Gallicenae (41 page)

“Mighty for many years were Cargalwen and its lord. But the curse of the Old Folk hounded him. One by one, his sons died. The last and most promising did when he heard a song under the cliffs. He looked, saw a beautiful woman on a rock by the surf, climbed down to meet her, lost footing and fell to his death. Above in the fortress, they heard her laughter ere she vanished beneath the waves. They risked their necks to bring the body back. Crazed with grief, Targorix vowed he would bury the lad himself, in the heart of Cargalwen. Digging,
he uncovered a skeleton. An adder nested in the rib cage. It bit him, and so he perished after hours of anguish, on a night of storm when folk thought they heard his soul shriek as it was ripped away.

“The Osismii took new leaders, who made their seat inland. When the Carthaginians arrived, the stronghold lay abandoned. But the earth, the stones, the waters remember.

“Come.”

Forsquilis took Dahut by the hand and led her across the ditch, through gaps, over remnants, to the inmost circle. “This will be a long night,” the woman said. “Dismiss haste from your spirit. We shall be seeking beyond time.”

They sat down cross-legged on the withered grass. Forsquilis turned her face aloft. “Look on high,” she said. “See, yonder strides Orion. The Dragon attends the Lodestar. The wheel of heaven is turning, turning, turning. Mount to the Wain, Dahut, enter, be borne down the centuries.”

Vision and soul topple into endless deeps aloft.

The moon climbed higher. The witch crooned. Waves clashed and boomed, but as if very distant.

“—Oneness. All is one and one is all. Dream the dreams they dream who are dead.”

Frost sends slow shudders through earth. Stones toil upward; on nights yet to come, the stars will shine upon them. Seeds asleep wait for springtime. There is a flicker of aurora in the north, a memory of burnings long ago. Surf rumbles like chariot wheels. A breeze rouses, sighs, seeks lips to kiss.

“What does the night say to you? Nay, tell me not, tell yourself.
Eya, eya, baalech ivoni.”

Tide turned. The moon stood high and small.

Forsquilis rose. “May the Power be in us,” she said. Dahut did likewise, stiff and dazed.

“Join me in the refrain,” Forsquilis ordered. “I have taught you.”

“I remember it,” Dahut said. “Oh, I remember more than ever I knew erenow.”

“Beware. Dwell not overmuch on that which comes from Beyond. But you shall feel the Power this night. Together we will summon the wind.”

The song lifted. Out there on the headland, it was the loneliest sound in the world. But its undertone was the noise of the slowly retreating sea.

The stars turned, the moon mounted. That breeze which had drifted about began to whistle, ever so faintly. It could have been a melody played on a pipe made from a reed. Haziness blurred the western horizon.

Forsquilis danced while she sang beneath the moon. At first the movements of hands and feet and body undulated like low waves. The
music loudened, now and then shrill, as if a gull cried. The swiftening breeze fluttered her cloak. Dahut stood aside near a briar bush, her whiteness limned against remnant walls and the sky. At the end of each strophe, she flung forth her lines: “—
Lords of the elements, Lady of evenstar, Your children evoke you by the right of the Blood!
—”

Clouds lifted in the west. The moon dappled their shoulders. The wind could have been a melody played on a pipe made from a dead man’s shinbone.

The dance grew violent. Clouds mounted, blotting out constellation after constellation. Moonlight found whitecaps. They burst on rocks with roar, whoosh, and hiss. Stars flickered in the wind.

Forsquilis grew still. “Enough,” she said. Weariness flattened her tones. “The Gods are vengeful toward those who overreach themselves. We have learned that you are born to the Power. Let us go home.”

Dahut’s voice rang wild: “Nay, let me abide, watch, be here!”

Forsquilis regarded her for a long spell by the wan and waning light. Cloaks flapped and snapped. “As you will,” Forsquilis said. “As you must, mayhap.”

She set forth toward Ys. Dahut crouched down into what shelter was to be had. The storm strengthened.

—When it had overrun heaven, when rain and sleet slashed in on a keening gale while the sea tumbled and bellowed against the cliffs, Dahut stood naked, arms wide, face lifted to the blast, and shouted laughter.

—Dawn stole aloft in the wake of the storm, the late dawn of the Black Months, on the Birthday of Mithras. It was a light the hue of ice, above weather still roiling murky over the eastern hills. Elsewhere, streaks of cloud blew thin; the hunchbacked moon seemed to race among them. The waters raged like metal poured out of a cauldron, molten yet somehow winter-cold. Dahut stood on the highest cliff of Point Vanis and chanted:

“Green the sea and gray the air,

Flood come forth and wind arise:

Green flood, gray flood, windy cloud,

All the Sea is one.

“Blackling sea and silver air:

Clouds churn silver, silver tide,

Gales across the reefy cloud,

All the sea is one.

“Wracking sea and rushing air,

Spindrift, skydrift, gale and blast,

Soar by spray and dive by cloud—

All the sea is one.

“Sea is mine and mine is air,

Dark of star and wet of moon.

Wave I fling, I pile the cloud.

All that’s sea is mine.”

1

Tommaltach maqq Donngalii returned to Ys with the springtime. Again he came as a partner in a trading venture, and again more for the sake of the visit than for any profit. It fulfilled his wildest dreams when he was received once more at the palace and, there, Princess Dahut offered to show him about the city on her first free day. His heart bounded. That night he lay sleepless.

She guided him to places he had never thought he would enter. A vestal of the first generation had admittance everywhere. Midafternoon found them atop the Water Tower, otherwise reserved for astronomers and philosophers.

Having looked with much respect at the fixed instruments, he let his gaze wander. To one side the city wall curved away beneath this parapet, behind it the blossoming valley. Nestled close was that red-tiled, colonnaded gem called Star House. Not far off, Elven Gardens lifted green and flowery, a chalice for the still more beautiful Temple of Belisama. Other fanes, together with mansions, graced this half of the city. Busy and stately, Lir Way swept down toward the Forum. Towers gleamed into a nearly cloudless heaven. Beyond sea gate and headlands, waters heaved blue and white, past holy Sena to the edge of vision. Sails were out there, and uncounted wings.

His glance went helplessly back to Dahut. She stood at his side, also looking afar. Air flowed cool, mingling odors of salt and flowers, to press her thin gown against a slenderness more full at bosom and hips than he had seen last year. It ruffled the hair that tumbled over her shoulders. The amber of those waves seemed to take into itself the light spilling from the sun.

He sighed. “Wonderful, wonderful. If only I could stay.”

She blessed him with a smile. “You will come back, though,” she said. “Often.”

He shook his head. His Ysan blundered more than could be accounted for by lack of practice during his months at home. “The Gods alone know when I can. ’Twas all I could do to get leave for this trip.”

How lightly her fingers passed across his hand, where it gripped the edge of the wall. “You bespoke this not erenow.”

“I did not, for I wouldn’t be spoiling of the joy. But—my father, my tuath have need of me.”

The deep-blue eyes widened. “Say on.”

“The Romans advance in Britannia. We cannot be sure what they intend. At the very least, pirates who no longer find good pickings there will turn elsewhere. We must guard our shores. Moreover, King Conual, to whom my father is sworn, means to widen his sway. That will likely call for war. I cannot hang back and keep my honor.”

“Oh, poor Tommaltach,” she breathed.

He forced a laugh. “Why, glory waits for me, and booty, and many a tale to tell afterward. Will you care to hear my brags?”

“Of course. I will wait so eagerly.”

“I too. Dahut,” he blurted, “my kinfolk are after me to be marrying. But I’ll shy from any such ties—I have hopes—”

Her lashes dipped. “What mean you?”

Hot-faced, he said in a rush, “I may find a way to settle in Ys. A fighting man or, or a merchant factor, or—something. Rufinus promised he’d help. Dahut, when you are free—”

She smiled anew and reached up to lay fingers over his lips. “Hush. I’ve five more years ahead of me.”

“But then—why, Ys might even wish a queen of its own race in Ériu, or—”

Again she silenced him. Her mood darkened. “Speak not of morrows, I pray you.”

“Why?”

“They’re like yonder seas, when a ship comes in whose pilot knows them not. He must pass through, but he cannot tell what reefs wait beneath.” Dahut turned and walked rapidly off. “Come, let’s go down.”

Gloom and echoes filled the circular stairwell inside the tower. Emerging at its base, youth and girl blinked, as if sunlight were an astonishment. Before them lay Star House. A tall man in a plain gown was about to mount its own stairs.

