Roma Mater (34 page)

The King wore a robe of splendour; the Key hung out in sight on his breast. He had better cut a potent figure. When he had mounted the dais before the eidolons of the Triad and, having formally opened the session and heard the invocations, gave the Hammer over to his Attendant, he was much too aware that that man was not Eppillus. Recovering himself, he nodded gravely at the eleven faces that looked up into his.

‘Well met, I trust,’ he said. ‘Though belike ’tis matters of import you would bring forth, let us strive to move them expeditiously. We all have many urgent duties, both
secular and religious. The Gallicenae should resume their cycle of Vigils, while those in the city attend not only to the Gods, but to the hurt and the bereaved among our folk. My lords, your Great Houses and those who serve them have many calls on your attention in the wake of recent events. As for myself, I must see to public business that has gone neglected, as well as re-establishing communication with our navy and with Roman officials throughout Armorica.’

Hannon Baltisi stirred his rawboned length on the bench. ‘Well may you do that last, O King,’ he growled, ‘as heavily as we’ve paid out for the benefit of Rome. Can you get us any reimbursal of the debt?’

Gratillonius had expected this. Lir Captain was devout to the point of fanaticism. In his days as a shipmaster, he said, he had often encountered the Dread of Lir. He had also seen, spreading through the Empire, a Christianity from which he awaited nothing but evil. ‘Methought we’d talked this out beforehand,’ Gratillonius replied mildly. ‘Ys dare not let barbarians lay waste the civilization which nurtures her also. We had the means to prevent it, and did, at remarkably small cost for the harvest we reaped.’

‘Nonetheless, cost! And never have I agreed that our action was necessary. While Ys remains true to Him, Lir will guard her. Why should we make enemies among tribes with which we could very profitably trade?’

‘We may do that, now that we have chastened them. I know their kind; they respect naught but strength.’ Gratillonius drew breath. ‘If we are to discuss policy, we should have summoned the whole Council of Suffetes.’

‘Nay,’ rumbled Soren. ‘That’s for later; and in honesty I must say I think you, lord King, are more nearly right. But you are wrong in other ways. You have forgotten the primal charge laid upon the King of Ys.’

Gratillonius nodded. ‘He is the high priest and in a
sense the Incarnation of Taranis. Aye. But you know that
this
King is also your prefect.’

‘And he is no Colconor!’ Dahilis cried. Glances turned to her. She reddened, touched her lips, then squared shoulders and gave back a defiant stare.

Gratillonius smiled. Thank you, my dear,’ he said. ‘Let me remind this honourable assembly, ’twas understood when first I mounted your throne that I’d have much on my hands, things too long ignored that must be set aright, new things for which there is an aching need. ’Twas with your consent that I devoted myself to them. What’s happened since shows that you were wise to go along with me.’

‘That’s past,’ Soren declared. ‘The time has come when you should in earnest assume your sacral duties.’

‘Gladly will I, insofar as Mithras allows.’

Teeth flashed in Soren’s beard. His burly form hunched forward. ‘Then why do you refuse to lead the thanksgiving sacrifice today?’

‘I explained that to the priest who asked me yester-even.’ That had been one of those Suffete men who, otherwise occupied with their own everyday affairs, were initiated into certain mysteries and therefore authorized to conduct the rites of Taranis. The Speaker was among them, but tradition decreed that once he had taken that office he no longer acted as a flamen.

‘He should have approached me earlier,’ Gratillonius reproved. ‘Then I would not have committed myself to be elsewhere at the time set. ’Tis a holy commitment which I cannot break, just as it appears the hour for your ceremony is now unchangeable. Well, my presence is not absolutely required. Choose a priest to take my place. As for me, surely the God will think Himself best served by a man who has first honoured the claims of manhood.’

‘And what, pray, mean you by that?’

Here comes the crisis, Gratillonius thought. Beneath his robe he tautened himself like a soldier before battle. He kept his voice calm: You may have noticed that Quintus Junius Eppillus, my deputy, is not here. He fell in defending Ys. As do I, he worshipped Mithras. This day he shall have the burial he deserves.’

Soren scowled. The necropolis was closed lifetimes ago.’

‘He should not lie there in any case, nor be cast to the eels. Such is not the way of Mithras. I’ll leave him on Point Vanis, looking towards the Britannia to which he longed home, but forever guarding this land.’

