But striding off, Maeloch trumpeted: ‘Pull oars! Full stroke! We’re going home!’ The seal glided beneath and beside him.
When he reached the bows, the creature swam on ahead, until he could barely see it through the swirling grey. Once it glanced back at him and made a leap. Thereafter it started off on the larboard quarter.
‘Right helm!’ Maeloch roared. ‘Stroke, stroke, stroke! Give it your backs, ye scoundrels, if e’er ye’d carouse ashore again!’
Dread was upon the men, they knew not what this portended, nor knew what to do save obey. To and fro they swayed on their benches. Their breath loudened. Sweeps groaned at the tholes, throbbed in the waves. ‘Steady as she goes,’ Maeloch ordered. The seal swam on.
Surf crashed to starboard. On the edge of sight, a reef grinned. Yet Osprey had clearance enough. ‘Might that be the She-Wolf?’ Maeloch muttered. ‘If ’tis, we’ve tricky navigation before us.’ The seal veered. ‘Left helm! … Steady as she goes.’
Stroke, stroke, stroke. The waters bawled, seethed, sank away and sighed.
– The sun must have been low when the mainland hove in view, shadowy at first, later real, solid, the southside cliffs of Cape Rach. Men dared utter a ragged cheer. With their last strength they brought the battered and tarry boat into her home cove and laid her to at Ghost Quay. Oars clattered inboard. Feet thudded on close-packed stone as sailors climbed on to the dock, caught mooring lines, and made fast to iron rings set in boulders. The hull rolled, rubbing against rope bumpers hung on a log secured to the wharf.
At the stempost Maeloch slowly lifted his hand, waved, let the arm drop again and watched the seal depart.
Usun sought him. A while they stood in silence. Fog seemed thicker still, or was it only that night drew near? They could make out a pair of companion smacks at the quay, rowboats drawn on to a strand which had become cobble-hemmed and tiny at high tide, nets across poles. A track wound up the steeps, to join roads towards the pharos and Ys. A second trail went under the scarp. At its end, a deeper dimness showed where those few rammed-earth cottages were that bore the name Scot’s Landing. A hush had fallen. Cold gnawed in through garments and flesh.
‘Ye men’ll sleep aboard,’ Maeloch said at length. ‘We’ve our catch to prepare for market in the morning, ye know.’ Only he and Usun among them dwelt here, where some were boatowners like him and all were haughty – however poor – and a little strange, concerned less with affairs of the Fisher Brotherhood and the city than with things that were their own. ‘But I’ll dispatch boys to tell your kin ye came back safe.’
‘How did we?’ one sailor whispered.
‘I know not.’
‘You … a Ferrier of the Dead … know not?’
‘What I do those nights is a mystery to me too,’ Maeloch answered starkly. ‘Ye’ve heard what folk tell, that Gallicenae who’ve died may return in the shape o’ seals, abiding till those they loved ha’ fared out to Sena. No dream has told me if this be so or not. But when yon swimmer appeared, I had a feeling we should follow her.
‘Goodnight.’
He left the craft and trudged towards his home. There his wife Betha kept vigil, among their living children and the babe that was great within her. For his sake she was invoking Belisama, Our Lady of the Sea – and, silently or by secret tokens, beings about whom the fisher women never told their men.
2
The day was bright when Innilis came to the house of Vindilis; but within lay dimness and quiet. ‘Welcome,’ said the older Queen, with a smile such as was rarely seen on her gaunt countenance. She took both hands of Innilis in her own. To the servant who had admitted the visitor: ‘We twain have matters of discretion before us. Let none disturb.’
The servant bowed. ‘Never, my lady.’ This was not the first time he had been so commanded. As half-sisters, both daughters of Gaetulius, unlike though they were in aspect, this pair might be expected to cherish one another. In any event, it was not for him to question what the Nine did, or even wonder.
Vindilis led the way. Innilis must hurry to match her strides. They passed through the atrium. Like Bodilis, Vindilis had had the walls of hers painted over; but these now bore only spirals and Greek keys, black on white.
Beyond was what she called her counsel chamber. Light fell greenish through leaded panes to reveal mostly bareness: a table, a few chairs, a broad and backless couch upholstered in red. A niche held a statuette of Belisama. On a shelf below it were a lamp and an offering of evergreen. Refreshments waited on the table.
