‘Mayhap ‘twould help if the chronicle of the Gods were set briefly forth,’ propounded Taenus Himilco. ‘Parts you will have heard, Gratillonius, but not the whole, nor in orderly wise.’
A murmur of assent went around the circle. ‘Do you do this,’ Iram Eliuni decided. ‘You are best qualified among us.’ Of aristocratic appearance and bearing, with a seat on the Council of Suffetes, Taenus was also a landholder near the Wood of the King. He knew not only what city dwellers thought, but what countryfolk did.
At Gratillonius’s urging, he commenced:
‘In the Beginning, Tiamat, the Serpent of Chaos, threatened to destroy Creation. Taranis slew Her. But She was the mother of Lir, Who therefore waylaid Taranis and killed Him. Heaven and earth were plunged into darkness, until Belisama descended into the underworld. At a fearful price, She ransomed Taranis and brought Him back; and She made peace between Him and Lir. A
condition of this peace was that Taranis must die over and over, until the End of All Things, though He would ever be reborn. This mystery we enact in Ys. Formerly ’twas by yearly human sacrifice. Today ’tis in the person of the King. He dies in battle, he is resurrected in the victor, who fathers new life upon the Gallicenae, the chosen of the Goddess.
‘In a sense, therefore, every daughter of King and Queens is divinely engendered. Only nine at a time are actual avatars. The rest live common human lives. Likewise do persons born of congress between other divinities and mortals. We have families claiming descent from, say, Teutatis, Esus, Cernunnos – mine – or from female deities by mortal lovers, Epona, Banba … ’Tis mere ancestry, unattested save by legend. More meaningful, mayhap, though vague as sea-fog, is a tale that in the Ferriers of the Dead flows blood of cold Lir …’
Silence fell. Gratillonius nerved himself to break it: ‘The Ferriers. I’ve heard of them. But nobody wants to speak of it. What does happen to the dead?’
‘That no one knows. The stories are many, many. Ghosts haunting their homesteads, barrow-wights, the Wild Hunt – dim Hades or utter oblivion – Here in the city and along the coast, we bury our dead at sea, as you know. Their bodies. The Ferriers have the task of bringing the souls out to Sena, for which terrifying reason they are exempt from tax or civic labour. Yonder, ’tis thought, Belisama judges those souls, though some say Lir shares in it. Many say that certain are reborn – that dead Gallicenae, especially, may become seals, which linger until they can accompany their own beloved into the Beyond – But we do not pretend to know.’
‘As you Mithraists do,’ Bodilis said coolly.
Gratillonius flushed. ‘I know not what will become of me,’ he snapped. ‘A man can but strive to earn salvation.’
‘A
man.
Is it denied to any who are not washed in the blood of the Bull? That would admit only the wealthy to Heaven.’
‘Nay!’ exclaimed Gratillonius, doubly stung that she should be the one who gibed. ‘The Taurobolium – that ugly business where the worshipper stands in a pit and the blood bathes him – that’s for Cybele. The Great Mother, they call her.’
‘You were sanctified by the blood of a King. Why should others not be sanctified by the blood of the Bull?’
‘As you will. ’Tis not required among them either. The rites are open to women.’ Gratillonius stopped himself from admitting how closely the Temples of Mithras and Cybele had often cooperated. He had never liked that cult, where men driven hysterical had been known to castrate themselves. Let women follow Christ, Who was good enough for his mother. ‘When we slay a beast to Mithras, we do it with dignity, as He did.’
‘I pray you, I pray you!’ Iram cried. ‘This is a comparison of views, an exchange of cognizances. Debates, if debates are desired, must be arranged separately.’
Gratillonius suppressed his temper. ‘Well, about human destiny,’ he said, ‘many of my fellowship believe ’tis controlled by the planets, but I confess to doubts about that. Could the learned Esmunin enlighten us?’
‘I am not in the least sure of the horoscopes I cast,’ replied the old man, ‘although I do my best as duty demands. If there is fate, then methinks ’tis on a grander scale, the forces of it all but incomprehensible to us. The apparition of comets, enigmatic eclipses, precession of the equinoxes –’
It became fascinating.
2
Gratillonius would happily have stayed as late as the last philosopher, but soon after the meal Bodilis plucked his toga and said low, ‘Come away with me. We’ve things to talk about.’
Despite lingering resentment, he knew she would not request this idly, and made his excuses. No armed guard was necessary hereabouts; a lantern bearer sufficed, a boy who did not know Latin.
‘I’m sorry I angered you,’ Bodilis said in that language. ‘But given the opportunity, I thought I must.’
