Roma Mater

by Poul Anderson

  ‘What?’ he exclaimed, dismayed. ‘I thought you happy.’

  ‘Oh, I was. Gladsome beyond measure. But – it is not right … that I have the King all to myself. Five days it has been. Six nights.’

  He clenched his teeth before saying, ‘Well, true, I suppose we should –’

  ‘We must! You are the King. And they, they are my Sisters in the Mystery. They too are of Belisama. Oh, do not anger Her! I would fear for you yet more than I already do.’

  ‘I will certainly give them proper respect,’ he forced out.

  She turned her face to him. He saw tears on her lashes. ‘Do more than that,’ she begged. ‘Cherish them. For my sake at first, if naught else will serve. Later for their own. They are my Sisters. They bore with my childhood flightiness, they were gentle and patient when I grew too restless to study what I ought, the older were like my mother unto me and the younger like loving elder sisters in the flesh. When my father Hoel fell, they upbore me in my grief. When my mother died, they did more, for the Sign was upon me that same night, and – And they consoled me, gave me back my heart, after Colconor, until they had schooled me in how to endure him. And at last it was they, they, they who had the bravery and the skill to bring you. I was their acolyte. Yet me only have you honoured – It is not right!’

  She fell into his arms and sobbed on his breast. He stroked her, crooned wordlessly, at length murmured, ‘Aye. Indeed. It shall be as you wish. And you speak truly, I’ve been unwise in this. I can but plead that I’ve been too taxed with my business among men to think, otherwise, of aught than you, Dahilis.’

  She gulped her way to self-mastery and sat straight. He kissed the salt off her cheeks and lips. His mouth slipped on down to the angle between jaw and ear; he kissed the softness of her skin there, too, and drank odours of her warmth and her hair. ‘Th-thank you,’ she whispered. ‘You are ever kind.’

  ‘Nay, now, what else could I be, towards you? And I’ve agreed you are right. Can you explain to … the rest … that no insult was intended?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll go about today doing that, since tomorrow comes my Vigil.’

  ‘What’s this?’ he inquired.

  ‘You did not know?’ she replied, amazed. ‘Why, I took it for given that my learned lord – Well, then, Sena is the sacred isle. Always must at least one of the Gallicenae be there. Save at a few certain times, Council meetings or the Crowning and Wedding, when all of us are needed here. Oh, and in war, for safety’s sake, though I scarcely believe even the fiercest pirate would dare – We go out for a day and a night by turns, on a special ferry. The crew are navy men whose officers decide they’ve earned this honour for a month.’

  He forbore to ask what the high priestesses did yonder. That might be a knowledge forbidden him. Instead, he regarded her in some slight bemusement before saying, ‘You’ve depths I did not suspect, my sweet.’

  The bright head shook. ‘Nay, nay. I’m a shallow little person, really.’

  ‘You’re unjust to yourself.’

  ‘I am truthful. The deaths of four aged Queens did not touch me, I was only sorry and missed them for a time. Not until my father was slain did I understand what sorrow is.’

  ‘He surely adored you.’

  A smile quivered. ‘He spoiled me, he did. You are much like Hoel as I remember him, Gra – Gratillonius.’ Her Latin weak, she occasionally had trouble keeping the syllables of his name in place. He found it easiest to chop along in Ysan when with her, telling himself he needed the practice.

  ‘Even afterwards,’ she continued, ‘when I’d stopped mourning him aloud, I’d no real thoughtfulness in me. I expected to serve out my vestal term, and then after I turned eighteen belike marry a pleasant young man, the sort who was in my daydreams.’ Her smile writhed away. ‘But mother died, and the Sign came, and –’ She stared beyond him. Her fists doubled anew.

  ‘That must have been horror,’ he said.

  Bit by bit, she eased. ‘At first. But my Sisters took me in charge, Bodilis foremost. She’s my true sister, you know – half-sister – also daughter of Tambilis, though her father was Wulfgar. But the rest comforted me too, and taught me. Colconor was seldom there for long. When he was finished he’d dismiss me, or fall asleep and snore if it was night. Then I could go home next morning. And when he used me – however hurtfully or, or shamefully – I could leave him. I sent my spirit back through time, or forward, to when things had been better or when someday they would be good once more. Forsquilis taught me how. And most days he let me alone, I could live my own life.’

