“Eilan is not in the Forest House now; she has dwelt in a little house in the deepest part of the woods since the child began to show.” After a moment Caillean added hesitantly, “I have been very troubled for her. Women are sometimes very sorrowful after
they have had a child, and the gods know that Eilan has enough reason to be unhappy; perhaps when she sees that you have not abandoned her, she will recover more quickly.”
“They told me that if I did not attempt to see her, she would not be mistreated —” he protested,
Caillean laughed, a brief bitter sound. “Ardanos was furious, of course, the wretched old tyrant. He is convinced that only if you Romans think of our priestesses as Vestals will you protect them. But the choice of the Goddess had fallen on Eilan, and he could not deny it, when Lhiannon with almost her dying breath had proposed this deception.”
Caillean did not speak again. After a time Gaius saw through the trees a small glimmer of light against a greater darkness.
“There is the house.”
Caillean’s voice came soft in his ear. “Wait in the shadows while I get rid of the old woman.” She opened the door.
“The blessing of the Lady to you, Eilan; I’ve come to keep you company. Annis, I’ll care for her now. Why don’t you go out and enjoy the festival?”
Presently he saw the old woman emerging, well-swaddled in shawls, and as she passed down the pathway he drew back beneath the trees. Caillean stood in the open doorway behind her, framed by the light. She gestured, and as he came forward, heart thumping like a charge of cavalry, said quietly into the golden glow behind her, “I have brought you a visitor, Eilan.” He heard her going out to keep watch behind him.
For a moment Gaius’s eyes were dazzled by the light. When he could focus again, he saw Eilan lying on a narrow bed, at her side the bundle that he knew must be the child.
Eilan forced her eyes to open. She supposed it was kind of Caillean to come to her, but why should she bring a visitor? She did not want to see anyone except Caillean, but she had been sure the older priestess would be busy with the festival. A dull curiosity stirring within her, she opened her eyes.
A man’s shape was standing between her and the light. Her grip on the child tightened in instinctive alarm and the baby made a little squeaking sound of protest. At that, the man took a quick step forward, and as the light fell full upon his face, she knew him at last.
“Gaius!” she exclaimed, and at once burst into tears. She saw him redden, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, unable to meet her eyes.
“I was sent to Londinium; I had no choice,” he said. “I wanted to come to you.”
“I’m sorry -” she said, though she was not really sure why she was apologizing, “I seem to weep very easily these days.”
His gaze flicked swiftly to her, and then to the bundle.
“Is this my son?”
“No other,” she said, “or do you really think perhaps that because —” suddenly she was crying so hard she could hardly speak — “that because I gave myself to you, I would lie down for any other man who came along?”
“Eilan!” From his face, she could see that the thought had never occurred to him, and did not know whether to be flattered or indignant. His hands clenched and unclenched. “Please! Let me hold my son.”
Eilan felt her tears ceasing as abruptly as they had come. She looked up at Gaius, for the first time really seeing him as he knelt beside her, and lifted the baby into his arms. He looked older and grimmer, fine drawn by hardship and with a shadow in his eyes as if he too had known pain; on his cheek was a new scar. But as he held the child she saw his face begin to change.
“My son —” he whispered, gazing at the crumpled features, “my first-born son . . .” Even if he went through with his marriage to the Roman girl, thought Eilan, this moment was hers.