Astonished, Gratillonius glanced at her. Stars threw more light on her face than did the glow bobbing ahead. He studied its strong moulding as if for the first time until, confusedly, his gaze roved off, past the towers to the vast glimmer of Ocean. The night was cool. Footfalls rang.
‘You see,’ she said presently, ‘you do not understand free women. If you’re to reign as we both hope, you need to. I gave you a taste of what you’ve been giving us.’
‘What do you mean?’ he protested. ‘My mother, my sisters – no slaves they. Nor most of those I’ve known.’
‘But not equals either,’ she retorted. ‘We Gallicenae are. Never forget that.’
‘What have I done wrong?’
She sighed, then smiled and took his arm. ‘Not your fault, really. Everywhere else, unless perhaps among some of the barbarians, women are underlings. The Romans honoured their matrons, but gave them no voice in affairs. The Greeks shut theirs away in houses; no wonder that became a nation of boy-lovers, as dull as they made their poor women! Your cult won’t admit them.
The Christians will – but subservient, looked at askance as vessels of temptation, denied any possibility of ever administering the sacraments. How could you know?’
The Great Mother – no, She was a screeching Asiatic. Tonight, around him, Gratillonius felt that majesty of Belisama, to Whom belonged moon and stars.
He swallowed. ‘Did I insult you Nine? I didn’t mean to. Dahilis said nothing.’
‘She wouldn’t. She’s too loving. Nevertheless I suspect she has urged you pay more heed to her Sisters.’
‘Well – she has – but –’
‘Ah, I speak of pride, of what is due, not of lust, though the flesh does have its just demands. Think back, for example. When you announced Dahilis was pregnant, and this would release you in due course to service the rest of us – Do you like being patronized?’
‘No! But–but–’
She laughed softly and held his arm the tighter. ‘Dear Gratillonius. You’ve never been a man more than now when you flounder helpless. Do you imagine I’d have bothered trying to teach Colconor? Why, Hoel himself could not understand. He might have – he was not stupid – but he would not make the effort, he would not patiently listen. In you there is hope.’
‘I will … listen, as long as seems reasonable … and try to do what’s right,’ he said carefully, ‘but I will not humble my manhood.’
‘Nobody asks that of you. It’s simply that we will not humble our womanhood.’
They went on in silence until they reached her home. There Gratillonius tipped the boy and dismissed him. Inside, servants had gone to bed, as short as the nights were now growing, but had left a pair of lamps burning in the atrium. Light fell amber upon Bodilis. She whirled
about and seized him. ‘Come,’ she said huskily, ‘don’t wait, the hours are wearing away.’
She had been good before. This time she was magnificent.
3
Rain came misting out of the sea, to hide the towers of Ys and make its streets twilit ravines. Dahilis and Innilis felt it on their faces, like the kisses of a thousand ghosts. They drew their cowled cloaks as tight as they were able while walking. Despite the apprehension in them, they were glad to reach the house of Quinipilis.
The high priestess let them in herself. She had thrown a shawl over a gown often patched; wool stockings and straw slippers were on her rheumatic feet. Carelessly combed, her hair made a white lion’s mane. ‘Welcome!’ she hailed. ‘Stand not there getting wetter, come inside where ’tis halfway warm. I’ve mulled wine on the brazier, or I can brew up some tisane if you’d liefer.’ She waved them through and rocked after them. ‘Pardon my appearance. Your note asked for a private talk, so I gave the staff this day free. Ordinarily I do not meet folk until I’ve got my jowls neatly tied up against my ears.’
‘We, we meant not to cause you trouble,’ whispered Innilis.
‘Nonsense, child. You’ve given me unassailable cause to stay away from the temple and slop about here. Toss your cloaks anywhere.’ Quinipilis led the way to a room off the atrium. Like the rest of her establishment, it was somewhat garishly decorated. The furniture was battered but serviceable. ‘Be seated. At ease, as our good centurion would say. We’ve the whole day if we want, not so? –
and a kettle of soup cooking. Made it myself. My cook’s no slattern, but she
will
put in too few leeks.’
They sat down and, for a space, sipped mutely from their beakers. Across the rim of hers, Quinipilis squinted at the guests. When she deemed the moment ripe, she said: ‘The trouble is yours, plain to see, and a bitter grief in you. Tell me whatever you wish.’
Twice Innilis tried to answer, and could not. She shrank back in her chair, clutched her cup, and fought against tears.