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, trying to help her back to gladness, ‘how did you pick the name Dahilis? I know your mother called you Estar. How do any of you Gallicenae choose your names when … you have been chosen?’

  ‘They come from places. They bring the blessing of whatever spirit is tutelary. My name means “of Dahei”. Dahei is a spring in the eastern hills where the nymph Ahes indwells. I picked that because it is cool and bubbly, hidden among trees. When I was a girl and my mother or Bodilis took me along on a trip to those parts – ’tis beautiful countryside – while she meditated I would seek the spring and give Ahes a garland and ask her for happy dreams at night.’

  She sighed, but no longer in misery. ‘Could we go together sometime, Gratillonius? I’d like to show you.’

  ‘Of course, when I can find leisure. There’s too much on hand now. Hm. You need not feel overly hurried about passing my message on. Your Vigil on Sena shall be postponed. I should have told you, but you make me forgetful of everything outside. And it was preoccupying, making those arrangements – when I was ignorant of all the ins and outs – for a full Council. It meets tomorrow.’ He grinned. ‘That requires your presence.’

  ‘As a matter of form,’ she said humbly. ‘I can offer nothing.’

  ‘Your presence, I repeat. We’ll need the loveliness.’

  ‘Oh, my own only!’ They embraced. ‘I did not know,’ she breathed in his ear. ‘I thought, yea, the new King will carry a better day for us on his shoulders, he cannot help but do that. I did not look for joy such as you’ve given. Last night after you were asleep, I prayed to Belisama Mother. I prayed you be spared for many, many years – and whatever happens, I might die before you. Was that terribly selfish of me? I’ll come back in the sea and wait for you. Always will I wait for you.’

  ‘Now, now, I have many a battle in me yet,’ he boasted. She strained against him. Arousal stirred. ‘M-m, I’ve a meeting with some Suffetes at noon, but that’s hours hence. Shall we?’

  She crowed in glee. ‘And you thought you’d need more time!’

  ‘With any woman but you I would.’ Briefly, he wondered. Quinipilis had bespoken the power of the Goddess …

  As she skipped along beside his more dignified pace, she said laughing, ‘Could we wait long enough for you to be shaved? Later you might grow a beard. ’Tis the style in Ys.’

  He rubbed his chin. ‘I might. These past days my whiskers have been sprouting at a furious rate.’

  ‘Well, but do put the razor to them this time. When I call on my Sisters and explain, best would be that I not flaunt marks on my face. Not but what they won’t know from my gait, dear stallion!’

  2

  The Forum of Ys had never been a marketplace. It merely received that familiar name from the Roman engineers who reconstructed it as they did much else while the wall against the sea was going up. At the middle of the city, where Lir Way and Taranis Way crossed, it was a plaza surrounded by public buildings. These were likewise on the Roman model, marble-sheathed, colonnaded, stately, albeit of no great size. The temple of Taranis, the baths, the theatre, and the library were still in use. The basilica was also, less often, despite having seen no Imperial official permanently in residence for the past two hundred years. The temple of Mars had echoed empty almost as long, until Emperor Constantinus I required Ys to take in a Christian minister. Then it became a church.

  Budic went looking around the square. Mo
saics of dolphins and sea horses ringed a triple-basined fountain at the centre. No water splashed; on festival nights, pump-driven oil did, set alight to leap and cascade in fire. At noon today, not many folk were about. They stared curiously at the young soldier. He was out of uniform, but height, pale-blond hair, tunic falling down to bare knees – a garment his Coritanic mother had sewn for him – identified him as a foreigner. Though sunlight descended mild, his calves felt the breeze as a cold caress. His sandals slapped the pavement too loudly.

  Because the former temple faced south, the Christians had cut a new entrance in its western side. Mounting the stairs to the portico, he found that door open and passed through. Before him was a stretch of bare floor, the vestibule, ended by a wall – which its peeling plaster revealed to be wooden – that subdivided the great chamber where the pagan rites had taken place. A door in it was also open, giving Budic a glimpse of the sanctuary. It was nearly as devoid of furnishings. The altar block stood in the middle beneath a canopy replacing the cupola of a proper church; the cross upon it was neither gilt nor of especially fine workmanship. At the far end were a table and a couple of seats.

