Roma Mater (18 page)

Calloch.
Whenever a King died otherwise than in combat at the Wood, Ys must find a successor as soon as might be. The King was expected to lead his men in war, where his death was not the evil portent that demise from sickness or accident would be. He must always be a foreigner, lest grudges fester and feuds flame in Ys. In Condate Redonum a delegation bought an Osmisian slave, a gladiator. Calloch was happy about this; he would live better, and probably longer, than as a fighter in the arena. For six years he defended himself ably. Else he was not outstanding, and had the sense to stay in the background, letting the Suffetes govern unhindered by him. He begot a number of children, of whom two, by Ochtalis, would become the high priestesses Fennalis and Morvanalis.

Wulfgar.
This was a Saxon adventurer, outlawed among his folk for a manslaying that, he claimed, was righteous. Most Ysans believed him, for despite his heritage Wulfgar proved another good King, forcefully taking leadership but considerate of the magnates and mild to the lowly. His greatest service was the enlargement of the navy, which had dwindled under the Roman peace. An enormous strength kept him nineteen years alive. In his reign an aged Queen died, and the Sign appeared above the
breasts of young Gladwy. For her religious name she chose Quinipilis. She and Wulfgar enjoyed each other, and of their three daughters, one would become Karilis. He also begot Quistilis-to-be by Donalis, Lanarvilis-to-be by Fennalis, and Tambilis-to-be by Vallilis, as well as numerous girls to whom the Sign never came. These also served as vestals for the required term. Free on their eighteenth birthdays, some married, some renewed their vows and became minor priestesses, some went into curious byways of life: for a strangeness always lay over the Sisterhood. Meanwhile Wulfgar cut down challengers until word got about and none came for a long time. Then at last a second Queen died, and the Sign marked a daughter of his own. She took the name Tambilis. Horrified, he would have refused, but when they were alone in the bridal chamber, the power of the Goddess descended. Unable to help himself, he made Tambilis his, and she became the mother of Bodilis. It was afterwards thought that Wulfgar lost the will to live, as easily as he fell to the man who next arrived.

Gaetulius.
This was a Mauretanian auxiliary stationed at Vorgium, who deserted when he saw no future worth having in a military career. While the Gallicenae missed Wulfgar, they did not hold his death against his killer. Such was the will of the Gods; and the slaying of the old King, the crowning of the new enacted the rebirth of the year and of all beloved dead. Gaetulius, though, proved to be a gaunt, ascetic man with a certain streak of cruelty and a temper apt to flare in violence – perhaps because he found himself hemmed in whenever he tried to accomplish something noteworthy and could never make his way through or around the opposition. On Quistilis he fathered Maldunilis-to-be, on Donalis he fathered Innilis-to-be, besides unchosen girls by different Queens. Quinipilis could never bring herself to like him. She discovered
she was with child so soon after Wulfgar’s death that she was not sure but what it was his. Features and nature revealed it to be of Gaetulius, and the infant grew to womanhood and became Vindilis. The reign of Gaetulius lasted for eleven years.

Lugaid.
This was a Scotian from Mumu. He said he was of royal blood, driven out by a feud, but nobody ever learned much about him, for he was a brooding, solitary man. Against the Law of Belisama, Quinipilis regarded him as Wulfgar’s avenger. Else he meant little to her. He was not a bad King, and when the mood struck him he sang and played the harp most wonderfully, but otherwise he attracted small love; and it was whispered that, alone, he carried out eldritch rites. By Karilis he fathered Forsquilis-to-be. The mother died in childbed and the girl was fostered by grandmother Quinipilis. The reign of Lugaid was for only four years.

Hoel.
When a boy in the tribe of the Namnetes, this person had been sold into slavery for taxes. He ran away and drifted venturesomely about for a long while before coming to Ys and, almost on impulse, taking the Kingship. Handsome and cheerful, he quickly won hearts. He was intelligent, too, but content to stay first among equals, suggesting and persuading rather than invoking the full powers that were his in law. A great sportsman, reveller, and lover, he was likewise strong in battle. (While its wall and its high priestesses protected the city of Ys, its commerce more and more required warlike help.) Hoel took charge of convoys at need. He also led punitive expeditions which taught Scoti and Saxons a lesson they did not forget until after his death. Indeed, under him Ys prospered as it had not done for generations. Trade picked up southwards, especially, with his native Namnetes and on down the gulf as far as Hispania. The wealth and the Southern influences that this brought were not an
unmixed blessing – said the old and the moody: for they loosened morals and undermined patriotism. Yet Hoel was deeply mourned when he fell, not least by his wives and their plentiful daughters.

