Gallicenae Page 2

  “He wants me to come in person,” Gratillonius said.

  She drew a sharp breath. “Where?”

  “Augusta Treverorum. You may remember hearing how he entered it in triumph early this year”—after he, Magnus Clemens Maximus, scattered the army of co-Emperor Gratianus, who was presently murdered; and Valentinianus made a peace that gave Maximus lordship over Britannia, Gallia, and Hispania, while Valentinianus retained sovereignty over Italy, Africa, and part of Illyricum. The Eastern half of the Empire stayed under Theodosius in Constantinople.

  “’tis understandable,” Gratillonius went on. “The issues are settled, the weapons fallen silent, the task no longer to seize power but to wield it. He can learn more, and better, of Ys in interviews with me than from any amount of my clumsy writing.”

  “And what will he do with the knowledge?” Bodilis wondered.

  Gratillonius shrugged. “We shall see. Yet I have ever maintained that Maximus Augustus is the stern physician whom sick Rome needs. Hell heed my advice, if it be sound. This is among the things I’d fain discuss with you two, what my recommendations ought to be.”

  “He may forbid you to return here,” Lanarvilis fretted.

  “I doubt that. True, he need no more fear a hostile Armorica at his back. But you know how much is left to do, putting down piracy and banditry, reviving trade, weaving the whole peninsula back together. I’m in the best position to lead that work, and I’ve proven my loyalty to him.”

  “You may be gone for a long while, however.”

  Gratillonius nodded. “Belike so. Even on Roman roads, ’twill be more than half a month’s journey, unless I kill horses. And though the conference should not fill many days, I want afterward… to use the opportunity.”

  “They’ll not like it—Suffetes, votaries, commoners, all folk in Ys—having the King take leave of them.”

  “I’ve been away erenow. Granted, this may prove a lengthier absence. But no military leader will be called for, and our interior affairs prosper. As for my ceremonial and sacral tasks, they can either await my return or be delegated. I want your thoughts on all this.”

  Bodilis’s gaze grew intent. “What else have you in mind to do?” she asked.

  “Well,” he said uncomfortably, “you remember that when the Christian minister Eucherius lay dying, we promised him a successor in his church. That’s two years gone, and the pledge still unfulfilled, as busy as we’ve been. I’ll seek a man we can get along with.”

  “That’s a small matter, to Ys and in your own head,” she responded. “I’ve come to know you, my dear. What is your true intent?”

  “Very well!” he blurted. “You know how I’ve wished to found a Mithraeum, for the worship of the God Who is mine. I cannot, unless first I’ve won the rank of Father in the Mystery. My hope is to find a temple where this can be done.”

  Lanarvilis looked shocked. Bodilis remained calm: “You may search through a vast territory, if I’ve heard aright about the persecution of that faith.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t. Mithras is a soldier. First and foremost, He expects a man to do his duty. But if I went as far south as, say, Lugdunum—I’d need permission, but I suppose I can get it—I should at least learn whether any such congregation is left within my reach.”

  “Would your elevation take long?”

  “I trust not. Once, aye, years; but there are so few of us these days, and our needs are so urgent. I promise I’ll not seek consecration if it demands more time than Ys can spare.”

  “I see.” She glanced away, thoughtful.

  “This is unwise,” said Lanarvilis nervously. “Your breaking of traditions has already caused discord in abundance. If now the King, high priest and Incarnation of Taranis, openly gives allegiance to a foreign God—”

  “I’ve made no secret of my prayers,” Gratillonius answered. “Never in aught that matters have I failed to give the Gods of Ys Their due. Nor will I.” He felt an emptiness as he said that. In his soul he had forsworn Them. “Have we become Christians here, to deny respect to everything divine other than the Lord of our narrow sect?” He forced a grin. “Or sects, rather. They might as well have a dozen different Christs, the way they quarrel about His nature.”

  Dubious, she yielded. “Well, we can be tactful.”

  “Aye.” Bodilis leaned across the table and laid her hand over his. “Dear, if you are going to Lugdunum, and not terribly belated, would it be too much farther for you to come home through Burdigala?”

  “What?” he asked, startled.

