that before tomorrow morning has dawned, you will know all the lapses and blunders of Locrinia’s most upstanding citizens. Even, I fear, some of mine!”
He was rewarded with a smile from Cornelia, probably more at his attempt to cheer her than any eager anticipation of Siangan’s gossip, but it was enough for Corineus. “Come,” he said gently, and led the small group forward.
One of Locrinia’s wardens, a plump, cheerful man, bustled toward them, greeting Brutus and Cornelia effusively, and clapping his hands with joy at the sight of the massive fleet filling the bay. Corineus and Brutus passed a few words with him, then they were off, following Corineus up through the gently rising streets of the city.
‘I have my house on this rise here,” Corineus said, leading them into a wide and well-paved street.
One or two of the houses had fallen, and in the others Brutus and his companions could clearly see the wide cracks spreading up the walls.
‘Here we are!” Corineus said, indicating a large house standing just before them. Made of a very pale pink stone, it had been built long and low with numerous large open windows and graceful arches to allow the bay air to flow through its rooms and chambers.
It too had been cracked, and one archway had collapsed almost completely, but the walls were well propped, and the house looked solid enough, especially compared to some of its neighbors.
As they approached, a woman appeared in one of the archways. She stood there, as still as a rock pool, one hand on a pillar, her white linen robe blowing gracefully about her tall, slim form. Her hair was dark, her skin extremely pale, her features well drawn and strong.
Brutus took a step forward, a catch in his breath, then relaxed in disappointment.
This was not the woman of the vision, but by the gods, she was very much like her.
She was tall, and shapely, and with the same dark hair and blue eyes, but her face had many lines worn by care, and Brutus knew that while she was younger than Corineus, she actually looked his elder.
Life had tired her, somehow.
Most telling, however, was that this Blangan had none of the god-power that had been emblazoned about the other woman. She carried about her only the power of a woman who loved and was loved, not the power of the gods that the visionary woman wielded.
She walked to meet them, holding out her hands and her cheek to Corineus to be kissed. Then she greeted Cornelia, kissing her on her cheek, then Brutus, then Aethylla and her husband standing a step behind.
‘Blangan,” said Corineus, “if I said to you that you might be going home to Llangarlia again, what would you say?”
Siangan’s face went completely expressionless, but in that instant before the veil came down, Brutus swore he saw a peculiar mix of terror and resignation in her eyes.
THEY HAD WASHED, SETTLED IN THEIR CHAMBERS, AND eaten (Membricus, Hicetaon, and Deimas having joined them), and now it was late at night, but Brutus could not go to bed before he’d
had a chance to speak with Blangan.
He sat with her, Corineus, Deimas, Hicetaon, and Membricus on a sheltered portico overlooking the bay. Everyone else had gone to bed for the night—indeed, the city itself seemed lost in a languorous slumber as it spread out below them—and they finally had some quiet to talk. The warm air was very still, and the scent of a flowered climbing vine across the portico hung heavy and sweet about them.
‘So,” said Blangan to Brutus, a nervous, fleeting smile across her face, “you wish to build your Troia Nova in Llangarlia?”
‘I do so at the goddess’ wish, Blangan.”
‘Not the goddess of Llangarlia’s wish,” said Blangan. She had dropped her gaze to her lap, and she riddled with the tassel of her belt as it lay in her lap.
‘Tell me of Llangarlia,” said Brutus.
‘What can I say, where can I start?” Blangan took a deep breath, and lifted her eyes to stare over the bay.
Brutus did not like it that she wouldn’t look at him. “Will they welcome us?”
Now she did look at him, steady and sure. “I cannot know,” she said. “It has been over twenty-five years since I was last in Llangarlia. But they most certainly will not welcome me .”
Before Brutus could ask the obvious question, Corineus, wary-eyed, broke in.
‘Brutus,” he said, “may I speak a little of Locrinia’s relationship with Llangarlia?” At Brutus’ nod he went on. “Llangarlia is not a closed country; many people trade with the Llangarlians. I and my people do, the states to the north of us do, the people of Crete even traded precious spices and gold for their tin and copper. But the Llangarlians do not encourage closeness with any outsid ers.
‘Yet you married an outsider, a merchant,” Brutus said to Blangan.
‘I was forced into the doing by my mother,” Blangan said. “I admit myself glad when my merchant husband died and Corineus”—she reached out to him and took his hand—”took me into his home and his bed.”
‘Who is their king?” said Brutus. “What strength of swords does he command?”
‘Llangarlia has no king.”
‘How can this be? Every land has a chief, a king, a—”
She held up her hand. “Peace. There are many tribes, or Houses, and each House has its Mother.”
A Mother ? Brutus frowned.
‘But overall we defer to two people, the living representations of our gods Og and Mag. There is the Gormagog, who represents Og.” Again something in Siangan’s manner made Brutus study her well, but whatever discomfort the name of Gormagog caused her, she dampened it down well. “And there is the
priestess of Mag, and we call her the MagaLlan.”
‘This priestess of Mag, the MagaLlan. Is she a powerful woman, tall and beauteous? Is there a deep russet streak through her dark hair? Does she wield the power of the gods themselves? Is she a mother, bearer of several children?” Does she look like you ? he wanted to ask, but didn’t.
‘MagaLlan is always a mother,” Blangan said. “It is part of her duty. But as to the rest of your questions… Brutus, when I left Llangarlia so many years previous, the MagaLlan was my mother. The woman you describe now sounds like my younger sister, Genvissa.” Blangan gave a slight shiver, as if she were cold. “In Llangarlian society it is always the younger daughter who inherits the power of the Mother, or of the highest Mother, the MagaLlan. Not the son, as in Trojan society, nor even the eldest daughter.”
Genvissa, thought Brutus. J have a name for her! And this Siangan is her sister ?
‘The youngest inherits?” he asked. “How can this be so?”
‘Why should the eldest inherit, whether son or daughter,” said Blangan,
‘when it is the youngest child who is the product of the mother’s maturity and life-wisdom?”
Brutus thought that sounded slightly naive—all knew the firstborn was the strongest-born—but he left it alone. “And the Gormagog? Who is he? What manner of man is he?”
Blangan smiled very bitterly. “When I left Llangarlia Gormagog was an aging man,” she said, “and weaker than he’d ever been when he was in his prime. I cannot know who he is now.”
Brutus leaned back in his chair, and drank deeply of his wine. He was silent for many minutes, thinking of the woman of his vision, and of Blangan who seemed less than enthusiastic at the idea of going back to her homeland. “Do you still speak the language of your birth?” he finally asked Blangan. She bowed her head, and replied in something unintelligible. He nodded wryly. “Will you teach it to me while my ships and people recover from the wild storm that so injured us?”
‘I would be pleased. It is a simple language to master once you grasp its basic concepts. Brutus…”
She paused, obviously uncertain whether or not to continue. “Brutus, many people have thought to conquer Llangarlia. They have marched into the mists surrounding the Veiled Hills, and they have never emerged again. Llangarlia is ancient, and unknowable… even to your gods.
Be careful.”
‘You don’t want go home, do you, Blangan?”
In answer, Blangan rose. “I should look in on your wife, Brutus, and make sure she is comfortable, I am sure that you and your companions have much to talk about with Corineus, despite the lateness of the hour. Enjoy my hospitality, Brutus. I give it with great pleasure.”
ETHYLLA WAS STANDING BEHIND CORNELIA, WHOsat on a stool, combing out the younger woman’s hair.
Blangan paused in the doorway, as yet unseen, and her lips twitched at the expression on Cornelia’s face.
‘My dear,” said Blangan to Aethylla, walking across the room and taking the comb from her hand.