‘He helps those who help themselves. Christ keep me from sinful pride. Yet I cannot but feel that our successes to date show that the ultimate victory of our cause is in His plan for our Mother Rome. While campaigning may have ended for the nonce, we must not relax our efforts on every possible front. To do so would be sacrilegious.
‘You have done remarkably well, C. Valerius Gratillonius. I have commended you for it before, and I will not forget it in future. However, as a soldier you know that duty has not ended until the enemy has passed beneath the yoke.
‘I
thought I had assigned you a minor station on the periphery. I was wrong. You yourself have shown your
importance. Now a great part of my strategy for the coming year turns on you.
‘Armorica must remain stable, fending off any barbarians or other invaders but else quiescent. I know better than to call troops from it, but I cannot permit my opponents to try. Moreover, in view of your success against the Scoti, I want you to extend a webwork of defensive cooperation not only north along the Saxon shore, but south as far as the Liger estuary. In these past months, wittingly or unwittingly, you have through your negotiations and shows of force, and the secondary effects of these, drawn an outline of it across the peninsula. Now I order you to begin on the actual structure.
‘The Duke of the Armorican Tract has consented to this. Herewith his letter of authorization to you. His agreement was given reluctantly and under pressure. You will understand that no such official enjoys handing a crucial commission to an unknown quantity such as you. I also suspect he is less than enthusiastic about the cause of Magnus Maximus. He is, though, intelligent enough to realize what an opportunity this is for Rome. The attention and strength of his command have been concentrated in the east and the interior, and he feels this must remain so. Terrible though the devastations wrought by pirates have been, an overland invasion of Germans would be worse, as experience has shown. Therefore he has scamped the coast defences. Now at last, God willing, something can be done about them. Do it well, and you will make your mark –
‘
Gratillonius laid down the letter. While he had it well-nigh memorized, he had thought he would do best to read it aloud to Soren Cartagi. ‘I could go on,’ he said, ‘but certain details are confidential, and surely you see the general drift.’
The speaker of his cult, otherwise head of the Great House of Timbermen, nodded heavily. Outside this con
ference room of the palace, the day reached bleakly bright. Wind whooped. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘You’d fain leave Ys.’
‘I must,’ Gratillonius replied. To Condate Redonum and elsewhere – a circuit with my soldiers, to carry my warrant and knit the region together as it should always have been.’
‘Ah. You’d not be content with couriers as hitherto?’
‘Nay, I cannot be. The Romans are unorganized and demoralized. They have responded to my calls for a united front against the barbarians with assent but little action and no vigour. Where it comes to choosing sides in a conflict for the Imperium – And yet Rome must have one master, and he an able man. Can you not see?’
Soren stroked the beard that fringed his massive countenance. ‘Well do I see. Ys shall serve the ambitions of your war lord.’
‘For the common weal –’ Gratillonius left his chair, prowled the room, stood for a while staring out at the wind, turned about and thrust his gaze against that of Soren. ‘Hark,’ he said, ‘I called you in to talk about this not only because of your position in
my
Temple. You are a leader among the Suffetes. They listen to you closer than to most. Help me, and together we may do as much for Ys as Caesar did.’
‘I have wondered how much that truly was,’ Soren murmured. He straightened where he sat. ‘No matter; too late. But you, the King of Ys, propose to go faring about, abandoning your sacral duties, for two or three months, on behalf of Rome. This has never been.’
Gratillonius gave him a tight grin, ‘I do not propose to do it, good sir. I am going to do it. What I have hoped for is your support, your explanation to the Suffetes and public that ’tis for their own welfare.’
‘And if that support is not forthcoming?’
Gratillonius shrugged. ‘Then I go anyway. How do you plan to stop me? But I should think you’d liefest not rive the state asunder.’
Soren glared. ‘Be careful. Be very careful, my lord. ’Tis happened erenow that Ys has had Kings who overreached themselves. Suddenly challengers appeared at the Wood, one after the next in rapid succession, until those Kings fell.’ He raised his Hand. ‘Mistake me not. Here is no threat, simply a warning.’
Gratillonius’s temper, never the strongest part of him, flew into flinders. Somehow he kept their heat from igniting him; but he planted fists on hips, loomed over Soren, and ground out of his teeth: ‘Enough, sir. ’Tis you who are reckless. Not yet have my Gallicenae called down on me the curse they did on Colconor, whom I slew. Nay, I have spoken with them, and they are willing for me to go. A new age is upon Ys, upon the world.
