A maidservant admitted Bodilis. Dahut heard and came forth into her atrium. “Welcome,” she said tonelessly. The Queen had sent word ahead, and the younger woman had decided to receive her.
Bodilis hurried across the floor and embraced the other. “Oh, my dear, my dear,” she said low.
Dahut stood unresponding and asked, “What do you want?”
“Can we talk alone?”
“Come.” Dahut led the way to her private room. Bodilis had hitherto only heard tell of it. She looked around at the clutter of opulence and suppressed a sigh.
Dahut flung herself into a chair. She was ill-kempt, in a rich but rumpled green dress. Her eyes were reddened and dark-rimmed. “Be seated,” she said, her tone as brusque as the hand-wave that accompanied it. She had made no mention of refreshment.
Bodilis gathered her gray skirt and settled onto a couch opposite, sitting especially straight. “I feared I’d find you like this,” she began. “Child, can I help? May I? A friend to listen to you, if naught else.”
Dahut stared past her. “Why think you I need help?”
“The terrible thing that happened this morning. Tell me not ’tis left you untouched. The marks are branded on you.”
Dahut slumped silent. Outside, wind shrilled through fitful evening light. The room was overheated.
“Your father came so near death,” Bodilis said after a while, “and at the hands of your young friend, who did die, at your father’s. You must be torn between joy and grief. Worse—let me be frank—you surely understand the Scotian challenged for love of you, in hopes of winning you. Naught else can explain his action.”
Still Dahut withheld any answer.
“Beloved, put away guilt,” Bodilis urged. “How could you be at fault that he went mad? As well blame the reef where a ship strikes, driven by storm and tide. I do hope you can be—nay, not more careful in future—that you can keep this from happening again. Of course, you could not foresee what he would do. But if you make clear ’twas never your desire, nor ever could be—” Her voice faded out.
Yet she refused to admit defeat. Presently she went on: “Meanwhile, and always, know you have our love, the love of your Sisters. I speak first for myself and Tambilis—”
Dahut stirred. Her look speared at the visitor. “You’ve seen Tambilis?” she demanded.
“Aye. After the news reached me, I went out to the Sacred Precinct. We talked long together, she and Gratillonius and I. Most of what we said concerned you. Our foremost wish is for your happiness. It truly is. Will you speak with him after he returns? You know not how your coldness pains him.”
Dahut turned sullen. “He can end that whenever he chooses. Until then, nay, I will not see him.”
“Think further. You’ll have time ere he comes back.”
“Why, ’tis only tomorrow that his Watch ends.”
“But immediately afterward, he intends a Mithraic funeral for the fallen man.”
Dahut leaped to her feet. “He dares?” she shrilled.
Bodilis rose too. “’Tis not the custom, but he forced assent, pointing out that the required rites are separate from the burial. Tommaltach’s will be well away from the city, in earth whose owner gives permission.”
“Where will the King find such a farmer?” Dahut asked, calming a little.
“In Osismia. His man Rufinus knows several who’d be glad, thinking that they gain a guardian spirit. He’ll guide the party. They’ll be gone three or four days—Child, what’s wrong?” Bodilis reached to clasp Dahut’s shoulders. “You seemed about to swoon.”
The young woman sat back down and stared at the floor. “’Tis naught,” she mumbled. “You reminded me—But no matter. I am indeed weary. This has been a… trying day for me.” She forced herself to smile upward. “You’re kind to come and offer comfort. ’Tis like you. But I’d liefest be alone.”
“Let me brew you a sleeping potion. Then tomorrow when you have rested, remember your father loves you.”
Dahut made fending gestures. “Aye, aye, aye. But if now you’d be helpful, Bodilis, go and let me deal with myself.”
The Queen bade a sad goodbye and trudged off.
Dahut paced the house, twisted her fingers together or struck fist in palm, snarled at any servant who passed close. Finally she snatched a cloak off its peg, drew it about her, and went out.
