Roma Mater

by Poul Anderson

  He groped his way forward. ‘Ah, let’s talk a while like ordinary human beings. I want to know you, Bodilis. Tell me of your life.’

  She shrugged. ‘Naught to tell. ’Tis been well-nigh eventless.’

  He guessed that, of the Nine, she had had the most resources, the broadest reaches of escape for her spirit, during Colconor. He did not care to think about it. Instead – He tugged his chin. The whiskers were still too short, but he oughtn’t scratch his face. Slowly, he said, ‘You remarked on your middle daughter’s wish to remain with the temple after she’s free to leave. Was that yours too, when you were a girl?’

  The glance she gave him was startled. Then, inch by inch, she leaned back, smiled on him, finally found words. ‘Aye. The Sign did come upon me when I was the age that is Kerna’s now; but ever had I been a child moody and solitary.’

  ‘Was that because of … the circumstances of your birth?’

  Again she regarded him closely for a spell. ‘Gratillonius,’ she breathed at length, ‘you are a remarkable man. You truly are.’

  ‘Nay,’ he tried to laugh, ‘’tis but that a military officer must needs gain some skill in guessing about people.’ He sobered. ‘Would you liefer not talk of this? I shan’t press you.’

  She reached to stroke his hand. ‘Why should I hang back? Dahilis must have told you things, and … and if the Gods are willing, we will be together, you and the Sisterhood, for many years.’ Her look drifted off and came to harbour at the bust. ‘You know my father Wulfgar begot me on his daughter Tambilis. It was the will of Belisama, no sin among the Gallicenae, but I am told he fell to brooding, and within a year lay dead at the hands of Gaetulius. Certain it is that this left a shadow on my mother, who did not regain gladness until Hoel came. By him she had Dahilis-to-be, you recall. But hers had been a sombre house for me to grow up in. I fled into my books and my walks and – all you see around you. My wish was to become a minor priestess, for life.’

  ‘Instead you became a Queen,’ he said low.

  She coloured. ‘Hoel made me, too, happy. Not that his was any great intellect. He confessed I could bewilder him. But he was gutsy and kind and well knew how to make a girl purr. And his friends, his visitors, how they could talk of marvellous things and mighty deeds! He loved to invite foreigners to the palace; they blew in like winds off the sea. Later I began to frequent Star House – ’

  She broke off, snapped after air, finished bleakly: ‘Under Colconor, the Symposium kept my soul alive.’

  ‘Oh, my dear!’ he said in pity.

  She shook herself, confronted him, and retorted, ‘I ask for no balm, Gaius Valerius Gratillonius. My life has been better than most on this earth, despite everything.’ Her tone softened. ‘And now you are King.’

  Silence fell. He drained his cup and filled a goblet with wine, undiluted. Once more she looked away from him. Blood went in and out of the cheek he saw, like drumbeats. He knew what she was thinking of, and surely she knew that he did.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Well. I see. Um-m … whose is yonder bust?’

  ‘Why, Brennilis.’ Her relief was plain to hear. ‘Brennilis of the Vision, Brennilis of the Veil. ’Tis uncertain whether the portrait was done in her time or is imaginative, but I like to believe this is indeed how she appeared.’

  ‘Who was she?’

  ‘You know not?’

  ‘I am an ignoramus, remember.’

  ‘Well, then,’ she said cheerfully, ‘what better way to pass the hours ere we dine than for me to relate a little of the history of Ys?’

  2

  The oldest records were fragmentary, but tradition held that the site was discovered by Himilco when he came exploring up from Carthage some eight and a half centuries agone. Returning, he recommended that a colony be founded there. What Carthage required was a way station and naval base for its trade with the far North. Britannic tin, Gallic furs, German amber, honey, hides, tallow, timber, walrus and narwhal ivory, together with the Southern goods which paid for them, needed protection as well as transport.

  No mere outpost could long be maintained at such a remove. Hence it must be a town, capable of feeding and defending itself. Since few of the then prosperous Phoenicians were willing to leave home, they recruited widely about the Mediterranean lands. Prominent among those who immigrated in the early decades were Babylonians fleeing the Persians who conquered and destroyed their city, and Egyptians resentful of Persian rule.