  An aged man was languidly sweeping in there, hunched over his besom. Budic halted at the divider. ‘I b-beg your pardon, sir,’ he ventured.

  The other stopped, blinked, and shuffled forward. ‘What would ye?’ he asked. His Latin had a heavy Redonic accent. ‘Be ye a believer?’

  ‘I am, sir, though only a catechumen.’

  ‘Well, ye’re young yet. Can I help ye, brother in Christ? I be Prudentius the deacon.’

  Budic declared his name and origin. Too bashful to seek higher, he asked, ‘C-could I see a priest?’

  ‘Priest?’ The old man blinked. ‘Haven’t got any priest. What for? How big d’ye think our congregation be? I only get the name of deacon because I’m baptized and have time to help out with the chores. All the rest of the believers are busy making their livings.’

  ‘Oh. Then the bishop? If I may?’

  ‘Haven’t got a bishop either, not here in this nest of heathens. Eucherius is the chorepiscopus. I’ll go ask if he can see ye just now. Wait.’ The man went off. Budic shifted from foot to foot, gnawed his thumbnail, stared into the sacred room he must not enter before he himself had received baptism. That wouldn’t likely be for years and years –

  The oldster reappeared. ‘Come,’ he said, and led the way through a door in the original transverse, marble wall on the left. Having followed a corridor past an unused space, they reached another door. The deacon signalled the soldier to go in.

  Beyond was poverty huddled in what had been opulence. The chamber where the pastor made his home, once the temple treasury, was too big for him. However, decent if modest furniture occupied a part, and a threadbare carpet warded off some of the chill. Windows were glazed. At the north end, where a smokehole had been knocked through the ceiling, was a kitchen, crude but sufficient for cooking. Soot from it had obliterated ancient decorations above and had greyed murals. Several books rested on a table, together with writing materials: pens, inkwell, thin slabs of wood, a piece of vellum off which earlier notations were scraped.

  Budic halted and made awkward salute. Two people sat on tall stools at the table. That must be why the deacon had questioned whether the chorepiscopus would receive a new visitor. One person was a short, frail-looking man, grey, Italianate of features, stoop-shouldered in a robe much darned and patched. He blinked nearsightedly and smiled uncertainly. ‘Welcome,’ he said in Latin.

  ‘Father –’ Budic’s voice entangled itself.

  ‘I stand in for the bishop, your proper father in Christ. But let me call you “son” if you wish. My name is Eucherius. Where are you from?’

  ‘I am … I am a legionary … of those who follow Gratillonius, he who is your King. My name is Budic.’

  The pastor winced and signed himself, as many Christians had taken to doing. The woman across from him turned and asked in a husky, excited tone: ‘A man of Gratillonius? Do you have a message from him?’ Her Latin was excellent.

  ‘No, honourable lady,’ faltered Budic, unsure how to address her. ‘I came on my own account. Father, having leave today, I inquired my way here. We were long on the march. We got no time for anything but hasty private prayers. I’ve much on my soul, to confess and repent.’

  ‘Why, of course I’ll hear you.’ Eucherius smiled. ‘You come like the flowers of the very Paschal season. But you have no more need to hurry. Join us. I imagine you too, Lady Bodilis, would like to know this young man better. Eh?’

  ‘I would that,’ said the woman.

  ‘Budic,’ said Eucherius, ‘pay respect – not religious, but civil – to Queen Bodilis of Ys.’

  Queen! A woman of the infamous Nine? Yet … a woman of the centurion’s? Dazedly, Budic saluted her.

  She was a handsome woman, at least: tall, well-formed, singularly graceful in her movements. Dark-brown, wavy hair lay braided around features blunt-nosed, wide in the cheekbones, full in the mouth. Her eyes were large and blue under arching brows. The gown she wore was of rich material, soft green in colour, sleeves worked with gold thread, its leather belt chased in undulant patterns. A silver pendant in the form of an owl hung on her bosom.

  ‘You can take a goblet from yonder shelf.’ Eucherius pointed. ‘Come share this mead that my lady was so generous as to bring for the warming of these creaky bones. Don’t be surprised. She and I have been friends since first I came here, and that was ten years ago, was it not, Bodilis?’

