“Oh no,” Senara cried out. “I would not now marry Gaius Severus if he were the only man on the face of the earth.”
“You promised to do as I asked,” Eilan said quietly. “Is this how you keep your word?”
Senara looked up, and again her eyes spilled over. She said, “I want only to do what is right. If you think -” She stopped, breathing hard. “If God has chosen to take you, I suppose it is His business, but you must not lay hands on your own life, Eilan!”
Eilan drew all her dignity about her like a cloak as she said, “It does not really matter to me whether you believe it or not. But if you will not help me, Senara, then you may go.”
Senara trembled. “I will not leave you alone in this state.”
“Then for Gaius’s sake, take care of his boy.”
“It is for the boy’s sake I tell you that you must live,” Senara entreated. “You have a child, however that came about, and your life is not your own. Gawen is a beautiful boy. You must live to see him grown. And Gaius —”
“Ah, don’t speak of him, I beg you —”
“My Lady,” said Senara, shaking, “I tell you, Gaius still cares for you and for his son.”
“He has forgotten me.”
“I am sure he has not,” Senara insisted. “Let me remind him of what is due to the mother of his son. Let me speak to him of his duty as a father, and as a Roman. I am sure that would reach his better nature even if nothing else could do so.”
Was it possible? Could Senara actually do that? And would she?
“I believe the warning that the Goddess sent me,” she said finally, “but if I live through Samaine, you may try. But before you do so, you must get Gawen to safety. I am afraid of what may happen at the festival. Tomorrow – no, tonight,” she corrected herself, for it was nearly dawn, “leave the Forest House. Take Gawen to your Father Petros in the forest. No one will think to look for you there!”
Thirty
When Caillean recovered her senses, she knew that she must have been unconscious for some time, for her gown was soaked through. What had wakened her was the sound of a farm cart jolting over the ruts and pits of the road. In the cart were four or five men well armed with cudgels, and a couple of hefty guards walked a few paces ahead with torches. Had they frightened her attackers away? Something must have, for she had not been violated after her assailant struck her down.
Caillean managed to pull herself upright, though the effort made her feel as if the top of her head would fall off. Sprawled around her she could see bodies, and a stink of burnt flesh reached her even through the rain.
One of the men with the torches saw her and quavered, “Be you a ghost, lady? Don’t hurt us . . .”
“I give you my word I am no ghost,” Caillean said as steadily as she could, “but a priestess from the temple in the Summer Country, left here after an attack by bandits.”
Now she could see her litter, turned on its side, the two young priests lying beside it, their throats cut, their golden torques plundered, staring up emptily at the sky. Caillean regarded them with dismay.
And then she looked at the blackened corpses around her and realized that where she had been powerless the gods at least had not. She would rather have saved the young men, but at least they had been avenged.
“Where were you a-going, lady?” asked the farmer from his perch in the driver’s seat of the cart.
She controlled her voice with an effort, turning away from the dead men. “To the Forest House near Deva.”
“Ah, that explains it then; I understand there’s still one of the Legions left there, and the roads are patrolled. These days, no one puts his nose outside his own door around here without a couple of bodyguards. It will be a good thing when we have a new Emperor, and can get some protection again.”