by Marilyn Todd
'He was closing in on him and needed to stop him. Ptian knew this—'
'Wait.' Too many things had happened in too short a time. Her head pounded from overload. 'Wait. He needed to stop him?'
'Manion knows that sedition is not the answer. Unlike Ptian, he truly appreciates how immense your empire stretches, how powerful its authority, how mighty its retribution, whereas Ptian continually underestimated its strength and chose to disregard its ...'
Claudia had ceased to listen.
I've read a lot about Rome and its conquests lately. There was so much to learn, too.
'Gabali, when Manion talked about the civil wars that tore us apart, yet said how Caesar still managed to conquer much of Gaul, he wasn't suggesting Aquitania could follow suit at all, was he?'
He was telling her that he understood how powerful the Empire was.
'Here.' Orbilio wrapped his strong arm around her. 'You're shivering.'
But not with the cold, and though she tried to shake his arm off, the strength had leached from her body.
'And the fact that we annexed Egypt while still bitterly divided didn't mean Gaul could do the same,' she said dully.
Gabali's face changed from anguished to something approaching alarm as he picked up the tone of her words. 'No, Merchant Seferius, it did not.'
'I want what's best for my people, he said, and when he said victory, I thought he meant over us, but dear god, he meant victory over Ptian. Sweet Janus, Orbilio, don't you see what I've done?' She could hardly speak from teeth that wouldn't stop chattering. 'Manion was the second man I killed tonight.'
May the gods have mercy, she'd just murdered an innocent man.
Thirty
Once words are written down, they become frozen, Beth had said, and once something freezes it dies.
But like nature and the seasons, change is as inevitable as it is anticipated, and in the way that an acorn grows into an oak or a tadpole turns into a frog, so she understood that the Hundred-Handed must also change, or the order would die.
It had taken tragedy upon tragedy for her to see this, but as she sat at the birth point on the pentagram table, cradling her swollen bruised jaw, she understood that her role went beyond simply overseeing the propitious start of new years and new lives. It was to encourage the birth of new ideas.
She had been wrong to suppress the truth about Clytie. The pentagram priestesses had known almost from the start that she had killed herself on that rock. The heavy-handed, almost clownish cosmetics on her face smacked of a child's handiwork, and the arrangement of her body revealed an innocence which no copycat killer would have thought of. She had immediately instituted a search and found a stick in which Clytie had notched her reasons for killing herself, a stick so thin that it had blown into the bushes in the wind. But a stick nonetheless. And for their sins, the pentagram covered it up.
They agreed that by keeping it quiet, the tragedy would blow over, and agreed with the Death Priestess that no blame should be attached to the three little conspirators for moving her body.
The pentagram priestesses were wrong.
We are all of us accountable for our actions, Beth thought, even a twelve-year-old child, and it matters not a jot whether
that decision is wrong or it's right, that decision is not ours. It was Clytie's. She should at least have told Gabali the truth when he came searching for answers, but she remembered the fierce love he'd held for Mavor and the passion she'd shared with him, and equally the passion of unrequited love that beat in the heart of Fearn. Better, the pentagram priestesses agreed, that Gabali was fobbed off and the quicker Mavor would get over him. Once again, they miscalculated.
Gabali's instincts as a father would not let it go. His capacity to love was too strong.
Whereas Beth's own instincts had failed her on every level ...
She had listened to Fearn - who abused her authority as one of the pentagram in an effort to split Gabali from Mavor, even at the expense of the death of her own child - without delving deeper into Fearn's reasons.
She'd allowed herself to be swayed by Ailm, who single-handedly insisted that Vanessia, Aridella and Lin should not be punished, instead of asking herself why Ailm, who systematically refused to cast a deciding vote, should fight so vehemently on this one particular issue.