  Legend said that when Himilco was first investigating the region, men of his were slain in their camp every night. At last he tracked down the monster that was doing this thing, and the sailors put an end to it. The creature had laired in a passage grave. The Old Folk whose bones lay there, grateful to be at peace again, promised that settlement here should flourish as long as the dwellers were likewise at peace with the Gods; but if ever there was a falling out, the sea would reclaim its own.

  Perhaps because of this, the city was consecrated to Ishtar, for She was powerful over all the elements and was the Star of the Sea. Soon afterwards the mixed colonists identified Her with Isis and established an order of priestesses to serve Her.

  Otherwise the community was subject to Carthage, though at its distance this was nominal, amounting to little more than a governor from the motherland. As it grew and enlarged its own trade, wealthy men began to chafe under even so light a yoke.

  More or less at the same time as the founding of the city, the Celts had arrived, overrunning the aboriginal population and intermingling with it to produce the Gauls. The aristocrats of the new tribes were generally descended from the invaders. It was natural for the city to make alliance with neighbour natives against further newcomers. Wars and raids had harmed those nearby folk enough that they were willing to accept Punic leadership.

  By now the name ‘Beth-Ishtar’ or ‘Beth-Isis’ had become shortened to ‘Ys’.

  The city was often endangered, more than once besieged. Yet, supplying itself by sea, it outwaited the enemy Celts, who never were very good at sitting still. Water was the worst problem, a fact that may have enhanced the sacredness of its sources in the minds of the people – although the Gauls venerated springs and streams too. The constant need for fighters and workers, in a commonalty still small, bred repugnance for the practice of sacrificing children to Baal Melqart, and eventually its discontinuance. However, prophecy and tradition agreed that from time to time some great blood offering must be made the Gods.

  Gradually warfare eased off. While rivalry with the seagoing Veneti remained strong and occasionally flared into battle, Ys developed ties to the Osismii, as that mingled breed of Old Folk and Celts called themselves. Intermarriage became frequent, deities were identified with each other, rites and institutions conjoined, the very language of the city Gallicized.

  In Ys the Triad became paramount among Gods. Ishtar-Isis most often bore the name Belisama, which meant ‘the Brightest One’. Melqart assumed the name and attributes of the Celtic sky God Taranis. Lir, Whose cult was more ancient than colony or tribe, took unto Himself the awe and dread of the sea.

  These evolutions were not barbarizations. They went hand in glove with political changes. Increasingly occupied against Rome, Mother Carthage gave Ys ever less consideration. Finally the magnates expelled the governor and established a Council of Suffetes on the Phoenician model. For the head of state, they took from various Gauls the idea of the King of the Wood – who was ordinarily no more than a figurehead, and whose death in battle replaced the former sacrifice of children.

  The Sisterhood of the Nine grew from both Punic and Celtic roots. It was recruited from among the daughters and granddaughters of Queens, albeit most of the latter were born to ordinary men. Such a girl took holy orders at age seven and served as a vestal until age eighteen. She generally lived at home, but went to temple school and, when old enough, spent days and nights on end in religious duties within the city or at the Nymphaeum. At the close of her term, she was free to do whatever she liked
– unless first the Sign had appeared on her and she had been wedded to the King and enrolled in the Gallicenae. After the third generation a given line of female descent was released from all obligation, for then the blood of Incarnate Taranis was thinned down to mere humanness.

  If she chose, upon completion of her vestalhood a princess could renew her vows, or at any later time, and become a minor priestess. The temple would also accept other volunteers who qualified, train them, advance them according to what abilities they showed; but of course no such outsider would ever become a Queen.

  Ys looked upon vestalhood as a divine privilege. It had its worldly benefits as well. Besides an excellent education, a maiden received a generous stipend. On going into civil life she got additional gold and goods, as a dowry for herself or investment capital if she did not elect marriage. The temple could well afford that, for much of the wealth of the state flowed into it from holdings, offerings, and bequests.

