confidently toward it. The woman tapped on the wall with her knuckles. It was a door—a very low, small door. A postern, built flush with the wall and covered with the same rough stone finish to disguise it.

  At the woman’s knock the door pushed open immediately. The speed of the response meant someone had been waiting for the summons.

  The woman motioned Diana through the door and stepped aside. Diana stepped over the low sill, ducked under the portal and moved inside past a cloaked and hooded figure holding the door aside and straightened up. Behind her the woman did the same and the cloaked figure shut the door and barred it with a stout log.

  They stood in a small room with an earth floor and a low ceiling that seemed to press down upon Diana. It was cold and empty of furniture save for a small stool by the portal.

  “You’re late!” the hooded doorkeeper hissed. “She’s waiting for you.”

  The woman from the boat took Diana’s arm in her hand. “Come,” she murmured, tugging on Diana’s arm, forcing her across the room to a hide-covered doorway. Even inside she still did not lower her hood and all Diana could see was a narrow chin and a wide mouth.

  Through the door was a long, dark and narrow room, with long tables and benches and the same packed earthen floor. The only light was provided by a stone hearth in the middle of the room, burning low. This room was empty but warmer than the last. The tables and benches spoke of humans, many of them and the ghosts of their presence hung in the air, speaking of companionship.

  The woman hurried Diana down the length of the room, toward another door at the end. This one had no hide cover but led out into another small room that served solely as access to a handful of doors that gave onto it. One of those doors was stout and strongly barred. This well-protected door would lead outside.

  The woman turned her toward another doorway on the left and took her through to another tiny chamber. The floor was stone and there were two young women sitting on low stools, wrapped in dark cloaks. Both girls stood when they entered. One stepped toward a door, knocked and pushed the door open. A real door.

  The woman from the boat stepped back. “Go,” she murmured and nodded toward the door.

  Despite the woman being a stranger, she had abruptly acquired the patina of the familiar, now that Diana was being asked to go on alone. Diana hesitated.

  “Go!” the woman insisted.

  Diana recalled the meal Alaric had provided for her and his reassurance that all would be well. She had to trust him. She turned and moved into the inner room and heard the door shut behind her.

  It was lighter in the room. Torches burning a scent-filled wood flickered against all four rough walls and a small brazier stood in the middle in the room. Beyond the brazier, on a large carved wooden chair with a high back, sat the most beautiful woman Diana had ever seen. She could not guess her age—the woman seemed both old and young at once. No lines marred her face, yet ancient wisdom gleamed in her dark, dark eyes. She sat very still, with trained patience.

  She spoke and her voice resounded in the empty chamber, ringing with untaxed power. “Come closer.”

  Diana moved to the brazier and halted. The flames warmed her.

  The woman gazed fixedly at her and Diana shifted uncomfortably. “Who are you and why do you study me so?”

  The woman did not hurry to answer. After a moment she said, “Diana. Those whom you reckon your ancestors named She of the moon by that name.”

  The other woman on the boat had also referred to her name, hinting that it gave Diana a peculiar protection. Diana put the clues together. These women were moon priestesses. This building was one of their sanctuaries, secreted away and accessible only to those they allowed within. No wonder folk murmured that they lived on islands
that could disappear and reappear at will.

  Diana was named after their goddess.

  Moon priestesses! Alaric had let her be taken into their lair? They were to prepare her for her marriage?

  “Diana was also a hunter,” Diana pointed out, hoping to show she was not cowed by her surroundings.

  “Which do you go by?” the woman asked quickly.

  The question felt like a test. Was she the hunter? The old Roman religious tradition did not suit her circumstances. Diana had been the prey of starvation too long to claim the huntress for her own. Besides, she had turned her back on Roman tradition when she’d chosen her own place in the world. Yet if she claimed the moon goddess as hers, she would be aligning herself with these women of myth and dark rumor. Witches was the kindest insult ascribed to them.

  “I choose my own place,” Diana answered firmly and felt her chin lift defiantly.

  The woman smiled. “Well chosen,” she said, her voice warm. “Your answer reassures me. I came to see for myself this Roman woman who must carry the flame of Arthur’s vision here in the north and I have not been disappointed.”

  “A-a-arthur?” Diana spluttered, astonished. “You serve Arthur?”

  “Serve? No. But upon his success rides the fate of all Britain. We—I—have seen this in the stars and in visions brought to us by the goddess. It is fated that our paths and Arthur’s will meet and travel together for a while.”

  “You will fight for him?”

  “We will deal with him after the fighting is over. After Camlann.”

  Camlann? Diana frowned. She had not heard the name before. But before she could voice a question, the woman on the tall chair spoke again, her tone practical.

  “We must prepare you for your marriage. I have agreed to perform the ceremony and it takes time to reach the tor from here.”

  There were too many things for Diana to assimilate, too many assumptions and unknown facts that left her stumbling along behind this woman’s words, clumsily trying to make sense of it all. She grasped for coherency. “You? You will marry us? A moon priestess?”

  The woman smiled again. “You object to this?”