Dahut stiffened, then strode forward. “What do you want, you raven?” she cried.

Corentinus halted. “Why, ’tis you, Princess,” he said as mildly as his rough voice allowed. “What a pleasant surprise. And—aye, the skipper from Hivernia that I’ve heard about. Welcome, friend.”

Dahut stopped before him. “Never call us your friends! This place is sacred. How dare you set foot here?”

“Did you not know? There is to be a meeting of the Symposium. Your father has finally won for me an invitation to attend.”

“Why would he do that?”

Corentinus shrugged. “Well, after ten years I’ve become somewhat of an institution. And my little flock has grown. The magnates of Ys
must needs take us into their reckonings. The philosophers have wisely decided to exchange ideas with me, seeking mutual understanding, as civilized men ought. I seem to have come early. Wait, and the King will arrive. He’s ever glad to see you.”

Dahut’s eyes misted. Her lip trembled. “I don’t—want to see him—now,” she gulped. “Come, Tommaltach.”

She led the Scotian off. Corentinus stared sadly after them.

2

Wonder burst over Aulus Metellus Carsa.

Not only did his father agree, after much argument, that he could remain in Ys until the last voyage back to Burdigala in autumn: his term began shortly before midsummer, when festivities were fountaining. True, the captain gave his son into the care of the chorepiscopus, who was to see that the lad led a sober and godly life, pursuing proper studies and being introduced to just such aspects of the city as would be helpful to know about when developing commercial relations further. However, Corentinus knew what it was like to be young. Besides, one could not build goodwill for the firm if one refused invitations from Ysans who were interested in meeting this Roman—some of which invitations came from the very palace—could one?

And then Dahut asked him to be her steersman!

That happened in the course of the merrymaking which followed the solstice rites. It went on for days. After the Council adjourned, King Gratillonius was free to offer his distinguished guest, Apuleius Vero, his full attention.

Not that entertainment had been lacking. On this, his first visit to Ys, the tribune of Aquilo confessed himself bewildered by the endless marvels offered him. Some were of the Roman kind, banquets, games and races and athletic exhibitions in the amphitheater, performances of music and dance and drama in the odeion; but he exclaimed that everything was finer than he had encountered anywhere else, free of coarseness and brutality, yet tinged with a strangeness that freshened it like a sea wind. Other things he beheld were altogether alien. Certain of them he could admire artistically if not spiritually, such as the pagan temples and processions; certain he must deplore, such as men and women dancing together, or the general boldness of females, or the frequent hostility to Christ. But into much he could enter wholeheartedly—library, observatory, creativeness newly reawakened and breaking free of ancient canons, the Symposium, long private conversations with scholars or the learned Queen Bodilis, whipcrack wit, a sense of pride-fulness and hope even among the lowliest, a feeling that the horizon was no longer a boundary.

When he told Gratillonius, the King replied, “Thanks. You don’t see the underside of things. But never mind; you can guess what that’s
like. I’ll tell you my troubles later, because maybe we can help each other. Now, though, let’s enjoy ourselves. We’ve earned it.”

“Have you something special in mind?” Apuleius inquired.

Gratillonius nodded. “I’ve decided to revive an old custom. It lay fallow a long time because of pirates and the like, but once it was a big event of the season and there’s no reason it can’t be again. I mean the yacht race.”

Traditionally it had gone from the marine station to Garomagus and back, using boats of a single class. Today both terminals lay in ruins, and such pleasure craft as existed in Ys were wildly varied. Gratillonius had devised new rules. Participants would meet outside the sea gate, on the morning ebb. They would round Point Vanis and steer into Roman Bay. The murdered town would be too melancholy a rendezvous, but a short way past it, where the land bent abruptly north, was a fine broad beach. Small vessels could hug the shore; larger ones must stand farther out before turning east, a distance set by hull length and number of oars available, but those could only be used if it proved impossible to sail.

The balancing was crude. Gratillonius did not pretend that this would be a real contest in seamanship. To emphasize that it was simply sport, he sent people ahead to make a feast ready on the beach. The winning crew would receive their wreaths there and everyone would join in celebration before starting homeward.

“Will you be my steersman?” Dahut asked Carsa at the palace, in her fluent Latin.