Gallicenae (31 page)

The mainland cliffs sank into horizon haze. Low and flat, the island grew in view. Tambilis’s pleasure dwindled. She had not told Dahut that she was often terrified yonder, alone after dark with the wind and the sea and Lir.

The barge docked. Guilvilis, who had been on duty, came down from the House of the Goddess to meet her Sisters. Its stonework bulked murky, foursquare, crowned by a turret of equally grim aspect. Beyond reached scrub, harsh grass, naked rock. Dahut tried and tried to see the two menhirs she had heard about, but they were at the heart of the island and she couldn’t.

Tambilis bent down to hug her. “You shall stay with the men, dear,” said the youngest of the Nine. “They’ll want to amuse you, and that’s fine, but remember we brought you along so you could think hard about the sacred mysteries.”

Bodilis smiled a bit sadly on the two. “You were ever a good girl, Semuramat who was,” she murmured.

—While the high priestesses did not believe eclipse and comet were evil portents, neither had they come here as a political gesture. That would have been mockery of the Three. Their sundown rites were solemn. Thereafter they filed inland to the Stones. Wind hooted and bit, waves crashed. Low in the west, the invader star seemed to fly through ragged clouds.

Eight of the women formed a ring around the pillars. Fennalis, the senior, stood in front and called in the ancestral language, “Ishtar-Isis-Belisama, have mercy on us. Taranis, embolden us. Lir, harden us. All Gods else, we invoke You in the name of the Three, and cry unto You for the deliverance of Ys.”

Tambilis had carried a firepot. She set alight the wood which a keeper of the Vigil always made sure was ready. The tasting of salt followed, and then the knife, to nick forth a drop of blood that each flung into the flames. Together the Gallicenae sang the prayer for guidance.

Meanwhile the clouds came in hordes out of Ocean, until blackness overwhelmed Sena. The wind loudened, the waves raged.

—By morning a full gale was under way. Noise, chill, and spindrift filled the air. Fury ran free on the waters. There could be no question of return.

The Queens were safe enough. Ascetical though it was, the House gave shelter and held supplies. In the unlikely event that combers washed over the island, the tower offered refuge. Yet this looked like keeping them weatherbound for days. Tasks ashore would go neglected while anxiety tightened it grip on the people, who would see this as another bad omen. Said Forsquilis bleakly: “Once the weather was at the command of the Gallicenae. We ourselves have summoned it. But
more and more does the power slip from us. The world blunders blind into a new Age which holds terrors unknowable.”

Tambilis and Bodilis went to the barge to reassure the crew and, especially, Dahut. They found the child wholly fearless, out on deck as much as the men dared allow, peering into the wind and chanting some wordless song of her own.

—Next morning the gale had dropped to a stiff breeze, while sunlight straggled down between rain-squalls. The seas remained heavy, and the captain of the barge told the Nine that he could not yet start forth. The reefs were too many, too treacherous. He guessed departure would be possible in another two or three days.

Dahut trilled laughter.

Toward noon, those on the island were astounded to see a vessel bearing in. On eight oars, it was a fishing smack, tarry, battered, but stout.
“Osprey!”
Dahut shouted, dancing in glee.
“Osprey!
Maeloch’s come!”

Standing on the dock, Fennalis clutched her cloak to her. “What’s this?” she asked. “Whom do you speak of?”

Dahut grew grave. “Maeloch’s my friend,” she said. “I called to the seal and got her to bring him for us.”

“I don’t understand,” Maldunilis whimpered.

Innilis explained: “Maeloch, a fisher captain, also a Ferrier who knows this passage well. Sometimes he’s been the boatman when Dahut’s gone out on the water. I’ve taken her myself down to his home at Scot’s Landing, where he fills her with goat’s milk and stories.”

“She’s had me do the same,” said Bodilis. “Child, what’s this about a seal?”

Dahut paid no heed, and then the boat was close in, its crew looking lively under profane orders. They made fast. Maeloch sprang onto the dock. He drew the cowl of his leather jacket back from his shaggy-maned head, made a reverence like a bear’s, and boomed: “Ladies, we’ll take ye back. Fear nay. She’s a cramped and smelly craft, but the crossing will be quick and safe.”

The captain of the barge huffed. “Are you mad?”

