Gallicenae (27 page)

It was Apuleius Vero who found words: “Your life has been one endless march from battle to battle, homeless as the wind, over hill and heath and fields laid desolate, has it not?”

Publius Flavius Drusus cast a glance of startlement at the senator, the antiquated but immaculate toga that wrapped his slenderness and the handsome, still fairly youthful countenance above. “Feels that way, sir,” he agreed.

Gratillonius harked back across the years. He had not been much together with this man, but those times were burned into him: combat against the barbarians, fellowship of miles and campfires and barracks, later a chance meeting in Augusta Treverorum and a drunken evening when hearts were unlocked. But Drusus had earlier fought the Saxons as they came reaving out of the eastern sea; he had crossed to Gallia to fight under his Duke Maximus and win for him the Imperium; he had stood guard on the German frontier and campaigned beyond it; he had tramped south over the mountains into Italy and done battle again with legionaries like himself; he had followed his Emperor eastward,
and seen their cause go down before Theodosius’s Gothic lancers; half a prisoner, he had done hard labor on lean rations through month upon month of autumn, winter, spring; then he had made the trek across Europe to Armorica and a fate still unknown. Gratillonius did not wonder at seeing him slumped.

I hope I can straighten that back of his, the King of Ys thought.

“You may indeed have come to haven,” said Apuleius.

“Sirs, excuse me, but I don’t understand,” the centurion faltered. “I mean, well, all right, we veterans of Maximus have been sent north. We’ll get our discharges, and places to stay, and—it’s better than we hoped for, back there with the cataphracts on their tall horses herding us along—but what do you want of
me?
Why am I here?”

Gratillonius smiled. “That’s a long story, old buddy,” he replied. “Let me just give the gist of it now, because I think dinner time’s close and we’d like to relax then.

“This resettlement was my idea, when I heard about the fall of Maximus last year. A priest—chorepiscopus, I mean, name of Corentinus, gave me a lot of help, and we got Bishop Martinus in Turonum and other big men interested, and—Never mind. The upshot is that here we have Armorica, half depopulated, screwed over by pirates and bandits and barbarians who’ve actually taken up residence. And yonder we had you soldiers, good men, but men that the Emperors could neither trust nor massacre. Let’s bring them together.

“I thought of establishing a colony. If it was near Condate Redonum, it’d keep the Franks there in line. But that was refused. Not unreasonable, from Theodosius’s viewpoint. He wants you dispersed as well as discharged, so you can’t ever get up another revolt. So be it.”

As he paused, Apuleius interposed gently: “None of you shall be left destitute. Each man shall receive his plot of land and the basic tools he requires. The tribesmen will surely help him, for they ought to welcome such a strong new neighbor. From among their daughters he can soon find a wife. Praise God for His mercies.”

“We’d not every one of us make a farmer,” Drusus objected. “Many of us wouldn’t know one end of a cow from the other.”

Gratillonius laughed. “True. Well, any legionary has skills that’re in demand, what with trade reviving hereabouts. There’ll be work for all. I can use a few engineers in Ys, as a matter of fact. And if nothing else, the granaries of Ys will keep you from starving before you can support yourselves.”

Drusus shook his head dazedly. “My partner in the mud, a king,” he marveled.

“Let’s get to the point about why we’ve sent for you,” Gratillonius went on. “You owe a heap—I think you’ll agree—to my friend Apuleius. He kept up the correspondence and the political pressure and everything else I didn’t have the time or the connections for. You see, I knew you’d be with your outfit if you were still alive, Drusus, and knew you
could be depended on. So we managed to get a fair-sized number of men in your century assigned to this area.”

“No gratitude is due me,” said Apuleius. “I only wish to see the district well served, and therefore accepted Gratillonius’s recommendation. Aquilo and its environs are poorly defended. We have nothing but a handful of native troops, ill trained, and reservists with no training to speak of. Despite my repeated pleas, the Duke has never stationed any legionary regulars here.

“Well, of course you and your, ah, vexillation are going to be civilians. As such, you cannot, under Imperial law, form yourselves back into a military unit. You will be farmers, artisans, and so on. However, you will not have forgotten your martial trade, and equipment can be gradually obtained. I expect you to hold periodic drills and exercises which will include Osismiic men. Thus you will eventually provide us with a reserve force that is effective.”