Dahilis squeezed her hand before taking the word, low but almost steadily, looking straight into the eyes of Quinipilis: ‘’Twas my thought that we seek your counsel, you, the oldest and wisest of us. We wanted Vindilis along, but she refused – sought to keep us from going – If you find her more aloof and haughty than ever, that will be the reason.’
‘Age in itself brings no wisdom, dear. But I have seen a thing or two in the past. Say on.’
‘This is a thing that could destroy. Yet I d-dare not call it wrong. I found out by sheer chance, unless ’twas the will of the Goddess … Innilis and Vindilis are lovers.’
Quinipilis bared what was left of her teeth in a soundless laugh. ‘Ho, is that all? I’ve known for years.’ Innilis gasped. The wine splashed from her cup and stained her lap. Quinipilis ignored that, smiled at her, and said kindly, ‘Fear not. I’m sure none else has suspected. Me, I’m curious about people. Their bodies speak more honestly than their tongues. I’ve learned a bit of the language.’
‘But what shall we do?’ Dahilis pleaded.
Quinipilis shrugged. ‘Need we do aught? This cannot have been the first time in the centuries. Nine women to one man may be sacred, but ’tis not natural. Yet Ys has done rather well throughout its history. ’Tis only that its folk have inherited, from their Carthaginian forebears, an
abhorrence. I believe Belisama understands.’
She gazed afar. Her voice dropped. ‘Poor Innilis. And poor Vindilis. I was never the mother I should have been to her, my Runa, Vindilis-to-be. There was Lyria, you remember, my daughter by Wulfgar whom I’d been so fond of. Aye, ’tis fair to say I loved Wulfgar; and you cannot remember, being too young, what a bright, beautiful child Lyria was. Then Gaetulius slew Wulfgar, and on me begot Runa. Oh, I never hated the little one; she could not help having the father she had. I did my duty by Runa. But to Wulfgar’s daughter Lyria I gave my love. And then in the reign of Lugaid the Sign came upon Lyria, and she took the name Karilis, and she died in giving birth, and to this grandchild who is now Forsquilis I passed on the love I had borne for her mother …’
She shook herself. ‘Enough. ’Twas long ago; and who can command her heart? Do your duty as a Queen. Whoever else may be in your life, provided ’tis not adulterously another man, that person is your own.’
‘But I hate keeping a secret like this from Gratillonius,’ Dahilis mourned. ‘It touches him so deeply, though he know it or not. And, and he is the King we prayed for. We owe him our loyalty.’
‘What loyalty has he shown us?’ demanded Quinipilis.
‘Why, why, he has been – kind and sage and strong –’ Dahilis’s cheeks burned. ‘Aye, certain things he’s neglected, but that’s my fault as much as his, and Bodilis told me she’s spoken to him and he paid close heed –’
‘That is well,’ said Quinipilis. ‘Mistake me not. I like him very much. I fear lest he lose the favour of the Three. Mayhap this … between you and Vindilis, dear Innilis –mayhap ’tis Their punishment of him, even though it began ere he arrived. If They do no worse, we should give thanks for mercy.’
‘That’s my terror too,’ Innilis forced forth. ‘That the
Gods are affronted as They were by … the earlier King. When Dahilis discovered us – could that be Their sign, Their warning?’
Quinipilis came to attention like an old hound that has caught wolf-scent in the wind. ‘Eh? What’s this? Meseems you’ve more on your minds than you’ve yet told.’
‘We do,’ Dahilis answered. Struggling for every word, she related how Gratillonius had held his Mithraic rite in a stream hallowed to Belisama, and afterwards been unrepentant. ‘He swore ’twas no harm; and he
is
so strong and clever that, that I made myself believe him – but then this next thing happened, and I cannot sleep for fright –Counsel us what to do!’
‘Hm. Hm.’ Quinipilis tugged her chin. This is bad, I think. He’s already defied Lir, d’you see, by burying that soldier of his on Point Vanis. And I scarce imagine Taranis is pleased that Gratillonius has dawdled about getting Him daughters on the rest of the Nine. The Gods are patient, but –’
She rose and paced, hands clasped behind her back, though an occasional wince showed that each step cost her pain. The younger women sat dumb, their stares following her to and fro. Finally she halted, loomed above them – her tall form against the window seemed to darken the room – and said:
‘He is worth saving. The best hope, I swear, Ys has had in my long lifetime, or longer than that. Wulfgar and Hoel were good men too, but they lacked the skills of war and governance that seem to be Gratillonius’s, nor, in their day, did such storm-driven tides beat on our gate as are now rising. If he refuses to expiate his sins, we Nine must do it for him. Is that not ever the lot of woman?