Innilis bowed to the shrine and signed herself. After a moment, Vindilis did likewise. The image had nothing about it of serenity. Rather, it showed the Goddess spear in hand, dress and unbound hair flying, astride a night wind like a stream or a snake – Her persona as the Wild Huntress, leading through the air the spirits of women who died in childbed.
Vindilis turned to Innilis, laid hands on her shoulders, kissed her on the lips. ‘How went it?’ she asked, more softly than was her wont.
‘Oh – I –’ Innilis looked away. Her fingers, fragile as reeds, twisted together. ‘He was not unkind. Not knowingly.’ In haste: ‘I’m sorry to arrive this late. Three people begged my help at the same time.’
‘You could not well refuse, if you had no duties more urgent,’ said Vindilis. ‘Nor would you ever. Be seated. Here, let me pour you some wine. ’Tis that sweet Narbonensian you like.’ As she bent to pick up the flagon, light sheened on the silver streak in her hair and the raven coils around it. ‘What were their needs, those people? Illness?’
‘For two.’ Innilis settled herself. ‘One is a man I’ve seen erenow. His dropsy was coming back. I gave him foxglove; that helps. But, poor soul, he has scant strength any more to earn his living. I think soon the temple must consider him and his family deserving of aid.’
‘You may be too tender-hearted, as often erstwhile.’ Vindilis sat down opposite her guest. ‘Go on. You need talk for easing of your mind. Let me be your physician and prescribe it.’
Innilis shook her head, drank unsteadily, and replied: ‘The second was the worst. A girl with a raging fever, none knew why, least of all myself. I could but give her tisane of willow bark, for cooling of her poor little body, and invoke the Mother.’
‘If any of us can heal any longer by the Power of the Touch, ’tis you, Innilis. You She still heeds. As well She might.’
The younger priestess reddened. ‘I am not worthy. Yet I pray that She will … The third was an old man on his deathbed. He wanted a blessing.’
‘Your blessing.’
‘Oh, but ’tis only a rite of comfort.’
‘That is just why ’tis best coming from the one of us whom everybody loves.’
‘I … I spent a while more at his bedside. That is what really delayed me. I had my harp along, and gave him some songs he liked. If only my voice were better.’ Innilis’s was high and thin.
Vindilis regarded her for a spell that lengthened, her own chin cupped between hands. After fourteen years of consecration, Innilis hardly seemed changed from the thirteen-year-old girl on whom the sign had appeared in the reign of Hoel – not even by the daughter she had borne him. Short, slight, ivory-skinned, lips always parted beneath a tip-tilted nose, eyes large and blue, she let her hair flow freely, a light-brown cascade down her back, like a commoner maiden, save when occasion demanded she dress it. Her gown today was glowing saffron, but jewellery lay nowhere on her.
Vindilis, clad in silver-accented black with a Gorgon’s-head pendant, lifted goblet. ‘Drink again, darling. I know ’twill not be easy for you to tell me about yesterday.’
Innilis’s lashes fluttered wildly. Red and white pursued each other above the fine bones. ‘There is, is naught to tell,’ she stammered. ‘I said he … was courteous, told me he re-re-regretted he’d not been able sooner to … pay me his respects, and –’ Her words trailed off.
‘What further?’ Vindilis asked sharply.
Innilis spread her hands, a gesture of h
elplessness. ‘What could there be? What know I to talk about with a man? We both tried, but long silences kept falling, until supper came as a release. Then he suggested – What better had we to do? I told you he meant well.’
Vindilis sighed, considered, abruptly set her vessel down hard and inquired, ‘Should I tell you first about my time?’
Innilis nodded, mute, staring down at the tabletop.
Vindilis leaned back, crossed her legs, frowned into space, crooked a finger as if summoning memory to report in full. Her tone was impersonal:
‘Well, he arrived at the hour agreed, mid-afternoon. That was earlier than with you, but we knew we had much to discuss. He’d taken the trouble to ask about me beforehand, and actually said he was sorry I’d dismissed Runa for the day; said he looked forward to meeting another daughter of Hoel, who must have been a good father. And he said he’d got a feeling that Quinipilis paid me less heed when I was a child than she did her older girl – since Karilis-to-be was by Wulfgar, whom she liked, and I by Gaetulius whom she did not care for – and Gratillonius wondered if this was why I was reckless and rebellious in my school days. But when he saw his prying was offensive to me, he stopped, and after that our discourse became intelligent.