Then there was the notched stick, which she found by her bed. Labelling her a cheat and a liar, it insinuated that she'd manipulated the previous Head of the College when she was dying in order to gain her promotion. Beth knew there was only one person who would think such a thing, but instead of confronting Ailm or enquiring whether she'd sent similar poison to others, she'd shrugged it off. Kind or spiteful, all words are simply breath, she had argued, and breath is gone with the wind.
So many mistakes, she reflected, balling her hands into fists. So many mistakes when she'd defied her own instincts to listen to others, believing their hearts were pure when they were not, and even her instincts as a mother had failed her. She closed her eyes. How little she imagined twenty-seven years ago, when she begged that Ptian be sold to family close by that she might keep an eye on him as he grew up, the poison that would brew in his heart. Stories filtered back of bullying other children and tormenting cats, but this was a phase, she convinced herself. He'd grow out of it. Instead
he moved to wife-beating, child abuse, drunkenness and worse, but rather than face the fact that Ptian was violent by nature, she used her influence to tip the balance in being shunned by his people. Isolation would teach him humility and contrition, she thought. Instead, he was on the verge of unleashing unimaginable horrors.
But. She sighed. Ptian was dead and his corroded soul fed to the dragon.
Now what?
Placing her hands flat on the table, Beth opened her eyes and stared not at Luisa and Dora, but at the two empty chairs either side of her. It had taken the very brink of slaughter and bloodshed for her to come to her senses. Crisis had cleared her mind.
She regretted it had taken Clytie's suicide, Sarra's murder and the death of her own son before she finally understood what she'd been born for. To lead. To lead the HundredHanded not through the daily routines and the seasons, but the changes life itself brings.
Instate a fairer ballot, Ailm had snapped when asked to cast the deciding vote on the issue of witchcraft.
Fair? With the shocking events in the past twenty-four hours, Beth no longer understood the meaning of fair. But she did understand that, instead of casting three votes at the pentagram, she needed to change the law. From now on the Head of the College would still guide the proceedings, but hers would be the final vote. Hers and hers alone.
So even though Oak and Rowan were in favour of expelling Yew from the Hundred-Handed, when they felt Gorse should keep her place, Beth used her powers for the first time.
'Fearn had allowed personal issues to dictate College matters,' she argued. 'Such an abuse could not be tolerated. And the three girls must be punished for the sin they'd committed.'
Yes, of course, they were scared, but they were scared for themselves not for Clytie, who had killed herself on the stone where they played. Worse, they gave no thought to the consequences of someone else having the shock of finding her body, much less the potential ravages of animals or the fear that would be unleashed at the prospect of a vicious killer
on the loose. Children or not, rightly or wrongly, fair or unjust, those girls bore as much culpability as Ailm in the matter of Clytie's suicide.
We must show strength by believing in ourselves and standing by our convictions, Beth had told Claudia down in the cavern.
Whatever the cost?
How well she remembered the lead in her heart as she finally gave her reply. Yes, she had said. Whatever the cost.
And now she understood that, whether written or spoken, words don't freeze and die. They burn in the memory for eternity, and let the Druids keep up their symbols of notches on wood. The keys of wisdom, as they were called. The sun was setting
on the day of the Druids, and whether the Hundred-Handed would survive for another three centuries or just another three years, so long as people continued to flock to them for spiritual guidance, that guidance would continue to be in line with nature.
And thus change.
'Step forward, Mavor,' she called aloud.
Two initiates would take the vacant places at the table tomorrow, but right now, this was business that could not wait. The door to the Voting Hall opened with a slight creak, and candlelight bounced off her wild auburn curls.
'There are those among us who are pushing for marriage among our order,' Beth said. 'But I cannot allow this in our College.'
'Hear, hear,' Dora boomed.
'However.' Beth took care to look only at Mavor. 'We know you have been meeting Gabali, when you are well aware that he was forbidden from entering our sacred grounds. We know that he asked you to hide the rope that would help the victim escape from the Pit of Reflection, even though you were not happy to do so. We know, moreover, that he asked you to hide it in Swarbric's hut, where you and he have been conducting your illegal assignations. And—'
She glanced at the space where Fearn should have been sitting. Love, she thought sadly. Love had so much to answer for ...
