The Forest House (48 page)

"I hear your summoning, and I come," she said in the language of the tribes. "Who is it that dares to call on Me?"

The murmur of fright that had swept the circle faded to absolute silence as a man limped into the circle of firelight. Eilan recognized Cynric, a bloody bandage around his head and a naked sword in his hand.

"Mother, it is I who call you - ever have I served you! Lady of Ravens, arise now in wrath!"

The chair creaked as the figure who sat there leaned forward. In the firelight Her face and Her hair were as red as Cynric's sword. Ardanos looked from one to the other, straining to stop this; but the force that linked them was too strong and he did not dare.

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"Well indeed have you served me . . ." Her voice scraped the silence. "Severed heads and dismembered bodies are your offerings, blood the libation you pour upon the ground. The wails of women and the groans of the dying are your sacred music; your ritual fires are fueled by the bodies of men . . .You have called me, red raven. What would you, now that I have come?"

She smiled terribly, and Midsummer though it was, the wind was suddenly icy, as if Cathubodva's darkness had killed the sun. The people began to edge backward. Only Cynric, Ardanos, and the two attendant priestesses held their ground.

"Destroy the invaders; strike down the despoilers of our land! Victory, Lady, is what I demand!"

"Victory?" Hideously, the battle-goddess began to laugh. "I do not give victory - I am the battle-bride; I am the devouring mother; death is the only victory that you will find in my arms!" She raised her hands and the folds of her cloak flared out like dark wings. This time even Cynric recoiled.

"But our cause is just. . ." he faltered.

"Justice! Is there ever justice in the wars of men? Everything the Romans do to you, men of your blood have done to each other, and to the peoples who were before them in this land! Your blood feeds the earth whether you die in the straw or on the battlefield -it makes no difference to Me!"

Cynric was shaking his head bewilderedly. "But I fought for my people. At least tell me that our enemies will also suffer one day . . ."

The Goddess leaned forward, staring at him, and he could not look away. "I see…" She whispered.

"From the bright god's shoulders the ravens are flying - no more shall they counsel him. Instead it is an eagle he welcomes. He shall become an eagle, betrayed and betraying, suffering in the branches of the oak tree until he becomes a god once more. . .

"I see the eagle put" to flight by a white horse that gallops from across the sea. Now the eagle joins with the red dragon, and together they fight the stallion, and the stallion battles dragons from the North and lions from the South . . . I see one beast killing another and arising in its turn to defend the land. The blood of all of them shall feed the earth, and the blood of all of them shall mingle, till no man can say who is the enemy . . ."

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There was silence in the circle when She had finished, as if folk did not know whether to hope or fear.

From further away came the moaning of cattle, and a sound like drumming, though the musicians were still.

"Tell us, Lady -" Cynric croaked as if he found it hard to get the words out. "Tell us what we should do .

. ."

The Lady sat back, and this time her laugh was low and amused.

"Flee," She said softly. "Flee now, for your enemies are upon you." She lifted her head and looked around the circle. "All of you, go swiftly and quietly, and you will live . . .for a while."

Some of the people began to shift away from the fires, but the remainder stayed staring as if enchanted.

"Go!" She flung up her hand, and a wing of darkness swept the circle. Startled into movement, people began to push against their neighbors like the first rolling pebbles in an avalanche of stones. "Cynric son of Junius, run," she screamed suddenly. "Run, for the Eagles come!"

And as the people fled the distant drumming became a present thunder and the Roman cavalry charged.

Gaius let the impetus of the charge sweep him forward, willing his awareness to confine itself to the movement of the horse beneath him, and the riders to either side, the rising ground, the running shapes of men and women and the glow of the flames. He tried to banish the memories which colored his perceptions, but he kept seeing a full moon and dancers, Cynric walking hand in hand with Dieda, and Eilan's rosy face lit by the Beltane fires.