“Almighty God!” Drusus exclaimed. “You
mean
that?”

“I was never more serious,” assured Gratillonius. “I’m hoping you’ll take the lead, under Apuleius the tribune, in getting all this organized. Think you can handle it?”

Drusus put down his cup, sprang to his feet, squared his shoulders, and gave the Roman salute. “Sir, I do.”

Gratillonius stood up too, refrained from hugging him, but said, “Splendid. We’ll discuss details in the next couple of days. First let’s enjoy ourselves. Isn’t food about ready, Apuleius? My stomach believes it’s been sent to hell for the sin of gluttony.”

A trifle shocked by the irreverence, the senator nonetheless answered graciously, “Soon, I pray your patience. Would you two like to go to another room and talk? You see, we’ve developed a custom in my family. Before the main meal, I spend half an hour with my daughter.”

“Verania?” asked Gratillonius.

Apuleius nodded. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“Why shouldn’t I? Charming child.” Abruptly it came to Gratillonius: Rovinda, the wife in this house, was again pregnant; but there had been no sign or mention of another infant. Whichever she had borne since Verania must have died, as infants so often did, unless their mothers were Gallicenae who had medical arts and magics and the blessing of Belisama.

Impulsively, Gratillonius proposed, “We’ll stay, if you don’t mind. She might like meeting newcomers.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Apuleius said. “You are too kind.”

Gratillonius shrugged and laughed. “I’m a father myself, several times over.” He regretted it when he saw the flicker of pain across Apuleius’s lips, but dismissed remorse; he knew himself for a man not especially tactful nor the least bit subtle.

Drusus sat back down and reached for his cup, looking resigned.

Apuleius went to the inner door and called. A female slave led Verania in. She moved shyly toward him, her gaze big and hazel in the direction of the strangers. Gratillonius’s heart lost a beat. O Mithras! Just about four years old, she was a trifle younger than Una, and her coloring was different, lighter; but how those delicate features and that graceful gait recalled the daughter that Bodilis had given him.

Daughter of Bodilis—A year had passed without much blunting his longing for Bodilis as more than a soft-spoken counsellor, a carefully correct friend.

Gratillonius mastered himself. From Dahut he had learned how to court little girls. You didn’t stare or beam or gush or grab. You were cheerful, casual, always respectful of the child’s dignity; and before long she would listen to you, then come to you, with the dawn of adoration in her eyes.

2

“The centurion will be away,” Adminius lamented. “Not the King, ’e don’t matter now, but my officer Gratillonius, centurion o’ the Second. Slice and gut me, wot a shame! The single thing wrong, that ’e can’t be there ter stand me by and lead the celebration afterward. ’E would, you know. I’ve ’alf a mind ter put it all off till ’e gets back.”

He knew that was impossible. The family into which he was marrying would have taken grievous offense. The Powers might too, since the astrological signs were propitious for the date set and none other in the near future. Besides, nobody could say when Gratillonius would return from this latest journey of his.

Adminius found consolation in knowing that his whole Roman squadron would be on hand. This time the prefect had left them behind and travelled with an escort of Ysan marines. In part, he explained, that was to allay a certain jealousy he had seen growing. To take them beyond the frontier not only gave them a pleasurable outing but acknowledged that he was
their
King. And in part, when he was to deal with former rebels, he had better avoid anything that might look suspicious to the Imperial authorities.

The wedding would be an event of some importance, joining the deputy commander of the legionary cadre to Avonis, sister of the naval officer Herun, who with her belonged to the Taniti clan of Suffetes. It would take place at the Nymphaeum, and a Queen would preside. Adminius proposed that his soldiers form an honor guard. They cheered, except for Budic. “What’s the matter with you?” demanded Cynan.

The young Coritanean reddened like a maiden. He must gulp before he could mumble, “A pagan rite. The chorepiscopus was warning again, in his last sermon, about d-d-danger to the soul.”

“Ha!” Cynan sneered. “Some faith, that won’t let a fellow show friendship. When are you due to be gelded?”