‘He started by asking what we priestesses, both high and minor, do, other than conduct our rites and the affairs of our temple corporation. Naught boorish in that question; he begged pardon for his ignorance and said he hoped to remedy it. So I talked of counselling the troubled, healing the sick, teaching the young, taking part in the public business day by day as well as when the council meets – everything, save that he sheered somewhat away from our spells, the thought of those making him uneasy. Ha, this may be a whip wherewith to chastise stout drayhorse Gratillonius, if he gets over-frisky!
‘But now he was merely appealing for my help. Nay, wrong word. In soldierly wise, he put it to me that he and I, all the Nine and their lesser Sisters, should work with him for the safety and well-being of Ys. That talk went on for hours. When at length we took a repast, neither of us noticed what we ate or drank. Yea, methinks I could come to like Gratillonius, as much as lies in me to like any man.’
Silence entered and pressed inwards. Finally Innilis breathed, ‘Also after he – he spent the night?’
Vindilis laughed, with neither mirth nor bitterness. ‘We went to bed, of course. I’d told him the Goddess would be angered were not the sacred marriage consummated, except with a Queen like my mother who’s so old the moon no longer rules over her. He was taken aback, but then smiled a bit and said, “I carry out my orders.” When he began to feel of me, I asked that he mount at once. He did. He took a time about it, as busy as he’d been with others, but wrought no harm, and was satisfied with the single doing. At least, he lay straight down to sleep. In the morning I told him men do not arouse me; Hoel tried often and failed, Colconor was disgusting. Gratillonius might do best to leave me in peace. Could we not be partners, aye, and friends? Dahilis, or anyone, would be welcome to all such honours due me. He laughed and kissed my hand. We parted amicably.’
Vindilis’s brow darkened. ‘Although,’ she said in a harshened voice, ‘I must needs conceal what I felt, knowing that the same evening he would seek you.’
Innilis lifted her gaze. ‘Oh, but I told you he was kindly.’ Her speech wavered.
‘Once and no more, as with me?’ pounced Vindilis.
‘Nay – but – ’
Vindilis sucked air in between her teeth. ‘Ah, well might I have foreseen. ’Tis my fault, I should have taken more of his goatishness on myself … for you. Though you are too beautiful – ’
‘I, I never besought him. He might have stopped, but I never thought to ask. And he was so eager, and between times he looked at me so mildly, stroked me and murmured. I – it seemed not to matter that it had hurt.’
Vindilis reared in her seat. ‘Badly?’ she grated.
Innilis made fending motions. ‘Nay, nay. Be not angry. Please. ’Twas but that he is big and I was, well, dry at first … and later, when I was not, I remembered how Hoel sometimes gave me some pleasure, and I thought mayhap Gratillonius –’
Vindilis rose, came around behind Innilis, stood smoothing the long brown tresses and crooning, ‘Poor sweetheart, poor little sister-wife.’ In Hoel they had shared a father for the child that each bore. ‘You were very brave. Now rest, be at peace, be happy. ’Tis over and done with. Presently we’ll find a way to take the burden off you too. He may well have been inflamed because you reminded him somewhat of Dahilis. And surely she will be our ally, whether she know it or not.’
Vindilis bent over to pass lips across Innilis’s cheek. Her fingers plucked at the silken cord and amber button which closed the neck of Innilis’s gown. The younger woman turned her head. Mouths met and lingered. In Colconor they had shared misery which brought them together.
Afterwards on the couch, Innilis said through tears, ‘This must be right. The Mother must smile on us.’
‘She has not cursed us, throughout these years, has She?’ Vindilis replied drowsily. They had been over this ground before.
‘Nay. She has kindled love in us.’ Innilis clenched a fist. ‘But oh, if only we need not keep it secret!’
3
Wind whooped above glittery waters, made sails dance, drove white pennons across a vast blue field. It stung tears from the eyes of Gratillonius when he squinted into it. Between that and the glare, he could just make out a low, dark streak in the west: Sena, where again today Dahilis stood her lonely watch.