‘Enough of provincial selfishness and dragging of feet. My sword and the swords of my men lie sheathed. We will draw them for Rome, when and as necessity dictates. Bethink you how many blades you can summon on that day.’
Soren’s breath rasped. I must not drive him into a corner where all he can do is try to fight his way free, Gratillonius comprehended. Again he turned away to the window and the wind. After a moment he said, quite low:
‘Sir, we really should not lie in strife as too often we’ve done. I know not why you’ve been hostile to me; myself, I’ve ever wished for friendship. But in your words, no matter. What does matter is the lives of our Mother cities. They are conjoined. Let us set aside any bitterness, yea, any pride, and seek to serve them.’
It took an hour or more, but he won grudging acceptance.
1
At equinox all the Nine must be in Ys, attending the Council and carrying out certain rites. They took advantage of it to meet by themselves in the temple of Belisama.
Quinipilis opened proceedings. Through the greenish light from the windows, between the four walls whereon were depicted aspects of the Goddess, the old woman limped to the dais. Her staff and her breathing rattled loud in the stillness. Painfully she climbed up, turned about, leaned on the stick and peered down at her Sisters. In blue robes and high white headdresses, they looked back, each in her own way. Bodilis sat calm and expectant, Lanarvilis alert, Dahilis wide-eyed, half afraid and half defiant. The crisis had aroused some excitement in Maldunilis, but in Fennalis largely the indignation that had frequently seized her these past months. Innilis huddled close to Vindilis, who held her hand. Forsquilis kept a distance aside, her countenance unreadable. She had been very quiet since the last full moon.
‘Ishtar-Isis-Belisama, Your presence be with us, Your peace dwell within us, Your wisdom speak through us,’ Quinipilis prayed. Ritual response murmured from the benches. When the invocation was finished, she began:
‘This is a grave matter, perhaps more than the cursing of Colconor; for it concerns that new King whom we ourselves, under the Gods, did summon to slay him and join with us in holy wedlock. Yet the first thing I would
say is this – do not be daunted, my dears. We will find our way.’
‘The same way as erstwhile?’ asked Fennalis.
‘What mean you, mother?’ exclaimed Lanarvilis, appalled. ‘Not to bring early death on Gratillonius!’
‘Nay!’ shrilled Dahilis. She curbed herself. ‘You, you cannot mean that, Fennalis, you who are ever so kindly and helpful.’
The little plump woman stiffened. ‘I did not counsel it,’ she declared. ‘However, somebody must needs set the thought forth. Else we’ll slink around it terrified, as we did when it touched Colconor, far too long.’
Quinipilis stood stoutly above. ‘Well, then, let us clear the air,’ she directed. ‘Why should we even consider ridding Ys – and ourselves – of Gratillonius? He’s able, forceful, honourable, and better prepared to cope with the outside world than any other King in living memory. I think him Heaven-sent. But say on, unabashed. This is the hour for plain speaking.’
‘Understand me,’ replied Fennalis, ‘I hate him not. In truth he is all you maintain. But his soul is harnessed to Rome. Bodilis, you’ve told the tale of the Atreides, how a curse may hound generation after generation, bringing woe on whole peoples. Is there a fatal flaw in this King? Think only of his leaving Ys.’
‘Not till after Council and festival,’ Dahilis said quickly. ‘And we agreed!’
‘What choice had we, as suddenly as he put it before us?’
‘There is naught absolutely requiring his presence throughout the autumn,’ Bodilis reminded them. ‘A King has always been excused from his Watch in the Wood when a great holy time is on hand, or a great necessity such as war – and who judges the necessity but himself? We can safely assume no challenger will appear. If any
does, well, we can house him in the Red Lodge to await Gratillonius’s return. He promised us he’d come back before solstice.’
‘Nonetheless I’m uneasy,’ Lanarvilis admitted. ‘What if he perishes on his travels?’
‘Ys has met contingencies erenow in her history,’ said Bodilis. ‘The Key remains here. Not that he’ll likely encounter any mischance he can’t cope with.’
‘Be that as it may, this journey of his is but a single violation of ancient ways,’ Fennalis pursued. ‘We have heard, secretly between us, how he insulted a stream consecrated to Belisama. Everyone knows how he buried a corpse where its rottenness would drain down into Lir’s sea. And –’ She reddened, gulped, ploughed ahead: ‘And he made mockery of the sacred marriage.’