  Her smile was wistful. “You remember how for years I’ve been in correspondence with Magnus Ausonius, the poet and rhetor. He’s retired to his estate there. If you could bring him my greetings, and carry back an account of him as a person, it would be—almost like meeting him myself.”

  Pity touched Gratillonius. Her life was not impoverished. More than the perquisites of a Queen, she had the riches of her spirit. But she had never travelled beyond the island of Sena in the west and the frontier of the Ysan hinterland in the east, a few leagues away. The glories of Greece, Rome, all the great civilizations of the Mediterranean and the Orient, existed for her only in books, letters, and the conversation of an occasional visitor. Bound by Imperial law and military discipline, he nonetheless had freedoms she could but dream of. “Why, indeed,” sprang from him, “if I can, indeed I will.”

  3

  Again the King stood on the dais in the council chamber of the basilica, at his back the twenty-four legionaries remaining to him, behind them the eidolons of the Triad, and before him the Gallicenae and magnates of Ys. He wore a robe inwoven with gold-threaded tapestry figures to represent the eagle and thunderbolts of Taranis. In sight upon his breast hung the Key, and to his right, deputy Adminius had received the Hammer.

  The garb was a part of his message, for at the quarterly meetings he had not dressed quite this grandly, and in everyday life he picked clothing simple and serviceable. It told the assembly that today he was not the blunt-spoken soldier with whom they handled the affairs of the city; he was embodied Power, secular and sacred. Several of the councillors must have anticipated this, for they too were attired in antique vestures or in Roman togas.

  Still, after the invocations, Gratillonius used plain language. Oratory was not among his gifts, and while he had become fluent in Ysan, a number of its subtleties would always elude him. First he summarized the situation in the Western Empire and the reasons why he hoped for a better future, at least in those parts where Maximus had control.

  “What are the Augustus’s plans for us?” growled Soren Cartagi.

  “That we shall learn,” Gratillonius told them. “I am bidden to his presence.”

  The news drew the storm of protest he had expected. He let Lanarvilis and Bodilis do most of his arguing for him. Although unprepared, a few joined in on their side, such as Sea Lord Adruval Tyri and Mariner Councillor Bomatin Kusuri. Their grounds were practical. “In Roman eyes, our King is an officer of the army and the state,” Adruval reminded. “If he goes not when ordered, that’s insubordination. D’ye want a legion coming to winkle him out of here?”

  Vindilis’s lean features whitened. “Let them dare!” she cried.

  “Nay, now, be wise, my Sister,” Quinipilis urged. Her voice was unsteady; in the past year or so she had much weakened. “How could we stand them off?”

  “The Gods—”

  Forsquilis the seeress interrupted in a tone low and carrying: “I think the Gallicenae may no longer be able to raise the Gods in aid; and They Themselves are troubled. For the heavens have moved from the Sign of the Ram to the Sign of the Fish, and the old Age dies as the new comes to birth.” Her gaze dropped and her hands passed across her robe, under which a life swelled toward its own forthcoming.

  “Will the Emperor let our King return?” asked Innilis. She sounded terrified.

  “Why not?” said Bomatin. “He’s been doing a masterly job here.”

  “Doing it for Rome,” Han
non Baltisi, Lir Captain, snarled. He raised his arm. “Oh, I agree he’s served us well. I don’t believe he’d willingly do us an evil turn. But what will he have to say about things?”

  “Aye.” Soren nodded his massive head. “When Rome was caught up in its tribulations and forgot Ys, we stayed free. Now there’s a strong Emperor, the kind who always wants more power—and more cash—and he’s become aware of us. What’s next?”

  Gratillonius decided he had better assert himself. “Hold!” he boomed. “Hear me!” Having gotten silence, he adopted an easy manner:

  “My Queens and worthies, bethink you. What’s to fear? I served under Maximus when we cast the wild men back from the Wall. I know him for a man able and well intentioned. He’ll listen to me.

  “Consider what Ys has done for him. We kept Armorica quiet. We saved Gallia from what would have been a ruinous barbarian attack. We have taken the lead in rebuilding defenses throughout the peninsula. Commerce begins to revive as the risks diminish. Folk should soon start reconstructing what’s been destroyed. Maximus must be a madman to wish this changed; and he is not. That’s the more so when he still has to reckon with the untamed Germani and Alani and, it may be, his fellow Emperors in the South and East. Far from helpless, Ys is in an excellent bargaining position.