  Ysan commerce waxed. The city commanded only meagre natural resources, other than what it wrested from the waters, but skilled workers turned imported raw materials into wares that, exported, won high prices. Merchantmen on charter and adventurers among the barbarians brought in wealth of their own. When Rome finally sowed salt where Carthage had been, it made no large difference to Ys … although some folk wept.

  For a hundred or more years afterwards, the city prospered. It had no imperial ambitions; it was content with its modest hinterland and outlying island of Sena. Nor did it need more than a small, efficient navy, chiefly for convoy and rescue duty – when its Gallicenae could raise a storm at will. Its ship went trading and freighting throughout the North; likewise throve its manufacturies, brokerages, entrepots; and its poets, artists, dreamers, magicians.

  Yet the sea at whose bosom it lay was ever rising …

  The Veneti had always been troublesome. When Julius Caesar came conquering, Ys gave him substantial help against them. When he had crushed and decimated those foes, he visited the city in person.

  What happened then would be hidden from the future. Brennilis of the Gallicenae had had a vision while in a prophetic trance, and somehow she prevailed upon the tough and sceptical Roman. He actually appointed a soldier to slay the King of the Wood and succeed in that office – a young favourite of his, thus a sacrifice on the part of them both. Other things which were done required eternal silence: for Belisama had revealed that a new age was come to Ys. Archivists of the city believed that this was why Caesar made no mention of it in his writings.

  The upshot was that Ys became a foederate of Rome, paid a reasonable tribute, accepted a prefect and his staff, enjoyed the benefits of the Roman peace and otherwise continued its wonted life.

  To be sure, as Armorica was Romanized, there were effects upon this city too. On the whole they were benign. Indeed, Rome saved Ys from destruction. The Vision of Brennilis warned that sea level would mount and mount until waves rolled over everything here, were measures not taken. As defensible as it was between its headlands, this site ought not to be abandoned; but already people were moving to higher ground.

  From the time of her revelation, onwards through her long life, Brennilis was the effective ruler of Ys. In her old age she won for her people the help of Augustus Caesar. To her he sent his best engineers, that they erect a wall against the waters. They did much else while they were there, but the wall and the gate were their real accomplishment, for which the city gave them a triumph.

  That labour did not go easily. Besides the sea to contend with, they had the folk. The Romans thought it ridiculous that the wall be built as high as Brennilis demanded; they did not live to see tides eventually surge where she had foretold. Nor could they understand why they must not use enduring concrete. They insisted on it, and not until storms had repeatedly wrecked their work and snatched lives from among them did they yield. True, they then wrought honestly, in dry-laid blocks of stone so well shaped and fitted that a knife could not slip between. But they never understood why.

  Brennilis and her Sisters did. In her Vision, Lir had told her that Ys must remain hostage to Him, lest it forsake its Gods in the eldritch days to come. He would only allow a wall that He could, at need, break down, for the drowning of a city gone faithless.

  The gate was no defiance of this; Ys required one if it would receive ships as of yore. Sealed in copper, oak endured for many a decade. Sometimes the doors must be replaced – machinery and multitudinous workers doing it in a few hours of the lowest tide and deadest calm, followed by three days and nights of festival – but the necessity came seldom, and Ys abided.

  Yet also, as lifetimes passed, it drew ever more behind the Veil of Brennilis. This too had been part of her apocalypse, that the Gods of Ys were haughty and aloof, that They would not demean Themselves to plead for worshippers against a new God Who was to come, but would, rather, hold Their city apart unto Themselves. For all its splendour and prosperity, Ys grew obscure. Chronicles which described it gradually crumbled away without fresh copies having been made, burned in accidental fires, were misplaced, were stolen and never recovered, were scraped clean so that the vellum might be reused for a Gospel. Curiously few Roman writers ever referred to it; and of those who did, their works had a similar way of becoming lost.

  A part of this may simply have been due to regained autonomy, as Roman commerce and government began to fall apart. Longer and longer grew the periods during which the Emperors saw no reason to send a prefect; at last, none came. Payment of the tribute was more and more often delayed by bad communications; at last, Septimius Severus remitted it altogether, in thanks for help the city had given him against his rival Albinus. That was the final intervention of any consequence that Ys had made. Thereafter it looked to its own.