Maeloch spread his huge hands. “Twasn’t my thought, mate,” he admitted. “A dream came to me last night, and when I stepped out at dawn I saw a seal that swam in a beckoning way. She led us. We might have been skerry-prey without her for a guide; but ’tisn’t the first time we did well to follow a seal. She’ll bring us to harbor again.”

“She
will!”
Dahut cried.

Forsquilis came forward. “This is true,” she said into the wind. “I too had dreams. I cannot read them, not quite, but—Come, Sisters, let us embark.”

Tambilis sighed almost happily. She must stay behind, today’s Vigil being hers, but she would not be entirely by herself. The barge would convey her when the sea had calmed enough for that awkward vessel.

Maeloch beamed. “Aye, welcome aboard, ladies. Well do our poor best to make the trip easy for ye. I did need to whack a couple of the crew ere they’d go, but they’ve come to see this is a right thing to do. We ask no reward but your blessing.” His hand dropped over the head of Dahut. “For how could we leave the princess waiting here, the daughter of Queen Dahilis what everybody loved?”

4

The tower named Polaris was the westernmost of its kind, in Lowtown although on the mildly prosperous south side of Lir Way. Equidistant from the Forum and Skippers’ Market, it contained something of both. Respectable folk occupied the lower stories, the poor and raffish dwelt higher up. When he was in Ys, Rufinus had an apartment on the topmost thirteenth floor.

Thither came Vindilis one winter afternoon. Fog had taken over the city, making its traffic a migration of phantoms, but a breeze from the south had now begun to rend and scatter the blindness. Clumps of it still grayed vision, and air remained raw. In plain black cloak and cowl, Vindilis strode unrecognized.

Approaching Polaris, she got a full view of it save where shreds of mist blurred vision. Less lavishly built and ornamented than some, it nonetheless lifted arrogantly. Marble lions with fish tails for hindquarters flanked the main entrance, whose entablature depicted a ship at sea and its lodestar. The first five stories were of the dry-laid stone the Gods had required, beneath tawny stucco inset with images of Ocean’s creatures and plants. Construction above was timber, its paint shading from the same yellow to pearly white. Grotesques were carved into the vertical beams. The tower narrowed as it mounted to its roof. From that bronze cupola, green as the sea gate, curved four serpent heads. Each wall was agleam with window glass.

Vindilis mounted the low staircase, whose granite lay in concavities worn by centuries of feet. Entering, she found herself in a corridor onto which opened a number of shops and workplaces—a wineseller’s, a spicer’s, a draper’s, a jeweler’s, and more, including a small establishment selling food. Lamps lightened their dimness. Trade and craftsmanship happened softly. At the middle the corridor was an alcove where a strong man sat by a wheel and crank. A rope went upward. By raising water and other needs, and bringing wastes and rubbish down for disposal, this hoist took some of the curse off living on the higher stories. Adjacent stairs went steeply aloft. Vindilis began the climb.

Doors on the first several residential floors stood mostly shut.

Many bore the insignia of families that had lived for generations in the suites behind. Higher on, occupants were more transient. There was a measure of shabbiness, odors of cooking cabbage, loud voices,
raucous laughter, children milling in and out of doors left ajar. Everybody goggled at the stranger lady.

Yet no one menaced her, nor did she see outright filth or poverty. Tower folk on the various levels formed their own self-policing communities, often with their own argots and customs. They were apt to scoff at groundlings. It added much to the intricate, many-colored tapestry that was life in Ys.

The thirteenth floor had space for just one apartment. The landing was a narrow strip lighted by a small window. Vindilis scowled at the door. Rufinus had replaced its former knocker with the penile bone of a walrus. Distastefully, she struck it against the wood.

He opened for her at once. Her messenger having told him she wanted to visit, he was neatly attired in a Roman-style tunic. “My lady!” he greeted. “Thrice welcome! Pray enter, let me take your cloak, rest yourself while I bring refreshment.”

“Did you think I’d be winded?” she answered. “Nay, I keep myself fit, and forty years leave me somewhat short of senectitude.”

Her coldness failed to dismay him. Smiling, he bowed her through, closed the door, relieved her of her outer garment. For a moment they regarded each other, his green eyes even with her black. She had drawn her hair straight back. The white streak through the middle of it seemed to recall the comet of the summer. Whiteness had begun to fleck the raven locks throughout.

“Do be seated, my lady,” Rufinus urged. “Would you care for wine or mead? I’ve laid in cheeses, nuts, dried fruits as well.”

Vindilis shook her head. “Not now. I’ve business on hand that cannot wait.”

