“This is ridiculous. Do you really think no one will notice the change?” Dieda said bitterly.
“Since she became High Priestess, she has been veiled so much of the time that few of the women in the house will know the difference, and no doubt they will put it down to the effects of the ritual.”
Cynric would know, Dieda thought with longing, wishing he would appear and carry her away. But it had been over a year since she had heard from him. Even if he knew, would he have come?
“Your father is grateful to you,” said Caillean.
Dieda grimaced, And well he should be. If I had insisted on leaving here to marry Cynric, what would have become of this fine charade?
“Dieda.” For the first time Eilan spoke on her own behalf. “We have been like sisters. For the sake of the blood we share, and because you, too, know what it is to love, please help me!”
“At least I had better sense than to give myself to a man who would abandon me!” Dieda said tartly. “Caillean has vowed to send me to Eriu. Sister, what will you promise me?”
“If I remain High Priestess I will try to help you and Cynric. If I fail in this, you have the knowledge to destroy me. Will that be enough for you?”
“That is true.” Dieda found herself smiling strangely. And when she had finished learning from the Druids of Eriu, she would be able to raise blisters on a man’s skin with a word, or charm any bird or beast with her song; she would have skills of which these pious fools did not dream. She realized suddenly that it was only the constraints of the priestesses that irked her. She could learn to enjoy wielding power.
“Very well, I will help you,” she said, and held out her hand for the veil.
Eighteen
Despite the tales the Romans of Londinium told about the North, traveling through northern Britain at the end of summer was no hardship for a young and healthy man. It did not rain every day, and the air was sweet with the smell of curing hay. As Gaius traveled up the eastern side of Britain through country that grew ever wilder, he observed the woods and hills with a professional interest, for on his previous campaign they had marched up the western coast through Lenacum, and the eastern was new to him. With Capellus, his father’s orderly, once more at his side, the details of making camp and tending the horses were handled efficiently. And his own British tongue was enough to win them a welcome when they had to seek shelter at a native holding.
As Gaius moved further north, more of the talk was of the Governor Agricola’s campaigns. From a newly retired veteran who managed one of the posting stations he learned that in the previous year the appearance of a Roman fleet off the Caledonian coast had struck the natives with such panic that they had attacked in desperation, and succeeded in savaging the already weakened Ninth Legion before Agricola sent his cavalry around to attack their rear.
“It was bad, my boy, very bad,” admitted the station-keeper, “with them demons howling like wolves in the middle of our camp and men falling over tent lines as they tried to get to their arms. But somehow we held them, and I won’t forget the moment when suddenly we could see the glitter of our standards and knew that day was coming at last.” He took another long drink of the thin wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Then, I’ll tell you, we found our courage, and when the Twentieth finally came up to help us we were ready to tell them they were too late for the party and should go home! But the General kept the men to their work. If those painted devils hadn’t
scuttled back to their pestilent woods and marshes, we’d have mopped them up entirely. But I suppose we had to leave something for you young glory-hounds to do!” He laughed and offered Gaius more wine.
Gaius suppressed a smile. He had learned something of the battle from men who had been sent home to Deva, but it was interesting to hear the story from someone who had actually been inside the camp when the Caledonians attacked it.