The sun had just set. Sea and western sky glimmered yellow. Overhead and eastward the sky was already as dark as a bruise. Tattered clouds smoked before the wind. They filled Ys with dusk. No other people were in sight, but somebody’s pet ferret scuttered across Dahut’s path.
The way was short to the home of Vindilis. An amazed attendant let Dahut into its austerity. The Queen entered the atrium from within, saw who this was, and said, “Give the maid your wrap. You will stay for supper, no? But we’ll talk at once.”
She had been busy in her scriptorium. Candlelight fell on Temple accounts and writing materials. The air was cold; she had her hypocaust fired up only in the bitterest weather. She took Dahut’s elbow, guided her to a seat, and brought another around for herself. Face-to-face, knees nearly touching, they leaned forward.
“Why have you sought me?” Vindilis inquired. Her tone was impersonal.
Dahut ran tongue over lips. “I need… counsel, help.”
“That’s plain. But why me?”
“You are—I think in many ways you’re the strongest of the Nine. Certes you’re the most—the most devoted. To the Gods, I mean.”
“Hm, that’s a matter of judgment. I’d call Lanarvilis, at least, more pious than myself. Also, she’s ever been the readiest to act in the world as it is, best equipped by temper and experience. She’s on Sena, you know, but tomorrow—”
Dahut shook her head. “Please, nay. Mayhap I should confide in her too. But she has ties that I think you’re free of.”
“True, she sometimes puts political considerations above what I might deem to be more important,” Vindilis agreed. “Well, say on, dear, and be quite sure I can keep a secret. ’Tis about the combat today, I suppose.”
Dahut nodded.
Vindilis studied her before continuing: “You wish the outcome had been different.” Dahut caught her breath. Vindilis raised a palm. “You need not reply to that. Grallon is your father, who bore you in his arms when you were little, made you toys and told you stories and showed you the stars.”
“But he’s wrong now,” Dahut cried, “wrong, wrong!”
“I myself wish Tommaltach had won,” said Vindilis. “The will of the Gods is working more strangely than I can fathom.” Her words softened. “Oh, understand me, I do not hate Grallon. I am angry with him beyond measure, but when he does fall I will mourn him in my heart ere I brace myself to endure whatever evils he spared me and the new King does not. Yet he was never a friend of the Gods, and he has become Their avowed enemy. Dahut, you will be far from the only Queen whose King slew her father. Think of him, if you will, as having gone off to dwell with his Mithras.”
Dahut had regained composure. “Some of the Gallicenae believe we need him still, against Rome.” Her voice was harsh. “Do you?”
“Lanarvilis maintains that,” Vindilis answered obliquely. “She is reluctant about it, though. Certain among us are wholehearted; they’d fain he never die. And certain others—As for myself, I see the reasoning; but the Gods are not bound by reason.”
“And you own that you wanted Tommaltach’s victory! I knew you would. ’Tis why I came to you.”
“Have a care,” Vindilis warned. “You were ever reckless. This is perilous ground we walk.”
“That’s what I most need counsel and help about.” Dahut went on in a rush: “I fear Rufinus. Tommaltach did what he did for love of me, desire of me. Rufinus knows that. He’ll wonder if more young men may go the same way. He’s threatened me already. He drew knife and vowed to kill me if I plotted against his King. Will he believe I have not? Or will he suppose my mere presence is a mortal danger to Grallon? I fear that smiling man of the woods, Vindilis. Oh, I fear him. Help me!”
The Queen brought fingers to chin and narrowed her eyes. “Rufinus is no fool,” she murmured. “Nor is he rash. However, he is very observant… and, aye, very much devoted to Grallon.”
“What shall I do?” Dahut pleaded.
