“That would be a shameful waste.” Gaius said. “Is there no man you wish to marry?”
Eilan looked up at him and was silent a moment before speaking, then she said slowly, “None to whom my parents would be likely to give me. And life in the Forest House can be very rewarding. The holy women learn all manner of wisdom and the healing arts.”
So, Gaius thought, she would like to be a healer-priestess. As he had said to Senara, he thought that would be a great waste of one who brought such beauty to the world. Eilan was quite different from everything he had heard of British girls, whom he had thought were like Clotinus’s daughter. His father had sometimes spoken of pledging him in marriage to the daughter of an old friend, a high official in Londinium, but he had never seen the girl.
Now it occurred to him that it might be more useful for him to marry someone like Eilan. After all, his own mother had been a British tribeswoman. He looked at Eilan so long that she grew uneasy.
“Is there a spot on my face?” she asked. “We should get started on our festival garlands.” Suddenly she jumped up and started across the meadow, which was liberally starred with blue, purple and yellow flowers. “No, not the bluebells,” she said to Senara, who had followed her. “They will fade far too soon.”
“Show me which ones I should use, then,” Senara demanded. “I like these purple orchids – last year I saw the priestesses wearing them.”
“I think their stems are too stiff to braid, but I will try,” Eilan said, taking the handful of flowers from Senara. “No. I cannot do it; no doubt Lhiannon’s maidens know some skill I do not,” Eilan declared. “Let’s try the primroses.”
“They are as common as weeds,” Senara complained, and Eilan frowned.
“What happens at the festival?” Gaius asked to distract her.
“They drive the cattle between the fires, and Lhiannon calls down the Goddess to deliver the Oracles,” Eilan declared, her hands full of flowers.
“And lovers meet at the fires,” said Cynric, looking at Dieda, “And pledged couples make known their vows. Here, Senara, try these.”
“They are the ones I was trying to weave,” Eilan complained, “but their stems are too stiff. Dieda, will those blossoms work?”
The older girl was kneeling before a hawthorn bush in full, starry bloom. At the question she turned and pricked her finger on a thorn. Cynric came over to her and kissed it, and she blushed and asked quickly, “Shall I make you a wreath, Cynric?”
“As you wish.” Then a raven cawed from somewhere in the trees and his face changed. “What am I saying? I should not be thinking of garlands now.”
Gaius saw her open her mouth as if to ask Cynric why not, then stop, and wondered if it was because he was a stranger. She cast the blossoms away, and began to pick up the platters from which they had eaten. Eilan and Senara had finished their garlands.
“Rheis will be very cross if we forget to carry back any of these plates,” Dieda pointed out. “And you girls had better finish these cakes.”
Senara took one of the cakes and broke it in half, handing the remainder to Gaius.
“Now we have shared a single cake, you are my hearth-guest,” she said. “Almost my brother.”
“Don’t be so silly, Senara,” Eilan said reprovingly. “Gawen, don’t let her pester you.”
“Oh, let her alone,” Gaius said, “she isn’t bothering me.” He thought again of his own dead sister, and wondered what his life would have been like had she lived. As he rose to his feet, he stumbled a little and Eilan came to take his arm, handing her garlands to Dieda.
“I’m afraid we have tired you, Gawen,” she said. “Here, lean on me. Careful, don’t knock your arm on anything,” she warned, guiding him away from a tree.
“Why, Eilan, you are a healer-priestess already,” Cynric said. “Gawen, you can lean on me if you like. Of course, Eilan’s much prettier than I am, so perhaps I should help Dieda,” he said, his face brightening, and he took Dieda’s arm as they started back