The last three priestesses moved towards the long-legged stool that had been set between the fires. The foremost was slender, a little bowed beneath her robes, flanked by a tall woman and another who was sturdier. Both had dark hair and silver ornaments. Both were unveiled, and he could see the woad-blue crescents tattooed between their brows. Gaius’s first thought was that the tall girl would be a worthy opponent in a fight, while he sensed discontent in her companion’s eyes.
The group paused, and there was some ritual with a golden basin that he could not understand. Then they helped the priestess to sit down on the three-legged stool and carried it to the top of the mound between the fires. The shimmer of sound from the bells reached a climax, then stopped.
“Children of Don, why have you come here?” The tall woman asked, calling them by the name of the mythic ancestress of the tribes.
“We seek the blessing of the Goddess,” one of the Druids replied.
“Then call Her!”
Two of the women cast handfuls of herbs on the coals. Gaius’s nostrils flared as the sweet-smelling smoke puffed and swirled outward, filling the space with a glowing haze. He was accustomed to incense, but he had never felt this odd sense of pressure before. He would have said the weather was changing, but the sky was clear.
Around him the whisper was becoming a murmur of many voices, a soft mutter of invocation and appeal. Beneath it all he heard the Druids humming, and it seemed to him that the earth beneath his feet throbbed in answer. Once more he was afraid. He glanced over at Eilan and saw her gaze, rapt and exalted, fixed upon the three figures between the fires.
From the veiled woman came a little whimper and he saw her sway.
She is like the Sibyl, thought Gaius, or the Pythia of Delphi that my tutor told me about. But he had never expected to see such a thing himself. The humming grew in intensity, and suddenly the veiled woman stilled and the other two backed away. He caught his breath, for somehow she seemed to have grown taller. She straightened, turning as if she was looking around her. Then she laughed softly and put back her veil.
Gaius had heard that the High Priestess of Vernemeton was old, but this woman blazed with beauty, and she gestured with a restless energy that had nothing to do with age. His Roman cynicism fled and his mother’s blood rose up in him. It is true — all the tales are true — the Goddess is here . . .
“I am the green earth that cradles you and the womb of the waters . . .” she said in a voice whose soft resonance made it seem as if she spoke in his ear. “I am the white moon and the sea of stars. I am the night from which the first light was born. I am the mother of the gods; I am the virgin; I am the dark serpent that swallows all. Do you see me? Do you desire me? Do you accept me now?
“We see …” came the murmured answer. “We see you and adore . . .”
“Rejoice then, that life may continue. Sing, dance, feast and make love and you will have my blessing; the cattle will bear and the corn will grow.”
“Lady!” a woman’s voice rang out suddenly. “They have taken my man to the mines and my children are hungry. What will I do?”
“They took my son!” a man cried, and others echoed him. “When will you deliver us from the Romans? When will the war arrow fly?” A babble of protest rose and Gaius tensed, feeling the tension in the air. Eilan had only to say the word and they would tear him in pieces. But when he looked at her he saw her eyes bright with tears.
“Are you my children, that hear your sister’s cry and do not provide for her?” Dark draperies swirled as the Goddess turned. “Care for one another! In the arcane volumes of the heavens, I have read the name of Rome, and on that scroll I say their name reads Death! Indeed, Rome will fall, but her fate is not yours to declare! So I have said, heed now my word!