  “I’d liefer not brag, but this and more we have done under my guidance. And I have been not only your King, but also the prefect of Rome.

  “Then be glad if we can renew our ties to Rome the Mother!”

  There was some discreet applause, some reservation, several faces that stayed troubled. Hannon Baltisi scowled, cleared his throat, and rasped:

  “Well and good, O King, save for this, that Rome has long since become whore to Christ. Need I recall to you how they mock the Gods there, violate temples, smash images, hound worshippers? Will Christ dwell in peace with the Gods of Ys, those Gods who alone hold Ocean at bay?”

  Mumbles and whispers passed among the forty-two. The legionaries who formed Gratillonius’s honor guard kept still, but he could virtually feel resentment radiate from most of them at such a denunciation of their faith. He weighed his reply carefully. The old man’s travels, in his days as a sea captain, had if anything reinforced his fanatical hatred of the Church; but persons more moderate were uneasy, and for cause.

  “This is a question among many that I hope to take up with the Augustus,” Gratillonius said. “It touches me too, not only in my royal office but in my heart.” He congratulated himself on the subtlety of this reminder that he was a Mithraist. Before ground could be broken for the temple of his dreams, foundations must be laid in the minds of men. “But I’m unafraid. The fact is that the Empire continues full of people who are not Christians, a number of them in high positions. Maximus knew my beliefs when he appointed me your prefect.

  “Clergy are few and far between in these parts. The Augustus should be satisfied with a new minister here for the Christians among us, just as we had before. That was a harmless man. Fate willing, I’ll have a voice in choosing his successor. Rest assured, ’twill be no Ambrosius!”

  Bodilis and three or four others recognized the name of the forceful bishop of Italian Mediolanum, and smiled. Relief spread visibly through the rest.

  Gratillonius pursued his advantage. “To that end, I may have to search a while,” he warned. “Also, ’Twould be well that I make myself familiar with conditions throughout Lugdunensis, aye, and in Aquitania—” he saw Bodilis kindle, and tipped her a wink—“so that we’ll be ready to cope. This will keep me away for a period of months. I’ll be absent at the equinox and mayhap at the winter solstice, as well as other occasions. Yet I’ll leave the city in order, fully able to steer itself that long. Surely the Gods will take no offense, when this is for the well-being of Their people.”

  He knew himself for a hypocrite. But his ultimate purpose was honest, and as a soldier he had never objected to ruses. He sat down on the throne, resigned to a theological dispute. Bodilis and Lanarvilis were primed to conduct it for him. Afterward would come practical topics. What should he say and seek in Treverorum? He sincerely wanted suggestions. If need be, let discussion go on for a few days.

  Only a few, however. He must not keep the Emperor waiting.

  4

  It chanced that this was his night to spend with Innilis. Knowing how he felt, and remembering the mother, his wives tried to shift custody of Dahut so that he could see her when he visited each of them. The effort failed more often than not, since strict rotation was impossible. He might be preoccupied, perhaps out of the city altogether, in the hinterland or on the water or standing his monthly Watch at the Wood. He might have been working hard or late, and in sheer weariness bedded down alone at the royal palace. For her part, a Queen might likewise be overbusied, or having her courses or sick. Pregnancies and childbirth had been intervening too, and bade fair to increase. Forsquilis was now fruitful, Guilvilis was again, and Maldunilis had finally decided to trouble herself about it. Moreover, the two Gallicenae with whom he did not sleep, aged Quinipilis and aging Fennalis, claimed a share in the upbringing of Dahilis’s daughter, which for the sake of harmony could not be denied them.

  Fortune did have Dahut at Innilis’s house when King and Queen arrived on that evening. “Oh, my lord, my lady, how good you’re back!” exclaimed the maidservant Evar as they entered. “The little one’s been that fretful. She threw such a tantrum I feared she’d hurt herself, I did, and restrained her.”

  Dread struck. “Is she ill?” Gratillonius demanded.