A gasp went among the Gallicenae, save for Dahilis, who had already been told, and Bodilis, who was clearly perturbed. ‘Nay!’ shrilled Vindilis. ‘Forbidden!’

‘It is not,’ Gratillonius retorted. ‘That’s grazing commons. A headstone will do no harm. Rather, ‘twill recall his bravery on behalf of Ys.’

Hannon bit off word after word: ‘It seems my lord King is misinformed. The necropolis was not closed merely because ’twas encroaching on land needed by the living. ’Twas draining down into the sea. Why think you we haul away our sewage from pits, ‘stead of letting cloacas open in the bay? Corruption of His waters is a mockery of Lir. Men at sea must beg His pardon ere they relieve themselves. Let Ocean have clean ashes of a fallen King; let His fish otherwise have clean, undecayed flesh.’

‘One grave high on a foreland will not –’

‘The precedent!’ Lanarvilis interrupted.

Quinipilis raised her staff and suggested, ‘Could you not lay your friend to rest inland, Gratillonius? I’m sure almost any landowner would allow, aye, believe ’twas lucky and pay honours ever afterwards to the dead man.’

That was the sticking point, precisely because it was reasonable. Gratillonius had picked the gravesite on
impulse, out of sentiment, a wish to give good old Eppillus some small compensation for the farm he would never return to. Only later, when he explained to Dahilis why the priest had left with such a scandalized expression, did she remind him of the prohibition. He had quite forgotten it until then.

Now he could not compromise. His authority had been challenged at its foundation; if he failed to maintain it, he would soon fail as the prefect of Rome.

‘I fear that would be to break a vow I made before my God,’ he stated. ‘Moreover, with due respect, ‘twould be wrong if Eppillus – the memory of Eppillus – became a yokel godling. His soul has earned more. Nay, he shall lie in earth which his blood has hallowed. It will not be a precedent. I will proclaim that this memorial is unique, revering every man who ever gave his life for Ys.’

He folded his arms just beneath the Key. ‘This is my will,’ he told them most quietly. ‘Bethink you, my ladies and lords.’ He made no least gesture at the motionless iron rank of his men.

Not much further was said. Hannon himself had no more desire for a confrontation than did Gratillonius. One by one, the gathering mumbled assent.

Still, success was exhilarating, giddying. Gratillonius wanted to make them happy too, make them again his well-wishers. He raised his palms. ‘Let me give you the glad tidings,’ he said. ‘Queen Dahilis is with child.’

A murmur, not: really surprised, went among the women. Bodilis and Quinipilis, at her sides, embraced her.

Goodwill rushed over Gratillonius. Let bygones be bygones. If Colconor had been wronged, the swine wasn’t worth avenging. Certainly that incident should no longer encumber the King in his politics and his daily relationships.

‘Hear more, O Sisters of hers,’ Gratillonius continued. ‘’Tis true I’ve perforce postponed many of my tasks; but as her time approaches and she is hampered, why, we shall all get to know each other better.’

Vindilis flushed as if struck. Fennalis sneered. Quinipilis frowned and shook her head slightly. Bodilis bit her lip. Lanarvilis and Forsquilis stiffened. Maldunilis and Innilis seemed to accept, and Dahilis was radiant – she had felt so guilty about having him to herself when he was with any woman whatsoever – but he realized in some dismay that somehow he had said the wrong thing, and it could not very well be unsaid.

3

Sunset cast scarlet and gold over the half of heaven that reached above Ocean. Water glimmered and glowed beneath the cliffs. Sounds of surf came muted. A breeze ruffled the grass on Point Vanis. It came from the north, cooling the day’s warmth, bearing a smell of salt and maybe, maybe, of fields in Britannia.

Six legionaries bore the freshly made coffin of Eppillus to the grave that had been dug and lowered it down. Then they saluted, wheeled, and marched back to the city in formation. As Christians, they could give no more honours to their officer. Four stayed behind: Gratillonius, Maclavius, and Verica, the Mithraists in their vexillation, together with Cynan, who had offered his help. Funerals were not forbidden to noninitiates; after all, wives, daughters, mothers, young sons, companions had farewells to make.

Not before had the believers held a service. That might have been disruptive, on the march and during the settling
in and the preparations for war. They had contented themselves with private prayers. This evening they stood together in the presence of eternity.