“Lay off that,” Adminius ordered. “Honesty’s too flinking rare as it is…. Budic, lad, I won’t force yer. But well you know, I’m not the first among us ter settle down with an Ysan wife, and me a Christian too. It’s an honorable estate, better than ’oremongering, ’specially when we’ll likeliest leave our bones ’ere. You needn’t bow down to ’eathen idols—I won’t meself—just because you join our party.”

Budic caught lip between teeth, shivered, and said, “I’m sorry. I’ll come, and, hope Corentinus will understand.”

“Good.” Mollified, Cynan slapped him on the back. “The centurion would be disappointed to learn you hadn’t.”

“I thought of that,” Budic whispered.

—On the day, the legionaries departed in full and polished armor, up the valley to the hills. The groom rode ahead of them, finely clad, on a white horse, next to his intended father-in-law. Behind followed other kin and well-wishers, together with pack beasts carrying supplies for a feast. The weather was superb. Merriment caroled along the whole way. The bride had fared a day in advance, accompanied by attendants and Queen Forsquilis, that she might be purified and then well rested.

At noon the group reached the sacred site. A vestal guided them by a short woodland path to the barrack. They would sleep there—floor space and pallets were sufficient—before returning home in the morning. While they refreshed themselves and took their ease, the small garrison hospitably carried back the food and wine they had brought, for the women of the sanctuary to set forth on tables which had been placed on the lawn.

At mid-afternoon a procession of girls arrived, led by a full-grown virgin who was near the end of her term of service. Hair garlanded and flowing loose over white gowns, they sang and fluted hymeneals while they conducted the groom and his friends to the Nymphaeum. Beautiful among them danced Princess Dahut. Already she was often here, as well as in other places hallowed to Belisama. It was unusual for one so young, but she was being raised in piety.

Around the greenswarded hollow brooded forest, above it cloud mountains and blue depths, heavy with summer. The air was as sweet as the music. Peacocks walked on closely trimmed grass, swans floated on the pond. That water came from several brooklets out of the hills and the spring at its edge; thence ran a stream which fed the slender canal that joined with rains to quench the thirst of Ys. The spring bubbled from a pile of boulders, atop which smiled a statue of the Mother, shaded by a huge old linden. Flowerbeds blazed with color, hedgerows and bowers drew the eye onward to the building. It was wooden and of no great size, but its white, colonnaded, large-windowed form was as of a jewel.

Adminius uttered a command. The soldiers formed a double rank below the stairs. Forth onto the portico came the aged chief priestess
and her coadjutresses, in blue gowns and high headdresses. Gravely, they summoned the groom. He mounted the steps and followed them inside. After him went the rest of the wedding party, and then the choir. The legionaries stayed behind.

Through open doors came sounds of hymn, chant, prayer. Budic strove not to listen. He failed. Those words, those melodies were at once too joyous and too solemn.

They ended in a benediction uttered by a woman’s purring voice. The bridal couple appeared, plump blond maiden on the arm of lean sandy man. They descended. As they passed between the soldiers, swords flew from sheaths and
“Ave!”
roared aloud.

The guests followed, the girls, the votaresses. Last was the Queen. Tall and stately walked Forsquilis, her face almost inhuman in its classic lineaments and pallor, save for the faint smile.

Dahut had been named to cry, “Rejoice! The blessing of the Goddess is ours! Rejoice!” Thereupon everything broke up in shouts and laughter. Folk mingled, embraced, made for the laden boards. Forsquilis went back inside. When she returned, her golden-brown hair was coiled around a silver coronet and cloth of gold clung to her litheness. She herself called for drinking to the health and happiness of the newly wed, and in the hour afterward chatted freely with any and all.

The gaiety, and perhaps the wine, soon overwhelmed Budic. Every nuptial feast in Ys, other than the King’s, was mirthful, and apt to become erotically charged. Here there could be no stealing off with a newly met woman. However, nothing forbade the vestals to smile, joke, dance, exchange glances, murmur hints. When they attained their majority, most would want husbands, some would want lovers, and surely Belisama breathed higher the fire that She kindled in young hearts. Budic blundered bewildered through a whirl of loveliness.

The sun went under western hills. Clouds burned golden. Forsquilis signalled to the virgins. They formed a line, their feet skipped, their epithalamium lifted, as they brought Adminius and Avonis back to the Nymphaeum. Dahut bore a candle before the two, lighting their way to the flowerful chamber that was theirs for the night.