Invocations sounded forth, first in Punic, next in Ysan. Gratillonius could not make himself pay close heed. Reality struck him in the stomach when the Lir Captain opened his casket and held it out to the Speaker, who lifted forth a key on a fine golden chain. Gratillonius knew that key. ‘Kneel,’ Soren commanded, ‘and receive the Power of the Gate that is the King’s.’
Gratillonius obeyed. When the loop went over his head and the thing hung from his neck it felt heavy, and as if so cold as to freeze his heart through the pectoral and robe. That passed over. He forgot it in the next moment, for out of the casket Soren had brought a crown.
‘Receive the sigil of your lordship and the blessing,’ the Speaker said.
‘No, I cannot,’ Gratillonius whispered.
Soren almost dropped the circlet of golden spikes. ‘What?’
‘I told you I follow Mithras,’ Gratillonius replied in hasty Latin. ‘When they raised me to Soldier of the Mystery, I was thrice offered a crown and must thrice refuse it, vowing never to wear any, for the God alone is Lord.’
‘You shall –’ Soren broke off. Glances clashed. He made a wry mouth. ‘Best not risk a disturbance. The Key is what truly matters. Hannon, keep silence. Gratillonius, may I briefly hold the crown above your head? Answer, quick!’
I must not let them order a Roman about, passed through the centurion. ‘Do that and nothing else. Or I’ll
fling it from me. My legionaries sit yonder, still armed.’ Soren flushed. ‘Very well. But remember Colconor.’ Gratillonius heard a buzz go around the seats at the change in the ceremony, but it died away and everything further was soon completed. Afterwards the maidens led the Queens out; Suffetes came down from their boxes to meet the new King in the arena; the amphitheatre emptied; last, the Gods of Ys went home to Their temples, to abide the future.
2
After sunset the wind loudened and bleakened, driving rainclouds before it low above the land. The first few spatters were flying when the magnates bade their host goodnight and departed with their lantern bearers for the city, a mile hence. Gratillonius left the door and paced the length of the hall.
It had been a polite gathering, but cautious and formal, when neither side knew what to make of the other. He was no desperate adventurer or runaway slave, he was an agent of the Empire, come to serve its purposes; and though he promised those would enhance the welfare of Ys, he could not blame its leading men if they took that incident of the crown as a bad sign. He had to win their trust. Before he could do so he must understand them in some measure, and what his position among them really was. Well, he thought, tomorrow I’ll begin, I’ll take my earliest few steps into the labyrinth.
He grew aware that the household staff had assembled before the wall that divided the two portions of the lodge. Flickers of firelight and lamplight showed them expectant. What, more procedures? He stopped and waited.
The chief steward touched his brow, salutation to a superior. ‘Is my lord ready for bed?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I … I’m not sleepy, but I suppose I may as well–’
‘Presently comes the bride of my lord’s first night.’
‘Uh?’ No, he would not reveal perplexity. Had he, with his limited knowledge even of Osismian, misunderstood something? Well, let that happen which the Gods willed. Certain it was that he had slept solitary for months. He felt sudden heat in his loins. Of course, if they went by precedence of age – maybe he could blow out the lights and use his imagination. ‘Aye,’ he said, as calmly as might be, ‘let us do what may beseem this occasion.’
Servants guided him to a well-outfitted chamber, helped him disrobe, brought in a flagon of wine, cups, cakes and cheeses and sweetmeats, several lamps, incense which they set burning, and left. Abed, unable to lie down, Gratillonius sat with arms folded across nightshirted knees. Warmth from the floor, fragrance from the sandalwood and myrrh, enfolded him. Noise of wind and rain sounded remote beyond the shutters. Much louder was his heartbeat.
Nine wives – He wondered wildly what his duty was towards them. He had married them in a heathen rite and because he had no choice if he was to carry out his mission. When he was done here and could go home, need he legally divorce them? He should ask a Mithraic Father. Yet meanwhile they were human, they could feel pain, and, O Gods, there would likely be children–
Faintly there reached him a hymeneal hymn. It could only be that. His pulse quickened still more. Who had arrived? Wrinkled Quinipilis, bitter Vindilis, handsome Forsquilis, what could happen with any of them? Somehow they had
known
he was on his way hither.
The door opened. ‘May all Gods bless this holy union,’
said the steward. Dahilis entered. The steward closed the door behind her.
Dahilis.