The three rankers took the spades they had carried and filled the hole. At first clods fell on wood with a sound like footfalls; afterwards the noise was muffled, until the low mound had been patted down to await wildflowers. A headstone would come later. Gratillonius had not yet decided what the epitaph should be. Name, position, unit, of course – and, perhaps, the old Roman ‘STTL …
Sit tibi terra levis –
May the earth lie light upon you.’

Meanwhile he spoke the sacred words. Holding the grade of Persian within the faith, he could do that, though best would have been if Eppillus could have had his valediction from a Father. ‘ – Since this man our comrade has fared from among us –’

The soul was surely bound for Paradise. How long its trek would be, no mortal could tell. Eppillus had talked of feasting with Mithras; the God must set a grand table! But seven gates stood on the road to the stars, each guarded by an angel who would only let the soul pass when it had undergone a further purification. To the Moon it would leave its vitality, to Mercurius its voracity, to Venus its carnality, to the Sun its intellectuality, to Mars its militancy, to Jupiter its pride, to Saturnus the last of its selfhood; thus would it attain the eighth heaven and the Light, to be forever One with Ahura-Mazda. Gratillonius found the thought of Eppillus trudging on that pilgrimage peculiarly lonely.

But farewell, farewell.

Colours died in the sky. It shaded from silvery in the west to royal blue in the east. The earliest stars trembled forth.

‘Let us go back,’ said Gratillonius.

Cynan plucked at his sleeve. ‘Sir,’ he murmured, ‘may I have a word with you, apart?’

Surprised, the centurion looked into the sombre young visage a heartbeat or two before he nodded. They went off to the trailhead above the cliff, up which the enemy had stormed. Peace breathed around them.

‘What do you want, Cynan?’ Gratillonius asked.

The Demetan stared outward. His hands wrestled each other. ‘Sir,’ he forced from himself, ‘would it be … possible … for me … to join in your rites … hereafter?’

‘What? But you’re a Christian.’

‘It means nothing to me,’ Cynan said hurriedly. ‘The centurion knows that. Else why would I be here? I offered to my tribal Gods, they seemed more real, but – I always wondered, and then the other day –’ His tongue faltered.

‘What happened?’ Gratillonius prompted.

‘You know!’ Cynan exclaimed. ‘That ghastly giantess who entered the battle.’

A prickling went through Gratillonius’s skin. ‘What? Did you too have that, that delusion?’

‘Not me alone. I’ve talked with others.’

‘Well,’ said Gratillonius carefully, ‘I suppose the Scoti may by some kind of magic have called in some kind of creature to help them at the last. Little good did it do them.’

Cynan clenched his fists and twisted about to face his leader. ‘Sir, that isn’t it! I’m not afraid of Halfworld beings. But I saw … I saw an old, animal horror, and it lives inside me, inside everybody, and … and nothing can keep it from us but a God Who is not mad. Will you teach me about yours?’

Gratillonius forgot military discipline and hugged him.

Stepping back, his wits restored, the centurion said, ‘You’ll certainly be welcome to worship with us if you’ll
accept the discipline. But just as a postulant, a Raven. If you do well, I have the power to raise you to an Occult. No more. Initiation into the true Mystery needs a Father.’

‘Someday I’ll find one,’ Cynan replied ardently.

It burst upon Gratillonius like sunlight through clouds: Why not?

Votaries of Mithras were scattered through the Empire, their congregations isolated, often persecuted. There must be some in the cities and barracks of Armorica, not to speak of Britannia and the rest of Gallia. In Ys they could find tolerance, the Brotherhood free and open. Not that they could settle here as a general thing, but they could come for prayer, elevation, heartening upon earth, strength for the wayfaring afterwards. Moreover, most being soldiers, such ties with them would help him draw together a defensive webwork for the whole province.

He could not found or lead a Mithraeum. That required a Father. But he could cherish the dream and work for its attainment.

4

With the round of the Vigils broken, Bodilis volunteered to be the first who started afresh. The order of rotation was not important. What mattered was to have a Sister on Sena – always, apart from special circumstances – in communion with Our Lady of the Sea and the souls whom She had taken unto Herself.

Bodilis thought she might be the best of the Nine to go forth after the gale, simply because of having both strength of body and an orientation towards natural philosophy: for she did not expect that the cycle could in fact be immediately resumed. She proved right.