“And so they might be,” Lhiannon said,
Ardanos grunted. “The worst of it is, they look it.”
“I recommended that they should all be drowned, remember, not just the girls,” said Lhiannon, recovering her composure. “Cruel as it sounds, it would have saved trouble now. But there were some who had other ideas; they were tender-hearted or, like Bendeigid, they wanted to raise the boys to take revenge for the priestesses. And so they are still alive and it is more than twenty years too late to deny their existence. I cannot now say that they have no right to avenge.”
Never that, Ardanos thought. He must never suggest that the word of Lhiannon was her own word, or the word of the priests, and not the word of the Goddess. He must not remind her that the word of Lhiannon had never differed in any essential way from the agreed will of the Council of Druids, or that the Goddess – if she existed at all, he thought cynically, had long since ceased to care or to intervene in what became of her worshipers, or of anybody else, except – or maybe including – her priestess.
He said carefully, “I was implying nothing. I merely remind you — will you not be seated? Your guard is eyeing me most disquietingly -I said only that if the Goddess answers your prayers for peace, She also hears, and ignores, the prayers of most of the population for open rebellion or war. How long will She continue to hear your prayers and ignore theirs? Or to put it even more bluntly” — but not bluntly enough, he thought – “forgive me for this, but you are not a young woman — what of the day when you no longer serve the shrine?”
If I could only speak the truth to her. A passion he thought he had forgotten tightened his throat. She and I grow weak with the years, but Rome is still strong. Who will teach the young ones how to preserve our ancient ways until Rome in her turn grows old, and our land is our own once more?
After a moment she dropped into a chair and shielded her eyes with her hands. She said, “Do you think I have not considered that?”
“I know you have thought of it,” he said. “And I know the result of your thoughts. Vernemeton might one day be served by one who, let us say, answered the cries of the many for war, rather than the prayers of her Priestess. And then there would be war. And you know what will become of us then.”
“I can only serve the shrine while I live,” said Lhiannon bitterly. “Even you cannot ask more of me than that.”
“While you live,” echoed the old Druid. “It is of that we must speak now.” Lhiannon passed her hand across her eyes. More gently, he asked, “Do you not choose your own successor?”
“In a sense.” She drew a deep breath. “They say I will know when I am to die and thus pass on my powers and such wisdom as is mine. You know who makes the real choice. I was not Helve’s chosen. She loved me, yes, but I was not her choice. That one – her name does not matter; she was but nineteen, and disturbed in her wits. It was she on whom Helve’s choice fell; she gave that girl the kiss of farewell, and yet she was not even considered nor given any trial at the hands of the gods. Why not? No doubt you know better than I. The priests make the final choice. What I say about my successor will have little weight — unless I am careful to name someone acceptable to them.”
“Yet,” said Ardanos, “It could be arranged – that your choice would be theirs.”
She said, “Your choice, you mean.”
“If you will.” He sighed. She was simply too quick to see through him, he could hardly resent that — certainly not now. ‘^
“I tried that once,” said Lhiannon wearily, “with Caillean; and you know how that experiment turned out.”
“Do I?” he asked.
Lhiannon looked at him oddly. “You should pay more attention to what is happening in the Forest House. I suspect you would find it hard to trust her; she has the extremely awkward habit of thinking, usually at precisely the wrong time.”