'- and we know that you are pregnant.'
Mavor went white. 'How?'
'My dear, we have all had children,' Dora said gently. 'The signs are as plain as the clouds in the sky.'
'You do understand that Gabali must leave and that if he sets foot on this land again, he will be thrown into the Pit?'
'Which this time will be guarded,' Luisa added.
'However,' Beth said, before Mavor could speak, 'the Hundred-Handed have decided' - her smile was thin - 'if any of our order is not happy and wishes to leave, she is free to do so.'
Left unchecked, change could gallop out of control. Her job was to hold the reins and see that it advanced one pace at a time.
'These are the rules laid down by the pentagram: that any among us, priestess or initiate, may leave on condition she swears an oath never to speak of this College again, and on the strict understanding that she can never come back.'
For a beat of three only emotion pulsed between them, then Beth cleared her throat.
'Do you stay or do you go?'
Tears flowed down Mavor's cheeks and her shoulders heaved. 'Beth, I love this place with all my heart, you know that, and I love the work that I do, but it is not enough.'
'With Gabali do you think it will be enough?'
'I don't know, but I'm willing to try, and perhaps with a child ...' Her words trailed off. 'Thank you, thank you all so very much - oh, but what about Swarbric? Please don't punish him for my sins, I beg you.'
'We will not,' Dora said crisply. 'We have graver issues to discuss with that young man. Kindly send him in as you leave.'
Still handsome, still confident, despite the mop of sodden grey hair and dripping pantaloons, Swarbric swaggered into the hall, his thumb hooked in his belt adjacent to the empty scabbard where his dagger should have been. Disarmed, but never disarming, Beth thought.
'Ladies.'
He bowed low.
Beth wasted no time.
'Swarbric, forgetting for a moment your complicity in an affair between a priestess and a male who was forbidden to set foot on our sacred ground again, you forsook your trust as Guardian of the Sacred Gate.'
She paused, but he made no attempt to apologize or explain.
'And even though it was to save two foolish lovers who didn't need saving and that, having found the fishing boat tied up next to a hut in which Pod was recovering from a fever, you returned to your post of your own free will, the pentagram is still of the opinion that we should strip you of your special privileges. How do you answer?'
There was a twinkle in his eye as he flashed his famous disarming grin.
'Ladies,' he breathed, advancing towards the table, 'I think you should just strip me and see what happens next.'
Despite themselves, the pentagram burst out laughing.
'You are incorrigible, Swarbric,' Dora spluttered.
'Which of course is why we all love you,' Luisa chuckled.
It was left to Beth - naturally - to pass sentence on the deserter. Outside, thunder rolled and rain drummed on the heavy thatched roof. The storm which had been building all day was spilling its anger on Gaul. Her sigh came from the heart.
'Oh, for pity's sake, Swarbric. Get back to your post, before I find myself promoting you.'
Thirty-One
Claudia stood on the footbridge while the fury of tempest whipped up the stream, swirled the treetops around and sent branches crashing down to the earth. Down the valley, the wind howled like a mother bereaved. Like a wild beast tormented by pain. Rocks tumbled down the arrowhead like pebbles.
She thought of the men and women who'd taken shelter in the caves, making their home in the cavern and leaving their art and their handprints for posterity. She saw them snug under the skins of the bears that they worshipped, a fire keeping them warm through the cold winter nights, water keeping them clean. A safe place. A holy place. A place where the spirits of the living were locked for eternity, but not in the form of souls or ghosts. It was their energy that remained trapped in the cave, as their dynamism and drive lingered on through millennia ... And now she had tainted their memory with blood.
Not Ptian's.
