“How may I serve you, my father?” she said coolly, remaining seated. Her tone was the same as she would have used to any highly placed Druid. Indeed, his time in the North had changed him. He was still a powerful man, but the comfortable solidity she remembered had been worn away until he was all sinew and bone.
Bendeigid stopped short, eyeing her oddly. What was he seeing, she wondered? Not the daughter he remembered, for certain. The face she saw when she looked into the Sacred Pool had lost its girlish roundness, and suffering and responsibility had given a certain air of watchfulness to her shadowed eyes. But perhaps those subtle signs of maturity would be less striking than her golden ornaments and the crescent between her brows.
Although she had pushed the sheer veil of fine, dark blue linen back from her face, its folds were draped about her head and shoulders. She had continued to go veiled in the fashion Dieda had adopted to aid in the deception; and by the time it might have been safe to go without it, she had grown used to its protection. It seemed to lend an air of authority; certainly, it added to her mystery.
“I only wanted to pay you my respects, daughter – or should I say Lady,” replied the Druid. “It has been long since we met. I wanted to be sure that you were well . . .”
It has taken you long enough, she thought grimly. But she could see that the past few years had not been easy for him either. It was not entirely Huw’s bulk that made him seem smaller; his hair had gone completely gray and there were new lines around his mouth and in his brow. He had always been stern, but now purpose burned in his eyes like a dark flame.
Bendeigid accepted the silver-bound wooden cup she handed him and sat down on a bench. Eilan took her seat in the great carven chair.
“Surely that is not the only reason you have come here, my father,” she said calmly.
“Lhiannon was old.” He looked into his cup and then back up at her. “I can well understand that she did not wish her country torn by war – and that may be why the Goddess has counseled peace for the past few years. But now there is a new time and a new priestess. Did you not know about the battle the Romans call Mons Graupius? Have you heard how the Votadini lands are become a desert in which a few survivors scratch for a living where once was a thriving tribe?”
Eilan lowered her gaze away from his. Indeed she had heard of the battle, from one who had fought in it, and Gaius had told her how that winter the starving survivors had come to the gates of the fortress to be fed. It was true that the Romans were the invaders, but she knew it was the defeated tribesmen who in despair had fired their own villages and slaughtered their animals to keep them out of Roman hands.
“Voice of the Goddess, tell me – the tears of captive women fall down like rain and the blood of our slain warriors shrieks from the ground, why does She not hear them? Why has the Goddess not answered our prayers, and why does the Oracle still counsel us to keep this miserable peace?”
He surged to his feet, reaching out to her, and Huw took a heavy step into the room. Eilan drew a long breath to conceal her astonishment and gestured the man away. She had always assumed that her father was deep in the Arch-Druid’s counsels. Was it possible that he did not know how Ardanos had been manipulating the Oracle all these years?
“Surely my father knows I speak only such Oracles as are given to me,” she said soothingly. If he knows, then I have told him the truth — and if he does not, then I have told him nothing he does not know.
Indeed, what she had said was a greater truth than even Ardanos knew, for although Ardanos translated her answers to questions as he saw fit, when the Goddess filled her and she spoke directly to the people, it was the Goddess who agreed or disagreed with the policies of the Arch-Druid as She chose. So far, at least, Her counsels had been sufficiently peaceable that he had not questioned them.