Colconor.
This was an Osismian farm hand who fled (after having ravished the wife of another, or so the rumour went) and joined the Bacaudae. There he flourished brutally for several years before he decided to become King of Ys; surely, with his strength, he could hold that position until none dared go up against him. Soon he was hated, less for having struck down good King Hoel than for his coarse and overbearing ways. He was just shrewd enough to avoid provocation immediately unbearable. There did come to be an unusual number of challengers, as had happened in the past when Ys fell under a wicked man, but for five years he prevailed over all. None of the Gallicenae bore him a child, though he had them often and savagely – except for Maldunilis, and hers did not come to term, an ill omen. In his reign Tambilis died and the sign came upon youthful Estar, offspring of Tambilis and Hoel. Estar took the name Dahilis. Colconor had special delight in using her. But whatever he did, he found her spirit too sunny to break, as he found that of her fellow Queens too hard or, in the case of Maldunilis, too loose and lazy. This deepened his rage, as it did his loneliness. In Old Town he had his cronies and toadies, among them harlots who could amuse him despite his impotence outside the circle of the high priestesses. On these people he squandered much of the royal treasury. Perhaps it was not perfect justice that blame fell upon him for the decline in trade and the renewed rise of piracy and banditry since Hoel’s time. These things were happening everywhere else, and in general the affairs of Ys went on independently of him.
But rightly was Colconor blamed for causing the death of Tambilis, through abuse and heartbreak. Whispers of knife or poison went through Ys. This, though, would have been sacrilege, which might well cause the Gods to end the Pact and Lir to send His waves through a shattered gate. Slowly the Nine groped their way to an answer. If Suffetes could in secrecy persuade men to come strike the Shield, then it would be lawful for Queens to cast a spell drawing hither one whose chances were better and causing him to do battle. The omens they took were ambiguous but did not forbid. And so they gathered on Sena, the holy of holies, and there they cursed Colconor.

Gratillonius.

5

About sunset, clouds blew out of the west across heaven. It was already dark when Soren Cartagi raised a bronze knocker and brought it back down on the door of Lanarvilis.

The homes of the Gallicenae were not together, nor were they far apart, in the neighbourhood of Elven Gardens and the temple of Belisama. Outwardly plain, they were inwardly Roman, from the time when they were built. Yet that time lay almost four hundred years in the past. Each of the nine dwellings had descended from Queen to successor Queen, each of whom had left her traces that never quite went away. Here the knocker, worn smooth by lifetimes of hands, was in the form of a serpent that bit its own tail …

The door opened. The steward saw who stood at the threshold and brought hand to brow. While Soren was in civil garb, few ever failed to recognize that broad hook-
nosed visage and heavy frame. ‘Our lady awaits you, my lord,’ the steward reported, and stepped aside. Soren, entered. His two lantern-bearers followed. The steward guided the party through the atrium and rooms beyond to a certain inner door, which he swung wide. When Soren had passed through, he closed it and led the escort off. Nobody would venture to question what went on in private between the Speaker for Taranis and a high priestess of Belisama.

Windowpanes in this chamber were full of darkness, but lamps gave ample soft light. It fell on blue carpeting, crimson drapes, fine furniture inlaid with walrus ivory and upholstered in leather. Flagon and cups on a table were cut crystal; a plate for cheeses and spiced mussels was millefiori glass. Lanarvilis took what pleasures she wanted, so they be permissible. What she wanted the most was not.

She rose from a settee and went to meet Soren: a tall blonde woman, small-bosomed and thick-haunched, her nose too wide and her blue eyes too small, but not ill-looking when she took trouble about her appearance. Today she had had her tiring maid do her hair up in an intricacy of knots and braids, topped by a jewelled comb. Ointments and powders gave fresh colouring to a face whose bearer neared her fortieth year. Gold shimmered under her throat, above a gown cut low; those folds of rich brown fabric were kind to a woman who had fivefold been a mother. She took both his hands in hers. ‘Welcome and blessing,’ she said.

‘Elissa!’ he blurted, half dazed. ‘You’re beautiful tonight. What witchcraft made you a maiden again?’