She stood as if frightened. One small hand fumbled at the brooch of a rain-wet cloak. She swallowed before she could speak. ‘My lord King, is … is Dahilis, his Queen … is Dahilis welcome?’ Her voice was a little thin, but the timbre caused him to remember meadowlarks.
He surged from the bed and went to take both her hands in his. ‘Welcome, oh, indeed welcome,’ he said hoarsely.
The cloak came off. He took it and tossed it aside. She had changed to a simple gown of grey wool whose belt hugged it against her slimness. Her hair was piled high, held up by a comb. He saw that it was thick and wavy, sun-golden with just a tinge of copper. He clasped her shoulders, looked down, and said in his lame Osismian, which he tried to give an Ysan lilt: ‘How wonderful that you, you, should seek me this night.’
She lowered her gaze. They, the Sisters, they decided it when – when we called you, my lord, called you to deliver us.’
He did not want to think about that, not now. ‘I will strive to show kindness … unto all – Fear me never, Dahilis. If ever I blunder into wrongdoing, tell me, only tell me.’
‘My lord –’ She received his embrace, she responded, the kiss lasted long, she was not skilled but she was quick to learn, and eager.
‘Well, uh, well,’ he laughed breathlessly, ‘come, let us sit down, refresh ourselves, get acquainted.’
Her glance was astounded. ‘Col –’ she began, and checked herself. Colconor, he thought, Colconor would never have troubled to put her at ease. (Supposing that he, Gratillonius, could do it in this first encounter.)
‘Already you are being kind,’ she whispered.
They took chairs opposite each other at the table. He felt in a remote fashion what a curious arrangement that was. But naturally, she was used to it. He poured wine. When he was about to add water, she made a shy negative gesture, so he refrained too. Her cup trembled as she lifted it. The drink was dry and full-bodied, warming both flesh and spirit. He thought he would readily learn to like taking his wine like this.
‘Do you speak Latin?’ he inquiried in that language.
‘I can try,’ she gave him back with difficulty. ‘We study it in vestal school. But I’ve seldom had any practice since.’
He smiled. ‘Between the two, we’ll get along.’ And thus they did. Sometimes it required much repetition or search for a word, but that became part of a game they played, helping them feel more comfortable with each other; and he found himself actually beginning to acquire Ysan.
‘I know well-nigh nothing, Dahilis,’ he said. ‘You understand, don’t you, I did not intend to take the Kingship. I stumbled into it.’ Her look sharpened, and he hurried on before she could respond. ‘I do not even know what questions to ask. So let us talk freely, dear. Will you tell me about yourself?’
She dropped long lashes. ‘Naught is there to say. I am too young.’
‘Tell me anyhow.’
She lifted her eyes. A bit of mischief danced forth. ‘If you will do likewise, good my husband!’
He laughed. ‘Agreed. Not that we can say much in an hour, or two. How old are you, Dahilis?’
‘Seventeen winters. My father was King Hoel, my mother Tambilis. Queen Bodilis was her daughter too, my older half-sister, by King Wulfgar. But mother died in my fifteenth year and … and the Sign came to me.’
And Colconor, then reigning, took her.
‘There is, is scarce anything else, my lord,’ Dahilis said, ‘but I think I shall be glad you are King. Pray won’t you speak of your own life?’
When ever was a man loth to parade his exploits before a lovely girl? thought Gratillonius. Nevertheless he kept the tale laconic. Her eyes widened and widened. To her, Rome must be as glamorous as Ys was to him. And he travelled on affairs of Rome …
When her clothing fell to the floor, he saw that above the cleft of her breasts was a tiny red crescent, its horns to the left, like a birthmark. She noticed his attention drawn to it from other sights, touched it, and said diffidently: This? ’Tis the Sign. Ever when a Gallicena dies, it appears on one of the vestals. That consecrates her a priestess. I know not why Belisama chose me out of all the rest – but oh, this night I thank Her that She did.’
And afterwards she snuggled close to him and murmured drowsily, ‘Yea, I do thank Her, truly I do thank Her, that She made me a Queen of yours. Never erenow have I known what glory She may bestow.’
His lips brushed along the summery odour of her hair. ‘And I thank Her too,’ he said.
1
‘It were well that we talked together, unheard, you and I,’ said Quinipilis. ‘Would it please you to walk the wall? Then I could also show you somewhat of this your newly-won city.’
