Fourteen
It was the tradition in the Forest House that after the priestesses took their vows they should undergo a period of seclusion. Eilan was grateful. During the days that followed her initiation she lay as exhausted as Lhiannon after giving an Oracle, and even when she recovered physically, she found her attention focused inward as she tried to understand what had occurred.
Sometimes the Druid’s words to her seemed impossible — a demented dream born of her frustrated love for Gaius. But when the priestesses gathered in the frosty darkness to salute the winter moon, Eilan would find her spirit lifted as the women’s voices soared. At such times, when the moonlight filled her like a silver flame, she knew that what she had experienced was no dream.
Sometimes she found Caillean watching her rather curiously, but not even when the older priestess taught them the secrets of the Wise Ones who had come over the sea — the lore that only the sworn priestesses were allowed to learn — did Eilan feel free to speak of the Merlin and the destiny she believed he had offered her. For gradually she had realized that whatever ecstasies the other priestesses experienced in their initiations, this mystery had been for her alone. And so the dark days of winter passed and lengthened into spring, and the mark of the Goddess healed upon Eilan’s brow.
Gaius lounged on the bench in his father’s office at Deva, breathing deeply of the breeze that came through the open window and wondering how soon he could get away. For a year he had been attached to his father’s staff, and he was tired of fortress walls. Spring was overwhelming the fields and woodlands. He could smell apple blossom on that breeze, and it made him think of Eilan.
“Most of the men will be taking leave for the Floralia, but I don’t want too many of my officers away at one time.” His father’s voice seemed to come from far away. “When you’re up for leave where will you go?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Gaius blurted out. Some of the officers used their free time to go hunting, but killing things for sport no longer particularly interested him. Really, there was nowhere he wanted to be.
“You might go and see the Procurator,” his father suggested. “You haven’t met his daughter yet.”
“And if the gods are kind to me I never will,” Gaius returned abruptly to the present and sat up. His father looked pained.
“Now, how could it possibly hurt you,” Macellius inquired, obviously holding on to his temper, “just to see the girl? I think she’s already fifteen years old.”
“Father, I know she’s marriageable. How stupid do you think I am, anyway?”
His father only smiled. “I haven’t said a word about marrying her.”
“You don’t have to,” Gaius said sullenly. If he could not have Eilan, he was damned if he would marry any woman in Britain -let alone one his father suggested.
“You don’t have to be rude,” his father said. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking of spending the holidays in Londinium, and -”
“Well, I wasn’t,” Gaius said, no longer caring what his father thought of his manners. He did not know where he would go but it would be as far away from Londinium as he could possibly get.
“I hope you’re not thinking of that British girl again,” Macellius commented, almost, Gaius thought, as if his father were reading his mind. If only he had left it at that. But Macellius went on to say, “I’m sure you’ve had the sense to put her out of your mind for good and all.”
And that decided him. “As a matter of fact,” he said deliberately, “I was thinking of going to see Clotinus.” It had been after staying with the British lord, after all, that he had first met Eilan, and he could at least enjoy the memories.
Gaius enjoyed the trip southward, thinking of Eilan, and of Cynric who might have been his friend and was lost to him, through no fault of their own. Spring was advancing like a conquering army, and the weather was beautiful; mornings clear and cold, making him glad to be warmly clad, and days warm, bright and almost dry except for a sprinkle of soft rain late in the day.