‘He did not!’ Dahilis cried.
‘That … breach … has been healed,’ Innilis whispered. ‘Has it not?’ Her glance strayed downward. No doubt remained that she was with child.
‘Indeed he has been filling gaps,’ said Maldunilis smugly.
Fennalis flushed deeper. ‘Has he?’
‘You and I are too old for more children,’ Quinipilis stated.
‘Just the same –’ Fennalis choked on her words.
Bodilis leaned over to stroke her hand and murmur, ‘We know. We feel the hurt to your pride and, aye, your loneliness every night. But Sister mine, remember Wulfgar – my father, who died of my birth as surely as my mother could have done – because she was his daughter. And Wulfgar was sheerly heathen, a sacrificer of horses to Thor. How much more does a civilized man with a stern faith, like Gratillonius, look on incest as a deadly sin? He knows, too, how of old it brought damnation on Grecian Oedipus and plague on his kingdom, innocent of
wrong intent though he and his mother had been. Why, in Ys, too, ’tis abhorred.’
Fennalis’s features worked. ‘The royal marriage is different. The Gods Themselves choose the Gallicenae. They know what They do! Oh, aye, since I am no longer under command of the moon, he may claim lawfulness in shunning me.’ She forced a smile. ‘And I hope you’ll agree I’ve no large vanity to wound. I was ever homely and dumpy and, once past girlhood, resigned to it.’ She paused. ‘But what if, in future, when some of us here have passed on … what if then the Gods confront Gratillonius with the full meaning of Queenship?’
‘They wouldn’t!’ Dahilis wailed.
A shiver went among the rest. ‘Will They, ever?’ Innilis asked desperately. ‘What would make Them that angry at him?’
‘He has already affronted Them,’ Fennalis said. Now her tone held pity; she might almost have been speaking to one of the poor families to whom she ministered, telling them that their breadwinner’s illness could prove mortal. ‘That is why we are gathered – true, my Sisters? We’ve bespoken the burial and the misuse of Belisama’s waters and his forthcoming journey. Can we be too quick to forgive his treatment of us?’ Still more gently: ‘Dahilis, darling, I’m sorry. I blame not you, as young and loving as you are. But he did, for months, deny his other wives. If he has lately become more dutiful, he has not repented the past, nor done penance for any of his transgressions.’ Her voice lifted, ragged. ‘Will the Gods bear with that?’
‘Aye,’ said Quinipilis, ‘there is the real question. You’ve done well, Fennalis, to force it thus out into the open. What shall we do? Disown the King?’
Dahilis’s denial was merely the loudest of those that arose from seven pairs of lips and, after a moment, the eighth.
Quinipilis nodded. ‘Good.’ Strictness descended. ‘If he will not do expiation – and in the conscience that is his, he cannot – then we must do it for him. But hear me, Gallicenae. We are not ourselves without guilt.
You
are not.’
Innilis caught her breath. Vindilis let go her hand, flung that arm around her waist, and lifted the free hand for attention. Her visage turned from side to side along the tier, eagle-proud. ‘You have heard what is between us twain,’ she said. ‘We will not forsake it. We cannot. I even believe we may not.’
‘I think, I hope we have all come to understand, since hearing yestere’en,’ answered Bodilis. That had been at a rite of purification for the Nine alone, when they made confession of everything they knew that might stand between them and the Goddess. Thus had Forsquilis ordered. ‘We shall keep your secret because we must. Yet is this not itself a faithlessness towards the King our husband?’
‘I wonder, too, how many of you besides Innilis have opened your wombs to him,’ said Quinipilis. ‘Oh, the Herb is yours to use as you see fit, Her gift to Her high priestesses. But to refuse Gratillonius children, as though he were horrible Colconor –’
‘I haven’t,’ piped Maldunilis. ‘’Tis but he’s not futtered me often enough.’
Laughter jerked through the room, less mirthful than startled.
‘I have not either,’ said Bodilis. ‘But after each of us has decided – for herself– ’tis the Goddess Who disposes. Thus far only Dahilis and Innilis – ’ She sighed. ‘Let us search our souls. Meanwhile, how can we set right that which has gone wrong?’
Silence lengthened. One by one, gazes sought Forsquilis.
She rose and, through the deepening twilight, approached the dais. There she helped Quinipilis down and guided the dowager to a seat before taking the high place. A while she stood beneath the Resurrection of Taranis, like an eidolon, before she said, low and slow: