Roma Mater (27 page)

They walked on by the ancient sanctum of Ishtar and through the mean streets of the Fishtail. Gratillonius had said he wanted to go by an obscure route, where he would less likely be recognized and detained by petitioners, gawkers, or Suffetes. Eppillus was the guide through this quarter. His familiarity with it amused Gratillonius – although doubtless the old roadpounder spent more tavern time gabbing about his past life than in gambling or wenching.

‘That’s the main business before us today. I’ve been dismayed at how little I’ve got to see of my own men. But with everything else besieging me – How are they doing?’

‘Haven’t your honour guards been smart, sir?’

‘They have. And when I’ve asked them the same question, they say, “Fine, sir.” What would you expect them to tell me under those circumstances? I’m counting on your honesty.’

Eppillus stroked the broken bridge of his nose. ‘Well, we’ve had our problems, but they’re mostly behind us and I needn’t pester the centurion with ‘em. Sitting around in barracks wasn’t good for the boys. The centurion will understand. Now that we’re busy again, not just drill but patrols and field exercises, why, they’re shaping up fast. Give me another ten, twelve days and I’ll have them back in crack condition.’

‘Splendid!’ Gratillonius felt it would do no harm if he slapped the burly shoulder beside him. ‘We’ll proceed to the royal palace and talk at length. I’ve things to tell you. Between us we can work out the right ways to use our troops. When we’re done, I’ll see to it that you go back
to Dragon House with a bellyful of the best food and wine Ys has to offer. Which is plenty good, believe me.’ For the sake of Roman prestige, Gratillonius had insisted that his deputy be lodged among the marine and naval officers.

‘I know. Thank you, sir.’ Eppillus gusted a sigh. ‘Though I got to admit those fine things are kind of wasted on me. I’ll settle for a stoup o’ Dobunnic red, a roast o’ pork, a heap o’ cabbage, and a slice o’ bread – fresh from the oven, if my wife was baking that day.’

‘When you return home and retire to your bit of a farm, eh?’

‘Mithras willing. I’ll stick with the centurion till he leaves here. When will that be, sir?’

‘Mithras knows. In two or three years, let us hope. The trick will be to stay alive till then.’

– At the palace, a stranger waited.

A Roman. A military courier. He bore the first communication Gratillonius had received, other than rumours out of the hinterland. It was a letter directly from Maximus.

4

When Forsquilis heard what the King wanted to speak of, she raised a palm. ‘Nay, not here. Come with me to the secretorium.’

In her chamber where flamelight flickered through the eye sockets of a cat’s skull, shadows made the small female image from Tyre seem to stir, herbs sharpened the air with their memories of wildwood, she sat down facing him. Her hands rested quietly on her lap, her visage bore the calm and pallor of Pallas, but the grey gaze was
darkened in this dusk and stars of red fire-glow moved within it. ‘Now say,’ she commanded.

In his mind Gratillonius clung tight to the handfast world outside. ‘Maximus reached Gallia on the day you declared. His legions have swept all resistance before them. Not that there was much. His opposition had little more to set against them than poorly trained auxiliaries. Some legionary units did arrive, hastily called from the eastern frontier or out of Hispania, in time to give battle – but of those, whole cohorts went over to the eagles of Maximus. He writes that he was in danger of outrunning his supply train, and this was among the reasons he had no chance to dictate a message earlier. Flavius Gratianus, co-Emperor, was in Lutetia Parisiorum. Maximus marched on that city. When he got there, the garrison rebelled and forswore Gratianus. Maximus entered without hindrance. Gratianus had fled. Maximus is – was – making ready to pursue, defeat him decisively, lay grip on the whole of Gallia and Hispania.’

‘What will he have you do?’ she asked low and tonelessly.

‘Oh, I’m to send back a report by his courier, continue in my mission, keep him informed. We’ll soon have a new and better Augustus, Forsquilis.’

‘And what will you have me do?’

‘I think you know already.’ Gratillonius must moisten his lips. His armpits were wet enough. ‘Ys looks well prepared. Aye, not only to defend herself but to carry out the task Rome has given her. Yet …’tis unforeseeable what may happen. The Empire is in turmoil. Its legions guarding Britannia and the East are stripped to the bone. Beyond the frontiers prowl wolves.’

‘You said we can stand off attack. Not that I think any barbarians would be so mad as to try.’

‘But Rome, Rome – ’

‘Ah.’ Forsquilis sat quite still. Misshapen glooms danced in silence. At last: ‘You ask that the owl fly forth again.’

‘Aye.’

‘And, if need be, the Nine take a hand, seek to order the tides of time.’

He mustered courage. ‘You did it with me.’

‘That was for Ys,’ she answered sternly.

‘If Rome falls, can Ys long endure?’ he pleaded. ‘Bethink you how alone she will stand, while darkness deepens and the sea rises higher.’

She was mute another while.

‘This is a strange thing you seek,’ she then said, like one who talks in her sleep. ‘But these are strange years. I must think. Later I must meet with my Sisters. I will call you here when we have decided.’ Her eyes came back to him and focused. ‘Go.’

He left. Not until he was outdoors did he let himself tremble.

5

The temple of Taranis was a majestic edifice on the west-northwest edge of the Forum – Roman-built on the colonnaded Roman model, save that it enclosed an open courtyard, its temenos. Only the south wing of the building was given over to worship. The rest held offices, treasury, a hall with sumptuous kitchen nearby for the sacred banquets of the seasons, and a conference room for the Speaker.

There Soren Cartagi privately received Queen Lanarvilis. On the wall behind his chair of state, under an inlaid Sun Wheel, hung weapons of war, surrounding a gold-
trimmed Hammer. On the wall to his right a mosaic depicted the God victorious over Tiamat of the Chaos; windows, above a writing table, occupied the left side; bookcases flanked the entrance which he faced. For Lanarvilis, a throne of equal dignity had been brought. However, this day he and she wore plain silk with simple embroidery.

His fist lay knotted on the chair arm, his mouth was stiff, he must wrench the words out: ‘Thank you for coming, my lady. Believe me, I’ve no wish to ask about … what concerns you yourself. But for the good of Ys – after you have spent time alone with our King – can you tell me aught new?’

Faintly, she flushed, although she held her own voice level. ‘Those before me spoke truth. He is a well-intentioned and able man.’

‘For Rome.’

‘The cause of Rome is the cause of civilization: which means that ’tis equally Ys’s.’

Soren shook his head. ‘Always have you thought more highly of Rome than it deserves, my dear. You dream of a greatness, a grandeur of soul as well as domain, that has long since died, if ever it truly lived. I’ve dealt with the Empire; I know.’

‘Soren,’ she said quietly, ‘let not your resentment speak for you. Whatever you think – and I myself am not so dewy as to believe in any human perfection – still, the fact is that Gratillonius has our welfare at heart, is moving strongly to assure it, and seeks our advice, inquires about our wishes. He spent hours talking with me, and listening, too, as if I were a man.’

‘What was the drift of this?’

‘Well, he … he’d heard you and I often confer and work together on behalf of our temples. Thus much of his querying concerned you. You’ve been polite but aloof, he
said. And he needs your active help, the more so when the Lord of Works is in opposition to him.’

‘Indeed?’ Despite everything that roiled in his breast, Soren’s interest awoke. ‘How is this?’

‘Gratillonius wants fortifications on the headlands. Immediately.’

‘Hm.’ Soren tugged his beard. ‘Little can be done that fast.’

‘Well, he spoke just of mantraps, with here and there a dry-laid piece of wall to protect archers and slingers. He fears an assault from the sea while our navy is off supporting our envoys to the Roman governors.’ Lanarvilis laid finger to chin. ‘Nay, “fear” is wrong. He wants precautions taken. They will require a work levy.’

‘Ah. Does he understand what that means?’

‘He does. I had him describe it to me.’

Soren hesitated. ‘I intend no offence, dear, but in your desire to think well of him, you may have credited him with a better grasp of matters than he has. Would you tell me what he said?’

‘Why –’ She paused, shrugged, and recited: ‘Taxes to Ys may be paid in money, in kind, or in labour. The labour is limited to public works, to a short maximum period in any year, and to times when it will inflict no undue hardship. Since most construction was completed long ago and needs little maintenance, no such levy has been imposed on the poor for generations.’

Soren smiled grimly. ‘I can see why Cothortin Rosmertai digs in his heels. ’Twould upset his administrative routine. Does Gratillonius realize that?’

‘Certes. And he’s not such a fool as to ride down a Lord of Works whose future friendship will be worth having. He asked me if I could lend my good offices – and prevail upon you – to persuade Cothortin. I agreed. I’ll speak to my Sisters also.’ Warmth: ‘Glad will they be to
have this additional token that the Gods meant well by us when They answered our call.’

Soren winced. ‘You admire him, then. And not only because he is Roman.’

Again she flushed, but lifted her head and replied proudly: ‘Aye. Had the Sign come upon my daughter’ – by Lugaid –’while Colconor reigned, I would have made her kneel, and with this hand slashed her throat, lest he get her. Yestereven Gratillonius cleansed me of him. As he is cleansing all Ys.’

Soren scowled. ‘He may yet scrub too hard, he with his foreign God. ’Twould not be the first time the Three withdrew Their favour from a man.’

Pain crossed Lanarviliss face. She rose and reached towards him. ‘Oh, Soren! Close that wound in you. Speak no ill omen. Bethink your sons and the city that shall be theirs.’

He hunched his shoulders. ‘So be it,’ he growled. ‘I’ll help. For Ys. And for you who wish it.’

6

‘Ah-h-h,’ Maldunilis breathed. That was good. You wield a mighty sword.’ She giggled. ‘How soon will you sheathe it anew?’

Gratillonius lifted himself to an elbow and looked down at her. Afternoon sunlight came through the windows to glow across an expanse of sprawled flesh. They had gone to bed shortly after he arrived, for there seemed nothing else to do. Innilis had at least, shyly, proposed a game of draughts … Maldunilis was tall and plump, with brown eyes and reddish-brown hair now lank from sweat. Although her father had been Gaetulius, the heavy features
recalled grandfather Wulfgar. Yet she was by no means ugly, and had shown her new husband a certain lazy sensuality which made the Bull roar loud within him.

‘Give me a while,’ he laughed.

She raised herself too. The copious breasts slithered around as she reached for a bowl of sweetmeats on a stand beside the bed. Their fragrance blended into the closeness of the room. No matter that she kept the largest domestic staff of the Nine, always a measure of slovenliness prevailed in this house.

She offered him a confection. ‘Thank you, nay,’ he said. ‘I’ve small tooth for such.’ She fluffed up pillows to lean against and munched it.

‘Aye, maybe best you keep your appetite,’ she answered. ‘The cooks are preparing a feast.’ Archly: ‘’Twill take hours. How shall we spend them?’

Well, he thought, since I’ve set aside the time till sunrise, why not dawdle about? Gods know I need a rest, a little freedom from responsibility. She’s a simpleton, but amiable and a pretty good lay. Unlike some.

The tiny crescent on her bosom seemed abruptly to burn. How had the Sign come to Maldunilis, of all Gallicenae daughters? he wondered. The ways of Mithras could be mysterious, but the ways of Belisama – of the Three Who brooded over Ys – were those of the wind, lightning, the sea deeps, falling stars, death in the night.

He sat straight in the rumpled bedding, crossed arms over knees, and suggested, ‘Shall we get to know each other better? Tell me of yourself.’

She yawned, scratched, fumbled after a second sweetmeat. ‘Why, naught’s to tell. I was never a, a scholar like Bodilis or a seeress like Forsquilis or a politician like Lanarvilis or – I am only me. I do what I am supposed to, and harm nobody.’ She smirked. ‘Command me, my lord.’

‘Oh, surely something,’ he protested, while observing that she did not even ask for his story.

She put a hand on his thigh and slid it along an insinuating path. ‘I can tell you that I love to futter. Hoel enjoyed me.’

He could not forbear to bark, ‘Colconor?’

‘Aye. He wasn’t very heedful, but nor was he as bad as they said. Once he saw I liked having him on me, and I’d willingly do
whatever
he wanted – as I would for you, O King – he did no worse than spank me sometimes, and that only made this big bottom of mine tingle. He’d have treated me better yet had I given him a child. And I did open my womb, I left off the Herb, but the babe dropped out of me early.’ Maldunilis nuzzled Gratillonius. ‘I’m sure you can give me one that lives.’

He froze.

‘What’s the matter, my lord?’ She sounded plaintive.

His breath came hard and harsh. ‘That day – in the House of the King, ere I arrived–’

She nodded. ‘Vindilis and Forsquilis and I were keeping him there. Waiting for you.’

‘But – but for them it was a necessity – like Brutus striking down Caesar because he hoped to save the Republic. You –’

She smiled. ‘Why not enjoy? That was why my Sisters picked me for the third. Colconor would know I wasn’t feigning. Instead it doubled the pleasure to know I helped prepare the way for you, his conqueror.’

The most horrible thing, he thought in a distant part of himself, the ghastliest thing was her innocence.

It thundered in his head. He rolled around and sprang to the floor. Tiles felt cold beneath his feet. Somehow he could chatter, ‘Pardon me, this is not courteous. Of a sudden I’ve remembered pressing affairs of state. I must begone.’