Vindilis took both her hands. “Be of good heart, beloved child. Your Sisters will keep you safe. I hear Rufinus will be going off with the King to bury Tommaltach. Those few days’ absence should dampen any… impulses. Meanwhile, and afterward, you must cease either brooding alone in your house or haring forth alone into the countryside. Resume your duties as a high priestess. Twill be healthful for your spirits. Twill also keep you surrounded by people, and in the favor of the Gods. Then in Their chosen time, They will see to your destiny.”
Dahut shivered. “But what if, if a man does win the crown—might Rufinus blame me—somehow—and, and seek revenge? ’Tis like a shadow forever across the sun—having him about—after what he told me that twilight.”
Vindilis sat quiet for a spell. Then she straightened and said, “I believe something can be done, if you wish it so much. Afterward, let’s pray, the will of the Gods can be done. I’ll see to this.”
She rose. “Enough,” she finished. “You did right to come here. Now let us go warm ourselves with a stoup of wine ere we sup. When you return home, I’ll have my sturdy manservant Radoch escort you. But first of all, come with me to the tiring room and let me make you presentable. I’ll rub your hands and feet, and comb those lovely locks, and you’ll feel hope rising anew.”
Rain lashed from the west, as if Ocean were taking wing. Even Rufinus’s aerie was caught in the blindness and noise of it. A single lamp guttered in the main chamber. It stirred up misshapen darknesses more than it relieved them. That lent a ghostly life to the portrait busts of a centuries-dead boy and of Gratillonius. The Gaul sat in a chair, almost on the middle of his spine, legs cocked over a table, and regarded the images while he played on a pipe of narwhal ivory. The notes wailed below the wind.
The door, which had been unbarred, swung open. Instandy he uncoiled, sprang to his feet and backward, stood poised near his weapon rack. A figure entered and closed the door. “Be at ease,” said a female voice. It was a command. The newcomer trod forward and retracted the cowl of her drenched outer garment. Black hair turning white in streaks, severely drawn back, and whetted features flickered in sight.
“Queen Vindilis!” Rufinus exclaimed. He saluted her. “What brings you, after—ten years, has it been? How knew you I was in this place?
“The King returned today. ’Twas a safe wager you’d be with him,” she answered dryly. “I thought belike after the journey you’d wish an evening alone; and for my part I wanted this visit known to none but us two.”
He hastened to take her cloak and hang it up. “What was that you were playing?” she asked. “An alien mode.”
“Scotic, my lady, I learned the tune in Hivernia, where I also got this that can whistle it.” He showed her the pipe. The intervals between the stops were greater than on those instruments with which she was familiar.
“What does the music signify?”
He hesitated. “’Tis a threnody.”
“For Tommaltach?”
“Aye.” His tone harshened. “I know not what possessed him. If it be a human, not a demon, who somehow lured him to his death, I will find out and—”
“But you are not vengeful toward Grallon, are you?” she interrupted.
He grew somber. “Nay, of course not. He did what he must, in agony of soul. He too was betrayed… by someone.”
“Did you get Tommaltach well snugged down?” Vindilis asked quickly.
Rufinus nodded. “The King did, with such reverence you’d never have known he was the slayer. I dare hope the prayers lifted the sorrow off him a little…. But be seated, my lady, I beg you. May I offer wine?”
Vindilis took a chair and signalled him to do the same. “Mine is no amicable errand,” she told him curtly. “You have terrorized Queen Dahut, daughter of the King you profess to love.”
“I have not!” he protested. “I only—”
“Silence. We could spend half the night on your slippery contortions around the truth. The fact is, I care not what the truth may be. It suffices that Dahut has plenty to bear without going in fear of you. Therefore you will depart Ys forthwith.”
“Nay, now, I’ll have justice,” he said, appalled. “We’ll take this before the King. He’ll hear me out.”
“We will not. You will not. You know why—you, who call yourself his handfast man.”
He lashed back: “You and the rest who deny him, you call yourselves his wives.”