The anterior horns of the saddle jabbed his buttocks as the slope steepened; he gripped with his knees and settled lance and shield, scanning the fleeing figures for armed men. Their orders had been dear enough - to avoid slaughtering a peaceful population, but to keep the fugitive rebels among them from getting away. The Legate had not explained how, in the confusion and darkness, that was to be done.

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Still cursing the fate that had sent him after Cynric and the Ravens at this of all places, Gaius saw a glint of metal, a white face contorting in fear or fury. Responses trained into him by ten years as a soldier moved his arm without the need for decision. He felt the jerk and tug as the lance pierced flesh and pulled free again, and the face disappeared.

The charge was slowing; they reached the flattened hilltop and saw it almost deserted, though people were streaming away on every side. A terse order to his optio sent riders swinging outward in pursuit.

His mount half-reared as a white figure waved its arms wildly, mouthing something about sacred ground.

Gaius kneed the animal in a rocking canter around the perimeter, looking for Cynric, heard the clash of metal on the other side of the mound in the center, and headed toward it.

And suddenly his mount was plunging, whinnying in terror as a wing of shadow swirled around it and someone screamed. It was not fear he heard but anger, anguish; a cry that contained all the horror and fear and fury of all the battlefields in the world; a shriek that turned the bowels to water and shivered the bones. Every animal that heard it for a moment was maddened, and every human felt the spirit within him gibber with fear. Gaius lost his reins and his lance and clung to his pony's mane as the world whirled around him. The face of a Fury hung before him, haloed by seething tendrils of shining hair.

His mount plunged onward and he came into the leaping firelight; all around him men stood frozen as if by some spell. Then his horse came to a shivering halt and people began to move again, but he could still see the terror in their eyes. He took a deep breath, realizing that surprise was lost, and looked around.

Some of the Druids were supporting a man in white whom he realized in shock must be Ardanos; he looked very old now. The blue-robed priestesses were easing what looked like a bundle of cloth out of the chair on the top of the mound. As his battle fury drained away, Gaius felt suddenly very tired.

Another rider, his optio, appeared at his side. "They've scattered, sir."

Gaius nodded. "But they can't have gone far. Set the men to scouring the area. They can report back to me here."

Stiffly he swung his leg over the pony's neck, slid to the ground, and walked forward, the horse plodding behind him. As he neared, Ardanos stirred, looking at him pleadingly.

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"It was not my doing," he mumbled. "Called the Goddess — suddenly Cynric was
there!"

Gaius nodded. He knew the Arch-Druid's policies well enough to believe him. It was the woman whose shriek had paralyzed them who had given the rebels the extra moment they needed to melt into the crowd. He continued walking towards the group of women. Somehow he was not surprised when Caillean turned, staring at him defiantly, but it was the woman who lay on the ground he wanted to see.

He took another step and found himself staring down at a woman's face; white, unconscious, identifiable only in its broadest outlines with the Fury who had appeared to him. And yet with a sick certainty he knew that it was She, and at the same time that it was Eilan.

Twenty-Three

As the Romans hunted Ravens in the days that followed the fight at the Hill of Maidens, Gaius felt as if he had become two people, the one dispassionately reporting the results of the operation to the Commander in Deva and then returning to Londinium to repeat the story to the Governor, while the other tried to reconcile the mask of fury he had seen there with the image of the woman he loved. Julia hovered about him with wifely solicitude, but after the first nightmare, they both agreed that for a time it might be better if he slept alone.

Julia did not seem to mind. She was as affectionate as ever, but during the two years he had been away her focus had shifted to her children. The girls were growing fast, miniatures of their mother, although there were times when Gaius thought he saw a gleam of Macellus's determination in his elder daughter's eyes. But though they were dutiful, he had become a stranger. It hurt a little to hear their laughter cease when he entered the room, and it occurred to him that perhaps if he could find the time to get to know them better the distance between them would disappear.

