“Here, they throw herbs on the flames and drive the cows between the fires to bless them.” Gaius answered him.
“Funny thing, how people keep fighting about religion, when really it’s all the same. Seems to me it’s the priests who make all the problems; most folks just want good harvests and healthy babies, just trying to get along. If it’s not the cattle stampeding, it’s the priests haranguing the crowds. Do the Druids run this festival?”
“Not exactly,” said Gaius. “There’s a priestess, something like a Vestal, who calls down blessings from their gods.” For a moment he closed his eyes, once more seeing that veiled figure lifting her arms to the moon.
“Is she going to do the sacrifices?” They moved slowly towards the central square, for the herd of cattle was still ahead of them, lowing anxiously and pressing together at the strange sights and smells.
Gaius shook his head. “These days, anyway, the Druids or whoever runs their worship don’t sacrifice anything except fruit and flowers.”
“I heard they did lots of sacrifices—even human,” said the centurion.
“Gates of Tartarus, no.” Gaius remembered how indignant Eilan had been when he asked the same question. “Really, this festival’s pretty tame. I was here once, and —”
“Oh, by Caligula’s balls! Somebody’s scared the cows,” the centurion exclaimed, peering ahead of them. “That was what I was afraid of.”
A big man in a checked robe had upset a lantern, and the cows were shifting about, lowing uneasily.
Beyond him an older man was haranguing the crowd. More than a hundred people had gathered to hear. Gaius edged forward to listen. This was why he was here, in case someone used the peaceful gathering to stir up rebellion. People in the crowd were yelling in agreement, ignoring the growing unease in the herd.
A lad came running with a bucket of water, splashing one of the shouters as he went by. The man turned, yelling, and the nearest cow threw up its head with a bellow, pricking its neighbor with a twisted horn.
“Oh, Hades, that’s done it; those cows are going to stampede,” Gaius shouted, even as one of the lead cows burst into a clumsy gallop, knocking into her drover and sending him head over heels into the crowd.
The speaker was still haranguing the crowd, but his audience were shouting at each other now. Two or three men were crowded off their feet, and a woman screamed, and then the whole front line of cattle burst into a lumbering run. A cow bellowed, swerving, and Gaius saw red on its horn. Somebody screamed. Men, women, and a few children surged backward, yelling.
Now everyone was pushing, trying to get out of the way. Within moments the central square was a confusion of motion and sound. Mothers reached for their crying children; one of the legionaries, not accustomed to cattle, was pushed off his feet and went down howling. Gaius struggled to keep his feet and was swept away from his men.
Someone grabbed at his arm. “Here, you look strong, you must help me; the Lady will fall.” A tall, dark-haired woman in a blue robe gripped Gaius’s arm and pulled him towards the edge of the square where an old woman swathed in a blue cloak had collapsed against two women in linen dresses with wreaths of green leaves over their unbleached linen veils.
Gaius reached out cautiously and the women let their burden sag into his arms. He blinked, recognizing the Priestess who had invoked the Goddess two years before. Carefully he lifted her, amazed at the fragility of the form within the heavy robes. Most of the people had fled, but cattle were still bucketing about angrily, or drifting in twos or threes with lowered horns and switching tails, lowing defiance at anyone who tried to herd them.
Near by lay the still form of the giant who accompanied the Priestess everywhere. “What’s the matter with him?”
“Huw? Oh, he’s all right,” the older priestess said carelessly. “One of the cows gored somebody; he’s afraid of the sight of blood.”
Some bodyguard, Gaius could not help thinking. “We’ve got to get her out of the way of the cows,” he said aloud. “Where shall I carry her?”