It was many hours before she became conscious again.
In the days that followed that first pain, Eilan tried to accept the will of the gods. But although she could believe that the Goddess would watch over Vernemeton and her people, she still feared for her child. She could have trusted Gawen to Caillean. But Caillean -at her work at the far end of the country – was not there. Dieda was kin to the boy, but since the death of Cynric she was the last person to whom Eilan could entrust him. Lia, she knew, would die for her nursling, but she was only a poor woman with no place to go. Perhaps Mairi might be willing to take the child, but Gawen would not be safe even with her if their father should learn his identity.
If she only knew how long she had . . .But no matter how Eilan framed the question, the forces that had warned of her own death remained so obstinately silent that if it had not been for the occasional throb of pain in her brow, the whole thing might have been some morbid product of her own imagination. All she could do was to spend as much time as she dared with the boy.
Gawen had just gone off to his dinner when Senara came in to light the lamps. As usual, Huw was a silent presence by the door. For so many years she had thought him about as much protection as an unhatched chicken, but he had been lethal enough. Seeing him reminded her of the unhealed pain of Cynric’s death.
“You go too, and get yourself some dinner,” she ordered. “Senara will remain with me until you return.”
Senara moved slowly around the room with flint and steel, and the clay lamps — of Roman make even here — flared into life one by one. It was only when the girl had stood for several minutes staring at the last of them that Eilan asked, “What is it, child. Are you unwell?”
“Oh, Eilan!” Senara caught her breath on a sob.
Eilan took a seat on one of the benches. “Come here, child,” she said gently. As Senara approached, she saw the girl’s face was wet. “Why, my love, what is it? You know me well enough to know that whatever it is, you needn’t be afraid to tell me.”
Bright drops shone on Senara’s cheeks. “You’re so good to me, you’ve always been so good . . .and I’m not worth it,” she said, choking, and fell at Eilan’s feet, crying helplessly.
“Oh, my dear,” Eilan soothed, “you mustn’t cry; I’m not strong enough for this. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.” She reached out and gently pulled the girl to her feet. “Come, sit here beside me.”
Senara’s weeping diminished a little, but instead of taking a place at Eilan’s side she began to pace the room. At last she said, her voice half choked with weeping, “I hardly know how to tell you.”
And all at once, Eilan knew what ailed the girl. She said “You’ve come to tell me you don’t wish to be sworn as a priestess in the Forest House.”
Senara looked up, the bright drops still making glistening tracks down her cheeks in the lamplight. “That’s part of it,” she whispered, “the least part.” She struggled for words. “I’m not worthy to be here at all; I’m not fit; if you knew, you’d cast me out of here -”
You aren’t worthy! Eilan thought. Oh, if you only knew! And then, aloud, she repeated what Caillean had once said to her. “Perhaps in the sight of the Goddess, none of us is truly worthy. Try to stop crying, my dear, and tell me what ails you.”
Senara calmed a little, though she still could not meet Eilan’s eyes. Eilan recalled standing like this before Lhiannon, so many years ago. But surely she wronged the girl; Senara had been spending her time with the Christians, and they were even more concerned with chastity than the women of Vernemeton.
“I . . . I have met a man . . .and he wants me to go away with him,” she said baldly at last.