Gratillonius looked more closely than hitherto at the eldest of the Gallicenae. With five-and-sixty winters behind her, she still bore herself tall. A once opulent figure had become stout, her hands were gnarled by the ageing that had made her gait rocking and painful, her visage was furrowed and most teeth gone; but underneath abundant white hair, gathered in a Psyche knot, grey eyes gleamed wholly alive, while good bones and arched nose held a ghost of her youthful comeliness. She was simply clad and leaned on a staff whose ferrule was plain iron. Her house was unostentatious, requiring just a pair of domestics, for she used only a part of it. Yet he felt he had never encountered anyone else more truly like a queen.
And her note borne to him at his palace, written by herself in excellent Latin, had less requested his presence than summoned him. He believed he could not well decline. His few days in Ys had overwhelmed him more than they had taught him. He badly needed advice. Still, not knowing what she wanted, he had come in some uneasiness.
‘Is that what my lady intended?’ he asked.
Quinipilis brayed a laugh. ‘Oh, ho! Did you fear me
dragging you from lovely Dahilis to soothe my lust? Me, barren, crippled, my face like forty leagues of bad road?’ She patted his arm. Her palm was warm and dry. ‘Nay, I gave up that three reigns agone. King Hoel and I were good friends, no more. As I hope you and I shall be, Gratillonius.’
‘As you were not with Colconor,’ he ventured.
Her mood darkened. ‘Never. Oh, he had me, again and again, for well he knew how I abhorred it from him. However, that was less bad than what he made the rest of the Sisterhood suffer. He had the animal cunning to sense it would be dangerous to goad me overmuch. And indeed, at the last–’ She shook her head. ‘No matter. ’Tis behind us, thanks be unto you. We should take counsel for the morrow, foremost concerning that Sisterhood.’
‘I will be grateful, my lady.’
‘Then let us begone. A mummy like me does best to use the morning, for she is weary by afternoon.’
‘Could we not spare you, stay here and talk Latin?’ asked Gratillonius in that language. ‘I’m told all educated Ysans know it, more or less, but don’t suppose your slaves do.’
‘Servants, boy. Temesa and her husband are free, and well rewarded,’ Quinipilis replied sharply in her mother tongue. He was already able to follow it fairly well, though his speech stumbled. ‘We have no slavery or serfdom in Ys. Too much have we seen of what they have done to Rome.’
‘I’ve heard of Ysans capturing and selling folk.’
‘Aye, abroad, among the barbarians. Ys lives mainly by her ships. Most are fishing craft and merchantmen. A few are raiders. But do stop spilling my scanty time and come along. I’d fain point out this and that, and see how you respond. ’Twill tell me things about you. And I want
to make you practise Ysan.’ She grinned. ‘Besides what you’ve been cooing at Dahilis.’
Gratillonius felt himself redden. He helped her on with her cloak and resumed his own. Otherwise he wore the shirt, decorated jacket, breeches, and low shoes that were everyday male garb in the city. They were of fine material but of colours more subdued and cut more simple than was usual among the well-to-do here. As King he could have carried a sword, but was content with the knife at belt which was all that unauthorized persons were allowed to have on the streets. He did not care to be conspicuous this day. Best might be if he went unrecognized – though that was unlikely, when his companion was one whom everybody must know.
They left the house. Like its neighbours, it was of rectangular outline. Dry-laid sandstone blocks and red tile roof glowed mellow beneath rays of a sun that was as yet not far above the eastern towers. It gave directly on the street, and the flower garden behind it was minute, for even this wealthy district was crowded. Most homes nearby were larger, rising two or three storeys, smoothly stuccoed, figured with inlays or frescos. What those showed might be scenes but were often ideals: spirals, Greek keys, geometric arrangements. The effect was brilliant in the clear, cool air, as if jewels had tumbled out of a great coffer.
Not being a commercial thoroughfare, the street was narrow, nonetheless paved and clean. Ys required the hauling away of rubbish. Upon inquiry Gratillonius had learned that the sewers did not drain into the sea, which would have angered Lir, but into tanks of fuller’s earth in chambers excavated below the city. From time to time these were emptied and the muck carted inland, where farmers were glad to have it for their fields.
Most people he saw as he walked were menials, in vivid
liveries, on errands to and from markets and the like. The rich who dwelt hereabouts were already off to their businesses, while their wives were indoors managing the households. He met an occasional artisan carrying tools for some task, and flocks of children too small to attend any of the various schools, and sometimes an elderly person or a leisured youth. Where leaded windows stood open, he glimpsed a few pets – a songbird, a cat, a ferret. Ys lacked room for larger creatures, except draught animals admitted only on to major routes.