“Aye, daylight wanes. Yonder door gives onto a balcony. Or would you liefer look through a window in this dank weather? The glass is fairly clear.”

“Why do you live in an aerie?” she asked. “I know you could have quarters in the royal palace if you wished.”

Startled, he said, “Why, well, I like my privacy. And the view is magnificent. The very fogs—I stand on that balcony under the moon and look down on a city become a lake of flowing alabaster. By day I am kin to the rooks and hawks around me.”

“You certainly have changed your ways. Like your language.”

“My lady?”

“You neither live like a Bacauda any longer nor talk like one. I’ll step outside. What I see should tell me more about you.”

Crossing the main chamber, she glanced everywhere around. The bedroom door stood shut. The kitchen was open, and ordinary: a cubicle minimally equipped, plastered and tiled against fire hazard. He kept the place clean. Rather, a hireling doubtless came in and did, for Rufinus had money these days. The atrium doubled as triclinium, with a table and chairs next to a sideboard. The ware on its shelves ran to the
fanciful, sometimes the obscene, such as a ewer in the form of Priapus. Another table was of finely carved walnut inset with nacre. Likewise good were a pair of couches. A corner was taken up by his traveling gear, the weapons and tools and forester’s outfit with which he fared on the King’s missions. Two portrait busts on pedestals flanked it, one the beautiful ancient head of a boy, the second a modern likeness of Gratillonius. Elsewhere sprawled a jackdaw collection of objects, everything from a golden arm ring of Frankish workmanship to an earthen jug which must hold certain memories, whatever they might be.

Passing the central table, Vindilis spied a flute, a couple of books, writing materials, a shingle on which words had awkwardly been penned. “I see you practice your literacy,” she remarked.

“I do, my lady, with more patience than is usually mine,” he said. “You doubtless know Queen Bodilis was gracious enough to arrange instruction for me. She’s promised me fascinating things to read when I’m able.”

He hurried to fling wide the balcony door. Vindilis trod forth into a chill that braziers kept from the apartment. She breathed deep. “Fresh air cleanses,” she said.

Rufinus smiled. “I pray pardon if my lodgings are stuffy. I get more fresh air than I care for, outside Ys.”

The view embraced a semicircle, from the sea portal to High Gate and beyond. Rampart, turrets, triumphal arch, streets, plazas were hers, an interweaving made mysterious by the vapors that drifted through it. Towers like this lanced above, to catch long sunbeams and bedazzle heaven. Afar she saw Elven Gardens and the purity of Belisama’s Temple like an island rising out of the mist-lake. The sounds were of wind, wings, bird calls, and, faintly, the pulsebeat of the city.

“Aye,” Vindilis mused at length, “you’ve deeper reasons than you perchance know for roosting here. All this calls to you.”

Rufinus blinked. “What?” He cleared his throat. “Hm, can I supply aught that my lady needs for her aeromancy? Shall I absent myself?”

Vindilis re-entered the room, closed the door, confronted him. “Not for that have I come,” she said.

“But your message was—”

She smiled sardonically. “My message was to head off rumors. I have no gift for reading the future in patterns of cloud and breeze. If I did, I’d mount the pharos for it. Nay, my aim is to talk with you in private.”

Unease passed through him. “Indeed? A surprise. I’m nobody.”

“You are he whom the King defied the Gods to spare. That alone makes you fateful. Now you have also become his confidential agent, going to and fro on the earth. Surely you offer counsel as well. Sit down, Rufinus.”

“As my lady commands. But first let me pour wine and—”

Vindilis pointed to a chair. “Sit down, I told you.”

He folded his long legs and stared up at her. “Does my lady speak for the Nine?”

“Not altogether. Words concerning you have passed among us, but ’twas my decision to seek you out. What I tell anyone else will depend very much on what happens here.”

He wet his lips. “I’ll not betray my master’s secrets.”

Vindilis folded her arms and looked above him into the shadows that were gathering as daylight ended. “I need it not. I can guess, broadly, what goes on. The organizing of former Bacaudae into the King’s forest rangers. Tasks they carry out at his behest. Linkage with the smallholders, the serfs, belike certain townspeople, the resettled veterans. He’s gathering together a native Armorican strength, to protect the country better than Rome does. Yet the Imperial authorities would dislike learning that they are under surveillance and that so much they’ve mismanaged is quietly being done.
I
will bear no tales to them.”