But he could not bring himself to try to bridge it, not now, when his heart was telling him that whatever love had remained between him and Eilan had been swept away by the Power that possessed her. At times the strain of concealing his anguish made him want to howl. Gaius was relieved when the Commander at Deva requested him to return for consultation, a postscript indicating that his father was
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hoping that instead of staying in the fortress, Gaius could pay him a visit in the new house he had built in the town. Perhaps it would be easier there to reconcile the conflict that was tearing at him.

"Have they captured any more fugitives from the Raven conspiracy?" Macellius poured wine for Gaius and handed him the cup, good but not gaudy, like the dining chamber itself and the mansion that surrounded it. His father's place was one of the better houses that had been built around the fortress, evidence of a growing civilian presence as the country settled down. Gaius shook his head.

"That fellow Cynric — he was their leader, wasn't he?" Macellius said then. "Didn't you capture him at Mons Graupius?"

Gaius nodded and took a long drink of sour wine, wincing as the movement stretched the healing slash on his side. He had not noticed it until the fight at the Hill was over, but it was more annoying than serious; he had had far worse on the German frontier. The shock of realizing that the Fury who had cursed them all was Eilan was his worst wound. After a moment he realized that his father was waiting for an answer. "I did - but later he got away."

"Seems to be good at that," observed his father, "like that bastard Caractacus. But we got
him
in the end, and eventually somebody will betray your Cynric too, someone from his own side . . ."

Gaius stirred uncomfortably at the pronoun, hoping his father would not remember that Cynric was Bendeigid's foster son. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble, he thought grimly, if he had killed Cynric when he had the chance.

"Ah well," the older man continued, "nobody blames you for not catching him, and wherever the survivors run to, it's not likely we'll see them here . . ." He looked around him with what Gaius could only characterize as a smug sigh.

"Not likely," his son agreed. "Are you really comfortable here?" After retiring from the army, Macellius had built his mansion, almost immediately been elected a decurion and was rapidly becoming a pillar of the community.

"Oh yes, it's a nice place. Settled down a lot in the past few years, and the town is growing. The amphitheater is a draw, of course. More shops every day, it seems to me, and I've just coughed up a goodly sum to pay for the new temple."

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"A miniature Rome, in fact," Gaius said, smiling. "All you lack is a coliseum for the Games."

"Gods preserve me." Macellius held up one hand, laughing. "No doubt I'd have to pay for those as well.

This business of being a city father is highly overrated. I hardly dare open my door for fear II be given the honor of contributing to something new!"

Buthe was laughing, Gaius observed, and thought that he had never seen his father so contented.

"There's one thing I'd not grudge the money for, though," said Macellius, "and that's to send you to Rome. It's time, you know. You'll get a good recommendation from the Governor after this last bit of service, and you can't rise much further on the kind of patronage your father-in-law and I can give you.

Has Licinius said anything?"

"He's mentioned it," Gaius said cautiously. "But I can't go until everyone's satisfied that things will stay quiet here."

"I can't help wishing Vespasian had lived longer." Macellius frowned. "There was a stingy old fox for you, but he knew how to pick good men. This cub of his, Domitian, seems determined to rule like an Eastern despot. He's banished the philosophers, I hear. Now I ask you, what harm could a lot of prosy old bores do?"

Gaius, remembering his own desperation when his old tutor had droned on about Plato, felt a sneaking sympathy for the Emperor.

"In any case, he's the man you'll have to impress if you want a good posting, and though I'll miss you, a procuratorship somewhere in one of the older provinces is the logical next step in your career."

"I'll miss you, too," said Gaius quietly. And that was true, but he realized that he would not particularly miss Licinius, or even Julia and the girls. In fact, he thought he would be glad to get away from Britain for a while, to some place where nothing would remind him of Cynric or Eilan.

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Gaius finally set out for Rome on the ides of August, attended by a Greek slave called Philo, a gift from Licinius, who swore he could be depended upon to drape a toga decently and send his master out each morning looking like a gentleman. In his saddlebag was the Procurator's annual report on the economy of the Province, which gave Gaius the status of official courier and carried with it the right to use the military post houses.