She was in the dye sheds, her sleeves rolled above the elbow and her forearms splattered with blue dye, when a shadow fell across the doorway. A ripple of scandalized excitement ran through the women as they realized it was one of the young Druids, flushed and perspiring in his white robe. For though the shed was not within the sacred precinct inside the walls, where only the highest of the priests might enter, they were not used to seeing men.
“The High Priestess,” he gasped. “Is the Lady Eilan here?” All the women turned to look at Eilan and as the boy’s flush deepened she realized that he had never seen her without her veil. He swallowed. “Please, Lady – the Arch-Druid has been taken ill. You must come!”
Eilan stopped in the doorway of Ardanos’s chamber, shocked in spite of having been warned. She heard a little gasp from Miellyn, who was attending her, and motioned her to stand with Huw at the door. Then she sat down beside the bed of the dying man. And indeed there could be no doubt that he was dying. At each breath air rattled and sucked in Ardanos’s chest, and she could see the skull beneath the sallow skin. With a pang she remembered how he had sat with Lhiannon during her illness. Even though at times she had hated him, she hoped that his passage would be an easy one.
“He collapsed at dinner and lay unconscious until a little while ago,” said Garic, one of the older priests. “We have sent for Bendeigid.”
She put back her veil and reached out to take his hand. “Ardanos,” she said softly. “Ardanos, can you hear me?”
The papery eyelids fluttered and after a moment of confusion, he focused on her face. “Dieda,” he whispered.
“Grandfather, do you not know me even now? Dieda is in the South, testing maidens who wish to join us as priestesses. I am Eilan.” She was bitterly amused that he should still be confusing them after all these years.
His gaze focused on the ornaments she had taken the time to put on and he sighed. “You were the right one . . .after all.”
“Ardanos,” she said firmly, “as High Priestess it is my duty to tell you that you are dying. You must not depart without naming your successor. Tell us, Arch-Druid, who shall bear the golden sickle when you are gone?”
His eyes fixed on her face. “Goddess, I did the best . . . I could,” he whispered. “The Merlin knows . . .”
“But we must know!” said the Druid who was attending him. “Who will you choose?”
“Peace!” Ardanos said with sudden strength, as if he were ordering them to be silent. “Peace . . .” The word whispered away on a dying gasp; the breath rattled in the old man’s throat, and then he was still.
For a moment no one moved. Then Garic reached down to take Ardanos’s pulse, waited, counting, and let the limp hand fall.
“He is gone!” he said accusingly.
“I am sorry,” said Eilan. “What will you do?”
“We must summon the other members of our order,” said one of the others, already taking charge. “Go now, Lady. Your part is done. We will inform you when the gods have led us to a decision, since they did not see fit to inspire Ardanos with their word.”
As the fifteenth summer of the Emperor Domitian’s reign passed, the weather stayed close and still, as if a storm were brewing somewhere just over the horizon. Gaius, riding through the streets of Deva, found himself constantly listening, waiting for thunder. And he was not the only one. The voices of the vendors in the town grew shrill and angry; there were more fights in the barracks and wine shops, and rumors of risings or mutinies abounded. Even his horse seemed to have picked up the tension, prancing and sidling nervously.
The ides of September . . .the Ides of September . . .The words beat at his awareness every time his mount’s hoofs struck the hard ground. Since Macellius had told him the date set for the rising, sleep had eluded him. His father believed that the tribes would support them, but Gaius was not so sure. If the Eagles of Rome fought each other, the only victor might be the Ravens. Was it worth the risk of a general insurrection even to unseat Domitian?