Her smile mingled enjoyment and sadness. ‘I was Elissa once,’ she murmured; ‘but that was long ago. I am Lanarvilis now. Elissa is my daughter by Lugaid, finished
with her vestalhood, soon to wed and make me a grandmother.’

Tor an instant I forgot,’ he said harshly. ‘Only an instant. It shall not happen more.’

‘Oh, Soren, dear, forgive me,’ she begged, contrite. ‘’Twas myself I felt I should remind. I did wish to receive you well – in celebration – but mayhap ’twas a mistake.’ She released her hold on him. ‘Come, be seated, take refreshment.’

They placed themselves on the settee, separated a foot or two. She poured. The wine gurgled and glowed. It was a choice Aquitanian, whose fragrance met them before they tasted.

He looked from her, across the room to a mural of Diana the Huntress. ‘I’ve been stewing ever since I got your reply to my message,’ he said. ‘Why could you not see me earlier?’

‘I’m sorry.’ This regret was calm, with an undertone of resolve. ‘Three Sisters were needed for a certain emprise, and Vindilis asked that I be among them. What is your desire?’

‘I decided ’twould be wise to talk beforehand about this Council the King summons. You and I have worked well together over the years.’

‘We have that.’ She regarded him. ‘But what is in your mind?’

‘Let us prepare ourselves against surprises.’

‘Why, there should be none. For us, at any rate. This Gra – Gra-lo – Gra-til-lonius has met the leaders of Ys severally, well-nigh since he won the crown – since he took the Key. We’ve all accepted his purpose. The assembly should but ratify our agreement.’

Soren scowled. ‘He’s been less than candid.
Why
has Rome sent a prefect, after letting generations go by? Gratillonius speaks vaguely of troubles anticipated and
the desirability of keeping Armorica out of them. Methinks he knows more than that, and does in truth plan a surprise later.’

Now when Lanarvilis smiled it was not womanly but an aspect remote from humanness, the look of Knowledge. ‘Aye,’ she said evenly. ‘’Tis that which concerned Forsquilis, Vindilis, and myself this day.’

He started. ‘Forsquilis! Did she learn – ?’

Lanarvilis nodded. ‘We believe so. Politically, I deem it very plausible.’

He set his glass down most carefully, lest he smash it. ‘Will you tell me?’

She did.

At the end, he drooped his lids, stroked his beard, sipped his wine, and said in measured tones: ‘I’d guessed, of course, though I could not be positive. I daresay Gratillonius withholds the news in hopes of first making his grip the firmer. Think you, like me, that ’twill be a shrewd stroke, telling him in Council that we know already? Thus taken aback, he may be the easier to deal with. For sure ’tis, we’ve no figurehead King here.’

‘He does not wish us ill.’

‘Nay, but he has his own aims – or Rome’s, whatever Emperor’s those may come to be. They may not prove the best for Ys.’ Soren barked a laugh. ‘If naught else, let us ride the current to our advantage. We may perchance wring substantial concessions out of the Imperium.’

Woman again, Lanarvilis laughed too and touched his hand. ‘Ever were you the calculating one, Soren.’

‘I seek the welfare of my city, my House, my sons, and myself,’ he replied. ‘What else is there to strive for?’

Her gaze darkened. Unspoken was the truth that they would have wedded, had not the Sign come upon her a single month before the end of her vestalhood.

‘Oppose this King when you feel you must,’ she said.
‘But lay no plots to confound him. I tell you, he is not evil. Else would the Gods have allowed our summoning of him?’

He stared at her through a silence before he breathed, Then you did indeed, you Nine.’

‘Certes.’ Her tone stayed level. ‘Did you never suspect?’

‘Oh, aye, aye,’ he stammered. ‘And yet … was deed like that done any time before in Ys?’

‘Nay, and best ’tis that it not be noised abroad. Mere rumour will die away. The new King knows – Quinipilis told him, on purpose – albeit she doubts he can yet believe it. You do.’

‘I must.’ Soren passed hand over eyes. ‘That morning –’ he whispered. What did you do to entrap Colconor? He was strong, and you meant to weaken him as much as might be, but –’ He beat fist in palm. ‘A-a-ah, I’ve heard of his wallowings in the Fishtail brothels – ’

The calm went out of Lanarvilis. Tears trickled, blurring the malachite so carefully painted around her eyes. ‘Soren, dear, I was not there. I knew, I helped plan it, aye, but … but never could I do such a thing to you.’