‘Uh, you were saying, sir?’
Eppillus’s rusty voice recalled Gratillonius to himself. He grinned, half abashed. Tardon. My mind wandered.’
‘Well, the centurion has a peck o’ things to think about. And they don’t sit still neither, do they? Wriggle around like worms, I’ll bet.’
‘The more reason to use this chance. Come.’ The two men resumed their walk atop the wall. Passing the Gull Tower, where a sentry saluted, they went above the harbour basin towards the gate. ‘The seaward defence is holding a practice. I wanted you to watch, and tell me what you think.’
On the bastions, rain shelters had been dismantled and removed. The war engines crouched amidst the men who served them, spaced at intervals, three bolt-shooting catapults to each great stone-throwing ballista. Gratillonius and his deputy stopped at the first they encountered, which was of the former sort. Light by comparison, it did not require the recoil-absorbing wall reinforcement of the latter kind, and was much easier and faster handled. ‘Heed us not,’ the King told the team officer. ‘Get on with your business.’
‘Aye, my lord,’ said the Ysan. ‘We’re about to start. ’Twill go quicker for the following rounds, but skeins get slack in damp weather – as my lord knows, being a soldier.’
He called for winding. The men at the lever arms threw their weight into the work, twisting two vertical strands which, with the frame, flanked the trough. Meanwhile others were bringing ammunition and stacking it. ‘Hold,’ the officer ordered. The winders withdrew their levers from the sockets. Pawls clicked into notches. For a moment the wind alone gave tongue.
With a small hammer, the officer tapped the right skein. It sang, a deep bass note. Into the sinew and horsehair of which it was braided had been woven something resonant. Head cocked, the officer listened until the sound died away, before he struck the mate and heard it out. ‘Hm,’ he said, ‘not quite balanced yet. Give this’n a half turn more and we’ll try again.’
Equal tension was necessary so that the missile, when loosed, would not rub against the groove, and when free would fly straight. Eppillus whistled to behold such a method of gauging. Gratillonius smiled wryly. He would never command Ysan artillery. His ear was too poor; at home, his fellow centurions had requested him to refrain from singing in their presence.
Satisfied, the chief had the casting arms inserted in the skeins. The strong bowstring linking their opposite ends was to propel a slide which in turn pushed a
long, iron-headed bolt down the groove. The machine had already been laid for elevation and direction. Now a windlass creaked, drawing the string back against the resistance of the skeins, until the slide engaged a locking mechanism at the base of the slotted beam. The chief undid skein pawls. ‘Would my lord like to send the first shot?’ he asked. ‘Methinks ’twould bring us luck.’
Gratillonius nodded, stepped forward, pulled the trigger that released the engagement. The catapult whirred and thumped. The bolt sprang forth, nearly too fast to see.
Other engines had likewise begun to shoot. Their targets were several rafts anchored at varying distances. Boats rested nearby on their oars, bearing scorekeepers, eventually to haul rafts and spent missiles back. But the exercise would go on all day while tide ebbed and flowed. Afar, a naval galley stood by to warn off any merchantmen that might appear.
Eppillus’s small eyes bulged with fascination. These designs and procedures had countless differences from the Roman. Gratillonius must nudge him twice to get his attention: ‘Move that paunch of yours, you. We want to inspect every emplacement on this arc.’
They did, walking to the gate and back to the tower, where they descended. Thrum, shouts, horn signals rang in their ears till well after they had passed the temple of Lir. ‘I don’t think we need look the south side over,’ Gratillonius decided. ‘They’re quite satisfactory, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I would. Oh, a funny style they’ve got, but I’ve seen Romans shoot worse. Naming no units, by your leave, sir. I’d say between their engines and their warships, they’re plenty secure to seaward.’
Gratillonius frowned. ‘That’s a thing I want to talk over with you. We may have very little on hand in the way of navy, from time to time. Remember, our mission is to make sure not only of Ys, but this whole end of Armorica. That may call for a show of force at certain places. I’ll send discreet letters to their officials as soon as I know what the situation is in the east, but those may not be enough. Meanwhile, what’s keeping me busy is preparing for contingencies here.’ His chuckle was rueful. ‘Ysans can be as stubborn and slippery as any Imperials.’
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