If Beth's dragon existed, he was welcome to the feast. Claudia was thinking of Manion. Of the fiery young man who'd spoken up against Rome and was shunned by his tribe for stirring up trouble. In his fervour to rid his country of the oppressors, he'd seen revolt as the only solution, and when revolution needs funding and crime pays handsome dividends, he'd seen a way to liberate Gaul. Gathering together hundreds of equally disenchanted outcasts, he formed a militia and armed it with the proceeds of crime. And in doing so, realized he'd created a monster.
These things Gabali told her as they made their way back from the Pit.
That it was this revelation that made Manion study his
enemy, Rome, and see that a small bunch of warriors, no matter how zealous, could not hope to take on the might of the Empire and win. It would only end in bloodshed and heartache, with villages razed in retribution, whole tribes taken as prisoners of war, women sold into slavery, men put down the mines, any surviving militia executed for sport. Ptian had refused to listen. He decried Manion's arguments as cowardice and capitulation, citing this erosion of passion as yet another reason to rid Aquitania of its oppressors. At which point, Manion realized that here was a young buck looking to oust the herd's leader. From now on he'd need to watch his back.
But Ptian had learned well from the master. The phoenix proved as slippery as the scorpion when it came to being pinned down.
But using Gabali's acquaintance with the College, Manion exploited Ptian's misogyny by contriving for him a job in the very heart of the society he hated. He'd weighed the risks carefully, Gabali explained, knowing that Ptian's obsession might well explode in bloodshed. But it was the only way Manion could set a trap on his own terms, using himself as the bait, and he'd attached himself to Orbilio as the first step to rehabilitation. Gabali was a link to them both.
Maybe not, as Claudia first said, an innocent man. But a reformed man, who'd dedicated himself to ridding Gaul of rebels with the same passion he'd used to incite them. A man who regretted his past and wanted to make amends.
What I want is my life back.
Instead, she took it away ...
Her finger went to her mouth, to the place where Manion had wiped away the drizzle of honey, and as she felt once more the sensuousness of his touch. While in her hand, a carved scorpion burned—
'Listen, lady, if you're going to stand around in the rain, have the decency to do it out of sight of my cave. Moping depresses the patient.'
She stared down at the malevolent scowl and hoped no one would tell him what a good soul he was, it would kill him.
'Yes, how is Pod?' she asked.
Gurdo grunted. 'As far as the College is concerned, it's a fever, but ifyou think I'm going to catch pneu-bloody-monia talking about him in the rain, think again, Lofty Legs.'
Grabbing her arm, he dragged her along the path to the cave.
'Pod'll be fine.' He had to shout over the howl of the wind. 'He hardly knew Sarra, it was more puppy love, he'll get over her, given time, though between you and me, Lofty Legs, that boy had me worried. First Clytie, then Sarra.'
When he shook his head, drips flew off his ponytail, splattering Claudia's arm.
'I don't know what happened to the lad before I found him wandering the reed beds, but it was nasty, that much I can tell you. Enough to wipe his memory clean and trigger a breakdown when he found those poor cows, but - ' he shrugged - 'could have been worse, I suppose.'
So that was what put a spring in his step. Knowing Pod wasn't a killer.
'Here.' In the cave, he threw a blanket round Claudia's wet shoulders and shoved her without ceremony towards a heap of blankets piled in the corner. The blankets smelled faintly of nutmeg. 'Now say you're sorry.'
'Sorry? What for?'
'For not learning anatomy,' Manion croaked from the covers. 'That was my rib you jabbed with that blade. But not, thank the gods, my black heart.'
Thirty-Two
After the rain comes the sun, and with the sun came the heat. Steam rose from the paths like tropical jungle, birds bathed in the puddles and cows munched on grass flooded by rivers that broke their banks in the surge.
Beneath the dripping oak, Swarbric flourished his short sword as though he'd never been parted from it at a flaxenhaired trio, who squealed as they pulled out their skirts from their knicker cloths and promised never to do it again.
At the gate, Gabali lifted Mavor into his arms and threw her, laughing, into his gig.
Pod laid white roses in a glade for his true love.
Fearn broke her heart as hers drove away, and with that fat redheaded wanton as well.