“It is not that we have no money,” said Arganax, who had become chief among the Druids the previous year. “Britannia has never been more prosperous. But the Emperor Claudius in Rome seems to have forgotten us, and with the death of Victorinus, the Imperium Galliarum has concerns more pressing than collecting taxes here.”
Cigfolla laughed. “It is his mother, Victorina, who rules there now, despite those young cousins she has set up to warm the throne, and she is twice the man he was, from all I hear. Perhaps she would welcome the assistance of Avalon!”
“The princes supported us gladly when the foot of Rome was on their necks,” said Suona. “It is almost as if they feel they no longer need us—as if they can abandon the old ways of Britannia now that they are free of direct control by Rome.”
For a moment we stared at her in bemused silence. Then Ganeda cleared her throat.
“Are you proposing that we work magic to bring the emperors back again?”
Suona flushed and fell silent, but the others were babbling with speculation.
“We can decide nothing without knowing what we face,” Ganeda said finally, “and we have exausted the knowledge available by any ordinary means…”
“What are you proposing?” asked Arganax.
Ganeda looked around the circle with the exasperated frown I remembered so well from my days as her student.
“Are we Greeks, to waste our lives debating the limits of our philosophy? If our skills are worth preserving, let us use them! The Turning of Spring is almost upon us—let us make use of this balance point between the two halves of the year to invoke the Oracle!”
* * *
CHAPTER FIVE
« ^ »
AD 270
“Seekers on the ancient ways,
Seekers on the Path of Light,
Now the Night gives way to Day,
Now the Day has equalled Night…”
Singing, the line of dark-robed priestesses moved with gliding steps around the circle, matched by the Druids in their white garments marching in the opposite direction. Dark and light in perfect balance completed the circle and came to rest. Arganax stepped forwards, lifting his hands in blessing. Behind him another priest stood waiting with the gong.
The Arch-Druid was a vigorous man in his middle years, but Ganeda, who had moved out to face him, seemed ageless, empowered by the ritual. Her robe, of so dark a blue it was almost black in the lamplight, fell in straight folds to the polished stone of the floor and the moonstones in the silver ornaments of the High Priestess glowed unwinking from her breast and brow.
“Behold, the Sun rules in the House of the Ram, and the Moon rests in the arms of the Twins,” the Druid proclaimed. “The winter is past, and herbs are pushing their way towards the sunlight, birds return, proclaiming their readiness to mate, beasts emerge from their long sleep. Everywhere life arises, and ourselves with it, moved by the same tides, kindled to action by the same great energies… Keep silence, and behold the rebirth of the world, and as we are all One, behold the same great transformation within…”
I closed my eyes with the others, trembling to the vibrations of the gong that echoed from the pillars of the Great Hall of the Druids. It seemed to resonate in every atom of my being. Lost in the beauty of the moment, I forgot to feel envy that it would be Heron and not I who would be sitting on the three-legged stool and descending to the Well of Prophecy.
“Awake! Awake! Awake!” came another voice, high and clear.
“Companions of the Cosmic Light,
The hidden splendour will appear!
Greet it on high and in your hearts,
Return to life, cast off your fear!”
I opened my eyes. Four youths stood now in the corners of the hall, bearing torches. Someone had cast the first handful of herbs onto the brazier, and in their light the sweet smoke glowed as if it had ignited the air. Now I could see the images painted on the plaster of the walls—an island surrounding a harbour, great temples, a pyramidal mountain spouting flame, and other scenes from the fabled land that in one day of doom had sunk beneath the wave. Like this ritual, those tales belonged to a wisdom of which the Druids were only the inheritors.