  But it was not totally isolated. The storms that racked the Empire inevitably troubled Ys as well. Trade shrank, Scotic and Saxon raiders harried the waters and the coasts, inland barbarians pressed westwards, evangelists of Christ led men away from the Gods of their fathers. Among the Gallicenae arose a feeling that they had come to the end of still another age. What would the new one bring? None could foreknow. Like a creature of the sea, Ys drew into its shell and waited.

  3

  By candlelight in the bedroom. Bodilis showed no mark of being past her youth, save for maturity itself. Smiling, she went to Gratillonius. ‘How can I best make you welcome?’ asked her husky voice.

  She responded to him, in movement of loins and hands, in soft outcries; but always there was something about her that cared more for him than for herself; and before they slept, she murmured in his ear, ‘I pray the Goddess that I be not too old for bearing of your child.’

  XII

  1

  Suddenly fog blew out of the west. Then wind died while cloud thickened. Osprey rolled to the swell, the eyes painted on her bows as blindfolded as eyes in the skulls of the men aboard her. Barely did sight reach from stem to stern, and the masthead swayed hidden. It was as if that formless grey also swallowed sound. There was nothing to hear but slap of waves on strakes, slosh in a well where the live part of the catch swam uneasily about, creak of timbers and lines and of the sweeps where crew toiled – and dim and hollow, at unknown distances and in unsure directions, those boomings which betokened surf over the rocks around Sena.

  Maeloch drew his hooded leather jacket tighter. Leaving the prow of his fishing smack he went aft, past the four starboard oarsmen. Sheeted fast, the lugsail slatted to the rocking. Despite chill, air was too dank for breath to show. As Maeloch neared, the helmsman slowly changed from a phantom to a mortal like himself, beard as wet as the sail, leathery face stiffened by weariness.

  ‘How fare ye?’ Maeloch asked. ‘Need ye a relief?’

  Usun, his mate, shrugged. ‘Not so much as the deckhands. Might be one o’ them and me should spell each other.’

  ‘Nay. While we keep sea room, their task is but to maintain steerage way. Should we find ourselves drifting on to a skerry or into a snag, aye,
they’d better row their guts out. But worse will we need an alert steersman. My thought was ye might want to change with me and go stand lookout for’ard.’

  Usun sagged a little over the tiller. ‘If ye, who captain us through this passage on those nights, if ye be lost –’

  ‘Who’d not be, as long as we’ve wallowed in this swill?’ Maeloch snapped. ‘Would Lir fain destroy us, why couldn’t He ha’ sent an honest gale?’

  ‘Ha’ ye gone mad?’ Usun exclaimed, shocked. ‘Best we join in vowing Him a sacrifice if He spare us.’

  ‘He got His usual cock ere we set forth.’

  ‘I – I’ve promised Epona – ’

  ‘As ye wish.’ Maeloch’s rough countenance jutted on high. ‘Myself, I’ll deal with the Gods like my fathers before me, straightforwardly or not at all.’

  Usun drew back. Ever were the Ferriers of the Dead an arrogant lot, not only because they enjoyed exemption from tax and civic labour but because – the source of their privileges – they met the unknown, on behalf of Ys. But Usun, who was himself along on such crossings, had not thought the captain’s pride would go this far.

  Maeloch filled his lungs and shouted: ‘D’Ye hear me, out there? Ahoy! Here I stand. Drown me if Ye will. But remember, my eldest living son is a stripling. Twill be years till he can help bring Ye your wayfarers. Think well, O Gods!’

  The fog drank down his cry. Louder snarled the surf, and now there was in it a hiss of waves as they rushed across naked rock. Two crewmen missed a beat. The vessel yawed. Usun put the steering oar hard over. His own lips moved, but silently.

  Something passed alongside. A splash resounded. Maeloch trod to the rail and peered downwards. Foam swirled on darkling water. Amidst it swam a seal. Twice and thrice it smote with its rear flippers. The front pair kept it near the hull. It raised its head. Great eyes, full of night, sought towards Maeloch’s.

  For heartbeats, the skipper stood moveless. Finally Usun saw a shiver pass through him too. He turned about and said, well-nigh too quietly for hearing: ‘Stand by to give what helm I call for.’