Her tone held steady. “Aye, gossip is rife. It is as empty in this case as would be any chatter about justice. Rufinus. I want you away from here, far away. Give Grallon any pretext you like, or none, but go. In return I’ll spare him certain facts which include your menacing of Dahut.”
He sagged. “I would not have harmed her,” he whispered. “I warned her off something she might do in desperation.”
“So you say. I am not so sure. If Grallon had perished in the Wood—well, Tommaltach was your comrade, but one wonders, one wonders. No matter. You may be guiltless, but you must begone.”
“Not forever,” he implored.
She considered. “M-m-m…. I’ve a feeling this will work itself out, in whatever way it does, within a year. Aye. A twelvemonth hence, you may send me a letter. If I send back permission, you may return, on the understanding that you will never cause Queen Dahut the slightest anxiety.” Relenting a bit: “During that span of time, she may well lose her fear of you, especially if the troubles upon us have ended. I may try to soothe her myself.”
“I thank your graciousness,” he said bleakly.
She rose. “You have a sennight,” she told him. “Give me my cloak.”
She left. He stared long at the door. Finally he screamed, “Bitch!” He snatched a javelin from the rack and cast it at the wood. It sang when it struck.
Rufinus filled a goblet and began thinking.
Weather cleared. The morning sun stood low to southward. Its rays felt nearly heatless. They shivered over the waters and glinted off hoarfrost ashore. Otherwise land rolled dun, leafless apart from the occasional evergreen, beneath pallid heaven.
Hoofs rang on pavement as a band of men set forth on Aquilonian Way. They were eight marines, whose armor and pikeheads flashed, and at their head, clad in plain wool, Gratillonius and Rufinus. A couple of pack mules followed. Four of the group were young, unwed; they would be gone for months. The rest would accompany the King back to Ys from Audiarna.
Riding on his left, Rufinus cast the rugged countenance a glance. White marbled that auburn beard. “Do you still have misgivings, sir?” the Gaul asked low.
Gratillonius gave him a lopsided smile. “Not really,” he said in the same Latin. It was as well for the other man to practice the educated, rather than the serf’s version, despite Rufinus having read extensively since he learned how. “I did have my doubts when you volunteered for this mission, but you convinced me.” He gestured at a sealed pouch which hung from the adjacent saddle. “The letters are in good hands.”
They were his own, and Apuleius’s, and ones lately received from such persons as Bishop Martinus and the military commandant at Turonum: whatever prominent Romans had responded to his request for commendations. All would go to Stilicho.
Wherever Stilicho was. If new wars had called the general out of Italy, reaching him would well prove arduous and devious. While Rufinus lacked experience of the Empire beyond Armorica, he should make up for that in toughness and quick-wittedness. Not that he would likely have to fight. Rather, given the credentials he bore, the Imperial highways, hotels, supply stations, and remounts ought to speed him forward. The marines going along were more an honor guard, meant to impress, than a bodyguard. They’d return with whatever courier bore Stilicho’s reply north. However, in part they were precautionary. These days you never knew beforehand what might come at you.
“I do question the wisdom of your staying on down there,” Gratillonius proceeded. “The more I think about that notion of yours, the less it seems to me that it’ll do any good—and you so bloody useful hereabouts. Why should they even allow you to hang around?”
Rufinus sighed. “I’ve tried to explain, sir, and failed, because I don’t have any plan. How could I? But I think I can one way or another talk myself into some kind of appointment, if only because I amuse a few high officers. It’ll be lowly, but I’ll keep my ears open, and from time to time put in a word on your behalf. I believe the news I’ll eventually carry back—the overall picture, the feel of things at Stilicho’s headquarters—I do believe you’ll find that worth waiting for.”
“Never mind. We’ve covered this ground before. You’re bound and determined, and I’ve no way to prevent, so I may as well accept.” Gratillonius laughed. “Frankly, I think you want for a proper sampling of the pleasures in the South. Cool wines, warm clime, hot girls.”
