A cry in the night or a feverish tossing would wake Vindilis. She then did what she could. All vestals studied the elements of medicine, and priestesses of every grade who showed any gift for it were trained as full physicians. Vindilis practised little. Her hands were cunning enough, but the Touch of the Goddess was not in them, nor had there been comfort in her manner. This last had changed of late.
The worst attack thus far ended a fitful sleep. Vindilis bounded on to a floor cold beneath her feet and bent over the other. Shutters blocked off any light from outside, but she always left a lamp burning when they retired. The untrimmed wick streamed smoke and a purulent, guttering flame. She could just see that Innilis lay hunched, arms and knees drawn against a now swelling belly. Her hair was lank with the sweat that studded a face blotched, yellowish, sunken in around the bones. The reek drowned any woman-fragrance. Sobs and hissings went between cracked lips. Vindilis put a hand on the brow and felt heat, though Innilis shuddered as with chill.
‘Darling, darling!’ Vindilis hurried to pour water from a jug, lay arm under neck, raise mouth to cup. ‘Here, drink.’ Innilis gulped and retched. ‘Nay, slowly, sip, sip, oh, my poor sweet.’
Eventually she could ease the patient back on to the pillow. She went after her cloak. Both slept nude, for whatever warmth and consolation that might give. ‘Don’t go, please don’t go,’ Innilis moaned. ‘Stay. Hold my hand. It hurts so.’
‘Abide a little minute or two. I go to fetch powder of mandrake I’ve had brought. ’Twill give you some ease.’
Innilis’s eyes widened to ghastly white. ‘Nay! No drug. It might hurt the babe.’
Vindilis bit back a curse upon the babe. ‘I think not. In any case, you can’t go on like this.’
Innilis clutched herself below breasts that were ripening to full loveliness but too sore for fondling. ‘Nay, Grallon’s child, and, and she and I together on Sena. I can endure. I must? Her face turned towards a niche where a small image of Belisama was barely visible in shadow. ‘Mother of Mercies, help me.’
Vindilis threw the cloak over her shoulders and fastened the brooch. ‘Well, you can at least quaff a pellitory infusion. That’s never hurt you, and it should cool you off.’ She took the lamp. ‘I’ll need this. Be not afraid in the dark.’
Innilis shook her weary head. ‘I am not.’ Vindilis suspected she lied. ‘Please come back soon.’
‘Very soon.’ Vindilis kissed her cheek and went out.
A door opened and Innilis’s daughter Audris came into the corridor. ‘What is the matter?’ she asked. ‘Is Mama sick again?’
‘Aye,’ said Vindilis. ‘Go back to bed.’
The girl’s face screwed up. ‘I want to see my Mama!’
This child of Hoel was ten years old, two more than Vindilis’s Runa by the same King. So unforeseeably did the Sign come upon a maiden. Runa, though, was already as tall, and bright and lively. Audris had something of her mother’s looks, except for being towheaded, but still talked like an infant, seemed unable to learn much, and fell into occasional fits. Hers had been a frightful birth. Vindilis had wondered over and over how her half-sister’s next would fare.
‘Back, I said!’ the high priestess yelled. ‘Back to your room or I’ll hit you! And stay there!’
Audris gaped at the snarl above the lampflame, whimpered, and fled.
Dawnlight stole down the smokehole in the kitchen. Vindilis stirred up a fire banked under the hob and fed it with dry sticks and chips to hotten it fast. She kept decoctions readymade, but needed warmth to dissolve honey. That would hide the taste of the willow bark she added to the pellitory. It was supposed to endanger the unborn and Innilis would have refused it on that account; but she required a strong febrifuge – and, yea, a pinch of mandrake. Vindilis paced from flames to wall and back, to and fro, to and fro, while the dull light sharpened and the potion heated.
When she returned, Innilis had slipped partway into unconsciousness. ‘Here, beloved, here I am, always, always,’ Vindilis whispered. She raised the head and urged the liquid down. Thereafter she laid herself in the bed, damp and stinking though it was from sweat, and held Innilis in her arms and crooned lullabies until sleep came.
The lamp was nearly burned dry, but no need to refill. The servants would arrive shortly and throw back the shutters. Vindilis knew she would get no more rest until nightfall. She might as well wash and dress. Not enough hot water was left for bathing, but she preferred it cold.
The most direct way took her through the adjacent room, where Innilis had spent much of her leisure in happier days. A large bronze mirror on the wall caught what light there was and sent it off silver bowls, painted vases, bright draperies, bits of artwork. Another image of the Goddess, standing in a niche, was pretty too, benign, perhaps a trifle vapid; but abruptly, as the light struck ivory, it seemed to leap forth in the terrible majesty that was Hers.
Vindilis caught her breath. She turned, went to the niche, threw herself bruisingly hard prostrate on the floor. ‘Ishtar-Isis-Belisama,’ she begged, ‘spare her. Take whom else You will, how You will, but spare Innilis, and afterwards I will seek only to serve You.’
3
On the road, Gratillonius had promised the legionaries and marines leave for a homecoming feast. Preparations took several days. They included reserving a favourite tavern down in the Fishtail, where prices were low and rowdiness expected; providing it with a couple of pigs to roast and a barrel of better wine than the landlord dispensed; engaging musicians, entertainers, a few strumpets to help out the regulars; inviting friends from the city and environs. This depleted the company fund, but that didn’t matter much. Ys furnished the Romans, as well as her own fighters, necessities and services for which they had been wont to pay in Britannia. Furthermore, it gave them a wage, modest but in honest coin. The King had insisted on that, pointing to their proven value as guardians against foes and patrollers against crime. The move was popular with merchants, since it got money out of the city coffers and back into circulation. On the appointed day, Adminius led the troops forth. Otherwise he set his rank aside, and the passage was no march but a roaring romp. This was in the afternoon, in order to have daylight for the jugglers, acrobats, dancers, prestidigitators, and dancing animals. The weather was overcast but cold and dry: a blessing, as performances would have proper space in Skippers’ Market rather than being crammed into the tavern. ‘Did the Nine arrange it for us?’ joked Guentius.
‘Quiet!’ said Budic. ‘Don’t mock sacred things. You know they never cast spells like that except at the most awful times.’
‘What? You, the superpious Christian, defending pagan faith?’ Cynan gibed.
Budic’s young countenance flushed like a girl’s. ‘No, of course not. Although it is a decent sort of paganism. Queen Bodilis – But you don’t want to insult our comrades, I hope.’
‘I was talking Latin,’ Guentius retorted. ‘Didn’t you notice?’
‘Some of them know it,’ Cynan decided. ‘Budic’s right. Lay off.’
Cheerfulness prevailed. When the show ended, as the early dusk was falling, men flocked to the inn and settled down to await the meal whose smoke and savour enriched the air. Goblets thumped, dice clattered, women squealed and giggled, voices lifted hoarse in talk and, presently, song.
– ‘Ah, ’tis fine to be ’ome again,’ sighed Adminius in Ysan. His left hand hoisted a beaker, his right gave the girl Keban a preliminary feeling over.
Herun of the navy raised brows across the table.
‘“Home,” said you? We’re happy to have you amongst us. However, yearn you not for your Britannia?’
Adminius shrugged. ‘God knows when we’ll get back there, if ever. And frankly, ’tis no great loss. I could end my days ’ere quite contented. Might do so regardless, when I’m discharged.’
‘Hm.’ The sailor stroked his gingery beard. ‘If you truly mean that, you’ll be looking about for a wife. I’ve a sister you might like to meet.’
‘Not so fa
st!’ laughed Adminius, while Keban looked miffed.
‘Nay, nay. She’s young, hardly more than a child. Our parents will want to know any suitor well ere they give consent. For that matter, no girl in Ys may be married against her will, unless a vestal – Um, but a worthy man with Roman connections would be a welcome visitor.’
– Said Maeloch the fisher to his friend Cynan: ‘Aye, do come stay with me when ye can get furlough. Ye know the house is small but snug, and though we’re not rich, my Betha is a spanking good cook. The boys as well as myself – not to bespeak our neighbours – we’d love to hear ye yarn about your trip. We can promise to keep your whistle well wetted the while.’
‘Thank you,’ said the soldier. ‘It cannot be till after the Midwinter Council. The centurion wants the whole two dozen of us for a guard.’
Maeloch’s rough countenance tightened. ‘What, looks the King for trouble?’
‘Oh, no threat, surely.’
‘Better not be. They’d have us, the whole folk, the seamen ’fore all, to reckon with, did they lay finger on our King or little Queen Dahilis.’
Cynan’s usual dourness broke in a smile. ‘You’ve grown fond of him, then?’
‘With reason, with reason. He’s brought honour back to the Key, order back to the holy family; he’s rid us of the Scotic pirates and strives to get something real done about the Saxons; he’s dealt fair and square with commoners like me, and now, I hear, he means to hold a court every month where anybody can bring a plea; and … he’s made Dahilis glad, Dahilis who ever talks kindly.’
‘Well, ’tis good to hear you say so. As for the Council, I think he just wants his legionaries for an honour guard, same as before, to help overawe opposition there.’
‘Aye, even down under the cliffs we hear as how some magnates, Soren Cartagi of the Timbermen foremost, mislike the way he’d link us back to Rome. I say, when a storm is rising, break out your sheet anchor and make fast the rode.’ Maeloch’s fist thudded down on the table. Its thick planks trembled. ‘Enough. Let’s drink!’
XXIV
1
There was no wind on the night before Solstice Eve, nor was the air unduly cold. A swelling moon frosted thin, feathery clouds, among which a few stars blinked. Ashimmer like polished obsidian, Ocean heaved slowly, as if breathing in sleep. Sounds of surf rolled faint through deserted streets. The pharos light might have been a candle flame.
Then hour by hour a haze began drawing over heaven out of the west. As the moon sank towards it, a ring came aglow up there and stars withdrew from sight. Shadows blurred, lost themselves in the general darkness.
The moon was low beyond hidden Sena when abruptly a clatter and banging arose. It seemed thrice loud and harsh in this quietude. A cat on the prowl squalled and fled. Had the dead swarmed in from the necropolis to rattle their bones through Ys?
‘Open, help, open, ow-w-w!’
A maidservant unbarred the door on which the knocker had beaten. Ghostly in nightgown, she peered at the small figure which jittered on the cobbles. After a moment: ‘Oh, but ’tis Audris. What are you doing here at this hour, child?’
‘Fennalis come quick!’ the girl keened. ‘Mama sick, Aunt Vin’ilis tol’ me get Aunt Fennalis, quick!’ She herself wore merely a shift pulled over her head. The paving must have numbed her bare feet.
The high priestess was swiftly awake. Unlike most of her Sisters, she kept an attendant always in her house, because she had become hard of hearing and might not be roused by a belated appeal. Aside from lacking the Touch that Innilis seemed, erratically, to have, Fennalis was the best physician in the city, responsive to the great and the lowly alike.
She paused for no more than sandals, gown, cloak, and medical kit. ‘Audris, stay,’ she ordered the yammering visitor. ‘Blodvin, tuck her into my bed, warm her some milk, sit beside her. If she throws a fit – drools, rolls her eyes, strains backwards – put a towel in her mouth lest she bite her tongue, but panic not.’ Fennalis took a lantern that the maid had kindled from the nightfire and trotted forth. Wan light wavered across snub-nosed features, grey bristle of hair.
The way was short but steep to the home of Innilis. Its door stood open. Fennalis passed through. Candles burned everywhere. She set her lantern down and stood panting and wheezing.
Vindilis came into the atrium. She was naked. Blood bespattered her, dripped from her hands. ‘At last,’ she rasped. Heedless of stains, she gave Fennalis support while she well-nigh dragged the older woman along.
‘A thump, a scream. She may have started out of bed to go to the pot. Or mayhap – Her mind has sometimes wandered. I suppose she fell off the edge on to the floor. There she lay, writhing and screaming. I saw the waves going down her belly. Somehow I got her back into bed, and lights lit to see by. The waters gushed forth. They were tinged with red. Blood followed. I’ve tried to stanch it. Small success.’
They reached the bedroom. Splotches and footprints went crimson across the floor. Sheets, blankets, mattress were soaked. Innilis half sat against a heap of pillows. Her jaws were wide, straining for air, making a Gorgon mask. Eyes stared, blank with pain and terror.
Fennalis regained her breath. She bustled to the bedside, kissed the brow beneath her, and murmured, ‘How goes it, Sister?’ while she removed the cloths Vindilis had tucked between the thighs.
‘Oh, it hurts, it hurts,’ moaned Innilis. Vindilis clenched fists together but kept aside, out of the way.
‘Hm. Naturally it would,’ said Fennalis. I think you did succeed. No issue now to speak of. Blood always looks like more than it is.’
‘But too much nonetheless,’ Vindilis replied in the same grating monotone as before.
Fennalis nodded. To be awaited. The suddenness and all. I daresay injuries from the first birth never healed aright.’
Innilis reached to scrabble after her. ‘Help me!’ she cried. ‘Save me. I don’t want to ride in the Wild Hunt!’
‘You shan’t.’
‘Certainly not you.’ Vindilis came around to lean over the head of the bed, stroke the face that was bent away from her, drop kisses and tears down into the hair. ‘You are a Queen. Whatever happens to us, Belisama takes us home to Her sea, She, the Star of it.’
‘Stop that nonsense,’ Fennalis snapped. ‘We can get this over fast if we go about it rightly. Vindilis, curb yourself. Stand yonder. Help her kneel … Now, child, bear down.’
Innilis shrieked. ‘Nay!’
‘Yea,’ said Fennalis. ‘Harken. You’re not going to lose it. You’ve done that already. Your task is to get rid of it.’
‘Oh, my babe, the King’s babe!’
Fennalis slapped Innilis on the cheek. ‘Stop that. Get to work. Vindilis, support her while I unpack my kit.’
– When at last Innilis lay simply weeping, Fennalis made her drink from a vial. To Vindilis the physician said: ‘Opium. Scarce as cocks’ eggs nowadays, but I’ve saved out some for special cases. Twill ease her, and can do no harm now.’
‘Nay.’ Vindilis stared at that which lay on the floor, quiet after a brief stirring. ‘It can do no harm now.’
‘When Innilis is soundly asleep, we’ll sponge her off and shift her to the couch in her receiving room. Ease your mind. I don’t believe our Sister is in further peril, though belike she’ll be slow to regain strength. The servants will be here before dawn.’ Fennalis yawned mightily. ‘Then at last we twain can go tumble into bed and sleep till noon.’
‘Nay,’ said Vindilis again Weariness barely dulled the iron in her voice. ‘Not till well afterwards. Have you forgotten?’
2
The state barge daily set forth at sunrise, or as soon thereafter as ebb tide had started opening the sea gate. This time, fetching Maldunilis back, it carried no replacement. For the next three days, all the Nine would be in Ys, attending to rites and Council. Or thus it had been hitherto.
The last feather-clouds departed. By afternoon the sun shone in a sky gone milky; shadows stretched pale from the south.
A breeze sprang up, cold, gradually strengthening until it whittered in streets and raised whitecaps on a darkly greenish-grey sea.
Seven of the Nine met at the temple of Belisama. They dismissed the vestals and minor priestesses, save for one who was to stand outside and admit Dahilis when she arrived, and went on into the main chamber of worship. Chill and dimness lay within, barely lighted by windows whose glass was the hue of underwater; for lamps and candles had been extinguished. They would be rekindled at midnight – would shine from every observant house in the city – to welcome home the returning sun. Grain of stone and mosaic scenes of myth were vague in vision. At the far end, behind the high altar, the images of the triune Goddess towered pallid and stern. Silently, each in her own way, the Gallicenae prayed for mercy.
After a while Dahilis slipped in, clad like the rest in sacral blue and white. Tears gleamed below the tall headdress. Her voice came thin: ‘I’m sorry, I beg pardon I’m late, but – but –’
Quinipilis approached her, looked close, and said, ‘Come, best we seek our meeting room at once.’
‘Nay, I m-m-must make my devotion –’
‘You shall, for the whole Sisterhood and people.’
‘You don’t understand! Listen!’
‘Hush. This is no place for news. Come.’
Numbly, Dahilis followed the old woman, while the others trailed after. They went down the corridor to the chamber behind the sanctuary and entered. It was scarcely warmer, but better served by its windows; the Four Aspects on the walls stood forth in vividness.
Several cried out. On the dais, red-robed, Key in view on his breast, Hammer against hip, Gratillonius waited. He had used the rear entrance – not that anyone would have dared refuse him admission after a single look at his countenance.
Vindilis first got her wits back. Her words attacked like a stooping hawk. ‘My lord, what is this? Arriving without right is sacrilege. Begone!’
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