“Cynric is wrong,” she said finally. “What makes life worth living is not the glory that warriors sing of, but tended cattle and tilled fields and happy children around the fire. I know that the Goddess can be as terrible as a sow-bear when her cubs are threatened, but I think She would rather see us building and growing than killing each other. Isn’t that why we have tried to recover the ancient ways of healing here?”
She looked up at last and met Caillean’s dark eyes, and was startled to see that they held appeal.
“I have told you the reasons I have to hate men and fear what they can do,” the older priestess said softly. “It is very hard sometimes for me to believe in life; it would be so much easier to go down fighting. There are times when you make me ashamed. But when I looked into the Sacred Well, it seemed to me that it overflowed in a hundred little rivulets that sank into the ground and carried its healing power throughout the land. And then, for a little while, I did believe.”
“We must do something about that well,” said Eilan softly, taking Caillean’s hand and, like an echo, she seemed to hear the singing of the swans.
The next time Gaius was in Deva he called upon his father. Over a cup of wine, the talk came round to Brigitta of the Demetae. “Did you ever find her daughters?” asked Gaius.
“In a manner of speaking,” his father replied. “I know where they are, and you will never guess where it is.”
“I thought you were going to find them Roman foster parents.”
“I will, when the time comes, but for now I think that the Priestess of the Oracles is the best guardian they could have.” As Gaius gaped, his father went on. “She is a young woman, and I feared she would sympathize with young hot-heads like Cynric, whom, I tell you plainly, I would hang if we could lay hands on him, but she was surprisingly reasonable. As you might guess I have had an informant there for years, a servant of the priestesses, but this is the first time I have seen the Priestess myself.”
“What did she look like?” Gaius’s voice cracked, but Macellius did not appear to notice.
“She was veiled,” he said. “But between us we worked it out that she’ll keep the girls until tensions have eased, and then turn them over to us to be fostered in Roman homes, and contracted to Roman husbands; I think even Brigitta will be inclined to agree to this, if it is put to her. And I mean to put it to her. I feared that some of the agitators around her would make the girls the cause of another holy war, which, I need hardly tell you, would go hard with us, after Domitian’s losses on the frontier.”
He paused, and looked hard at his son. “I wonder sometimes if I made the right choices for you, lad. I thought Vespasian would live longer; he was a good Emperor, and would have seen to your career. After all our planning, you are living on your lands like a British chieftain after all. Even your marriage to Julia —” he broke off. “Can you forgive me?”
Gaius stared at him. “I did not know there was anything to forgive. I have made a life for myself here, and this is my home. Regarding my career, well, there is plenty of time.”
No Emperor lives for ever, he thought, remembering what Malleus had said in his last letter, but even to his father he would not say that aloud. When he thought of Rome he remembered crowds and filth and the detested toga. He might have liked a little more sun here in Britain; but he felt little desire for southern climes.
And as for his lack of a male heir, he wondered if this was the time to tell Macellius about Eilan’s son. Was it really she whom his father had seen? It was a great relief to know that she could be so moderate. Even if he could not see her; he knew that she was safe and well. It was not that he did not love his daughters, and Gaius knew that Licinius loved all the children. But Roman law counted only male children. It might not be fair, for in effect he would be disenfranchising little Cella, but the law was the law, like it or not.