  “Nay, lord, I think not. Like a crazed ferret she’s been, for dashing about and throwing things—oh, my, ferrets don’t throw things, but my lord knows what I mean—’Tis but that kids are troublous in their third year. Well, she’s not quite in that yet, is she? But ever so far ahead of her age, already speaking, and so much alive. With my lady gone all day—Does my lord want to see her?”

  “I do.” He brushed past the woman and strode to the room that had been designated a nursery.

  When he opened the door, he saw the debris of small destructions strewn about, a broken toy chariot, stuffing ripped out of a rag doll, general chaos. The chamber pot stayed upright; in certain things, Dahut had a feline neatness. The child was curled on the bed, brooding over her wrongs. She had stripped off her clothes. Sunset light, striking through a windowpane, turned her skin to ivory, hair to gold, eyes to lapis lazuli. O Mithras, how she recalled Dahilis!

  She gathered her limbs beneath her, again like a cat. “Father,” she hissed.

  “Ah,” he blustered, “we’ve been having a mutiny, have we? What for? Why have you been such a bad girl?”

  She struggled for words. “I wos… wos… me.”

  Did she mean “all alone”? How could he tell? He hunkered down and spread his arms. “Well, well, little rebel, let’s make it right again, hey?”

  She uncoiled and sped to him. He hugged her withy-slimness. How sweet she smelled! “You mustn’t do this, you know,” he said into the warmth between her throat and shoulder. “It’s not kind to your Mamas, or their poor servants who have to look after you.”

  “You di’n’ come,” she gasped; but she shed no tears, she hardly ever did.

  “Oh, you were awaiting me? I’m sorry. Your Papa had work to do. Let’s get you nicely dressed, and then before Evar brings you dinner we’ll play horse and I’ll sing you a song—because you’re the single human being who does not flinch when I sing, and too soon will that end.”

  —Innilis ate lightly and simply. Gratillonius liked the fare her kitchen offered, after the frequently elaborate meals he got in Ys. She had learned to give him portions of adequate size. Ordinarily they made small talk over the table and retired early, for although she often showed him affection, they had few interests in common. This evening she spoke earnestly. The glow of beeswax candles lay over the delicate features and in the big eyes.

  “Sometimes I fear for Dahut,” she said. He could barely hear. “There is something
about her.”

  He harked back to a night on Sena, and a day when a seal had saved the child from drowning, and incidents more fugitive. It took courage to reply. “Mayhap we see the beginnings of a destiny. Or mayhap not. Who can say? I’ve scant faith in astrologers or fortune-tellers. Let’s take each day as it comes. We must anyhow.”

  “Oh, I thought not of the occult. I meant only—well, I’ve fretted about this, and talked with Vindilis—Vindilis and others—Do we do right, shunting her from household to household, with never a den where she can snuggle down? Is this why she’s wild?”

  He frowned. “I know not. How could I? She’s my firstborn.” Unless he was the casual begetter of a brat or two in Britannia, of which transgression he hoped Mithras had absolved him. “And the King of Ys can’t be a real paterfamilias. Has not the Sisterhood always shared in the raising of a princess whose mother died?”

  “Aye, but I think never like this. You are different. And Dahut is. I cannot put it in words, I’m too weak and stupid to understand it, but Vindilis says—You are the bringer of a new Age, and you did father Dahut.”

  Different, he thought, indeed different. The daughter of Dahilis is so spirited, so intelligent and beautiful.

  —After Innilis miscarried, he had agreed with Vindilis that henceforward she should use the Herb. The next stillbirth could kill her, or the next live birth give another pitiful Audris. Six fertile Queens were ample.

  She had not asked him to refrain from making love to her. He had found his way to what was best; much kissing and caressing, then much gentleness, for a single time. About half such joinings seemed to give her pleasure, and the rest no distress. At least, she cuddled close afterward.

  This night she stayed awake a while, which was unusual. He could feel how she tensed and faintly shivered against him. “What vexes you?” he asked. When she grew evasive, he pressed the query. In the end she confessed:

  “Oh, you, Grallon, fear about you.” She seldom gave him his proper name anymore but, like an increasing number of Ysans and Osismii, softened it. “You’re bound away.”