  A fit of coughing seized him. She frowned in concern, reached over to clasp his hand. Budic fetched a wooden vessel for himself and diffidently took a third stool, one of the ordinary low sort from which he would have to look up at the others. Bodilis gestured at the flagon. Well, a queen – whether or not she was a heathen priestess – wouldn’t pour for a common soldier, would she? Budic mustered courage and filled his cup.

  Bodilis smiled at him. This close, he saw fine lines crinkle at the corners of eyes and lips. ‘We share no faith, the pastor and I,’ she explained, ‘but we share love of books, art, the wonders of earth and sea and heaven.’

  ‘Queen Bodilis has been more than a companion in my isolation,’ Eucherius wheezed when he was able. ‘She saw to it that I got proper furnishings and enough to eat. The pagan Kings had done nothing about that, and – and there are no more than a score of Christians in Ys. Otherwise this church serves what transient Gauls and sailors are believers. My predecessors dwelt in wretchedness. I trust that speeded their salvation, but – but – Hers is a noble soul, my son. Pray that she someday see the light, or that God will reveal it to her after she dies.’

  Sardonicism tinged Bodilis’s smile. ‘Beware,’ she said. ‘Do you not skirt heresy?’

  ‘The Lord forgive me. I must remember – ’ Eucherius gave Budic his full attention. ‘When I can, I travel to Audiarna – Roman-held town, the closest, on the west bank of a river that otherwise marks the frontier – You’d not know the geography, would you? … There I make my own confessions, and obtain the consecrated bread and wine. But I cannot travel often. My health – ’

  He straightened as best he could, with an apologetic look. ‘Now it’s you who must forgive, my son,’ he finished. ‘I didn’t mean to appear unmanly and chattery, before a soldier at that. It’s only, oh, to see a Roman again – Are there Christians among your fellows?’

  Budic nodded. Eucherius beamed.

  ‘Drink, lad, and let us talk,’ Bodilis counselled. ‘We’ve each a bundle of news to exchange, I’m sure.’

  Budic sipped. The mead was dry, delicately flavoured with blackberry. ‘I’m just a rustic from eastern Britannia,’ he demurred. ‘This journey has been my first. Well, my vexillation was on the Wall last year, but that was fighting, and garrison duty in between. Nobody told us anything.’

  ‘The Wall last year! Where Magnus Maximus rolled back a barbarian midnight.’ Her tone sank. ‘Although – What do you know about him? Wha
t sort of man is he?’

  ‘I am only a roadpounder – a common legionary, honourable lady,’ Budic faltered. ‘I know nothing about great matters. It is enough to follow my centurion.’

  ‘But you heard talk,’ she said fiercely. ‘You are not deaf.’

  ‘Well, camp and barracks are always full of rumours.’ Budic attempted evasion. ‘The lady is very well informed about Rome.’

  Bodilis laughed. ‘I try. Like a snail reaching horns out of the shell into which it has drawn itself. Word does come in. I’m here today to share with Eucherius a letter lately arrived from Ausonius. He too hears talk.’

  ‘Let us get acquainted,’ the chorepiscopus urged.

  His story soon emerged, as glad as he was of fresh company. He was a Neapolitan who, after attaining the priesthood, had been sent to the school of rhetoric which Ausonius then maintained in Burdigala, for he showed promise. Exposure to ancient philosophers and to the attitudes of his teacher bred in him a doubt that man since Adam is innately depraved – especially new-born children. When he expressed such ideas on his return home, he was quickly charged with heresy, and had no influential clergyman to argue on his behalf. Though he recanted, his bishop afterwards trusted him with no more than the work of a lowly copyist.

  Then it chanced that that bishop received a letter from his colleague and correspondent in Gesocribate. Among other things, the writer lamented that the ministry at Ys had fallen vacant some time ago and there seemed to be no man both competent and willing to take it over. Thus the Church had lost even this tenuous contact with the city – the comings and goings of its traders were altogether unmonitored – and there was no guessing what the powers of darkness wrought around the Gobaean Promontory.

  The Italian bishop wrote back proposing Eucherius, and this was agreed to. The feeling among Eucherius’s superiors was that in the midst of such obstinate pagans any errors into which he might again stray would make small difference, while he ought to administer the sacraments sufficiently well to whatever few Christians came by. Also, serving in yonder post would be an additional penance, good for his own soul.