Rufinus’s mouth stretched wide. “Sir, no! When I’ve known Ys? It’s you, sir, you I want to serve.”
Gratillonius slapped him on the back. “I know. I was joking.”
“Grallon—lord—be careful while I’m gone. You’re in terrible danger. Watch out for—Sir, if you’d just go through with what they want—”
Rufinus’s head drooped. “But of course you won’t,” he ended.
“Watch out for your tongue,” Gratillonius snapped.
The road turned and climbed. A hare bolted from the gorse alongside. A crow cawed from a bough.
“Well, well,” said Gratillonius, “no sense in this. “Let’s be cheerful. We’ll toss a cup together in Audiarna before we make our goodbyes; and I envy you the adventures you’ll be having.”
The scar twitched as Rufinus sketched a grin. “Well you may, sir. I’ll see to that.”
They reached the heights. Gratillonius drew rein. “Stop a moment,” he suggested. “Take your last look at Ys.”
Rufinus sat a long while gazing back at the city where it gleamed against heaven and Ocean.
The afternoon grew mild. Such folk as were able left their work and sauntered about on streets, the wall, the headlands, enjoying its briefness. There would be few more like it, now that the Black Months were setting in.
Carsa meant to be among the strollers. He had little to do once shipping season was past, and often felt restless. Warehoused goods required periodic inspection, and sometimes attention, in this Armorican dankness. Infrequently, a letter arrived from Burdigala, or he sent a report on his own initiative. He was supposed to investigate possible new markets and routes, keep track of existing ones in the region, and familiarize himself with Ys. To that end he talked with what men he found—but outsiders were scarce in winter—and had become a student under certain scholars, pagans though they were. Those were inadequate outlets for his energies.
He was donning outdoor garb in his apartment, on the fourth floor of the tower called the Waterfall, when his knocker clattered. Opening the door, he saw a boy whose brass pendant, a skimming gull, proclaimed him a public messenger. Carsa took the folded papyrus handed him and, alone, unsealed it. Curvily inked Latin characters said: “Meet me at Menhir Place. D.”
D? His heart bounded. He told himself this was nonsense, but nonetheless had difficulty securing his sandals.
—She kept him waiting by the ancient stone for a time that felt endless. When she arrived, she was drably clad and hooded, head bowed. Passersby took her for a plebeian girl. None accosted her. This was a poor quarter but not lawless, and besides, sunlight still cleared the city battlements.
When she reached him and looked up, he breathed, “My lady?” while the world spun. He started to bring hand to brow. Dahut caught his wrist and guided the gesture to his breast, salutation between equals. “Nay,” she said in an undertone, “betray me not.”
“I’d n-n-never,” he stuttered.
She bestowed a smile on him. “Of course. But let us be an ordinary couple, pacing along as we talk.”
“On top of the wall?”
She shook her head. “I might too easily be recognized there. We can follow the winding ways to Skippers’ Market. ’Tis nearly deserted.”
“What do you want of me, my lady? Name it, and if I have it, ’tis yours.”
Dahut’s lashes fluttered long above her cheekbones. “Would that I could give you a simple answer. ’Tis much harder to confess I’d like your company today. You think I’m shamelessly forward. But I am so lonely.” She clutched his hand. “So lonely, Carsa.”
“You should not be, you.”
“I am beset, Carsa, by Gods and men. I know not where to turn. The grisly thing that happened with Tommaltach—I too was fond of him, I miss him, but the ready laugh is stilled and—You are a Roman, Carsa. You stand outside all this. But you are also a kindly friend, a strong man…. Will you listen to me, speak to me, till sunset? I must go to the Temple then, but if we could walk about first and quietly talk—”
He took her arm, awkwardly. “I am not worthy,” he said, “but, but here I am.”
She uttered a forlorn laugh. “Beware. I may call on your company again.”
“’Tis yours, always, my lady.”
They went on down a lane of violet shadows.