“You’ve been in the army?” he asked.
“As a tribune with the Second Legion. I had the privilege of serving under you in Dacia,” Gaius said carefully.
“Hmm . . .Well, I suppose we’ll have to find you something to do in the Provinces then,” said the Emperor without much interest, turning away.
“Dominus et Deus,” said Gaius, saluting, and hated himself for saying the words.
On the way home Gaius shared a litter with Clodius Malleus. It was the first time they had been able to talk privately all day.
“And what did you think of the Senate?” the older man asked.
“It made me proud to be a Roman,” Gaius answered truthfully.
“And the Emperor?”
Gaius was silent. After a moment he heard the Senator sigh. “You have seen how things are,” Malleus said softly. “Such patronage as I have to offer must be given carefully, at least for now. But if you are willing to face the risks that this bond might bring you, along with its potential rewards, I would be happy to accept you among my clients. I can arrange for you to serve as Procurator for army supplies in Britannia. Ordinarily it would be somewhere else in the Empire, but I think you would be most useful to us in the land that you know best.”
That collegial “us” made something in Gaius that the Emperor’s lack of interest had chilled awaken to warmth again. The Rome that his father and Licinius had taught him to honor might be dead, but it seemed to Gaius that under the leadership of such men as Malleus and Agricola the spirit of Rome might revive.
“I would be honored,” he said into the silence, and knew that like the decision he had made after Mons Graupius, this choice would determine the course of his life from now on.
Twenty-Four
The priestesses worshipped at the new moon in the Sacred Grove behind the Forest House, following a ritual that men had not invented and were not allowed to see. Caillean watched as the novices filed in to complete the circle, feeling rather like a mother hen counting her chicks, or perhaps, observing the pale glimmer of their gowns in the half-light, cygnets about to become swans.
For a moment there was silence as the circle was completed. She moved into position before the stone cairn that was their altar, Dieda to her left and Miellyn to her right, in the place that was usually her own. But tonight Eilan was sick with cramps and the place of the High Priestess had fallen to Caillean. It felt strange to stand here, and strange not to feel the younger woman’s familiar energy balancing her own.
Dieda lifted her hand, and the silence was broken by a shimmer of silver bells.
“Hail to thee, thou new moon, guiding jewel of gentleness,” sang the maidens, nearly a round dozen, all of them come to the Forest House since Eilan had become High Priestess. The most recent arrivals had been drawn by Dieda’s music. When old Ardanos had schemed to get his two kinswomen into Vernemeton he had wrought better than he knew. Caillean listened to those pure voices offering their praise to heaven and sighed in pure content.
“I am bending to thee my knee, I am offering thee my love;
I am bending to thee my knee, I am giving thee my hand I am lifting to thee mine eye Oh, new moon of the seasons!”
With each phrase they were bending, then reaching upward in supplication, eyes fixed on the silver sickle above, so that their chanting became a dance. Now they began slowly to move sunwise around the circle, arms uplifted to the sky.
“Hail to thee, thou new moon, Joyful maiden of my love! Hail to thee, thou new moon Joyful maiden of the graces! Thou art traveling in thy course, Thou art showing us thy shining face, O new moon of the seasons!”
Caillean let her gaze unfocus and allowed the rhythm of the chanting to carry her ever deeper into trance. Each time it grew easier. There had been a barren period in her life when nothing seemed to have meaning any more. But thanks to the Goddess, that seemed to be over. With the ending of her blood cycles, the floodgates of her spirit had opened, and with each season she felt ever more strongly the tides of power.