"So the Germans are ready to surrender, are they?" Cerialis prompted.
"I beg the general's pardon if we gave the wrong impression. We are not masters of the Latin language."
Cerialis thumped the table. "I told you, stop pussyfooting or get out! You're royal at home, descended from Mercury. Got to be, the way you bear yourself. And I'm the emperor's kinsman, but he and I are plain soldiers who've pulled heavy duty. We two can be blunt with each other, here while we're alone."
Everard ventured a grin. "As you wish, sir. I daresay you did not really misunderstand us. Then why don't you come to the point? The chieftains who sent me do not propose to go under the yoke or chained in a triumph. But they'd like an end to this war."
"What gall have they got, to demand terms? What have they left to fight with? We hardly even see a hostile any more. Civilis's last attempt worth mentioning was a naval demonstration in fall. I wasn't worried, I was astonished that he bothered. Nothing came of it and he withdrew across the Rhine. Since then we've ravaged his homeland."
"I've seen, including the fact that you spared his properties."
Cerialis fired off a laugh. "Of course. Drive a wedge between him and the rest. Make 'em wonder why they should bleed and die for his benefit. I know they're pretty well fed up. You came on behalf of a clutch of tribal chiefs, not him."
That's true, and you're shrewd, mister. "Communication is slow. Besides, we Germans are used to acting independently. It does not mean that they sent me to betray him."
Cerialis swallowed from his cup, slammed it down, and said, "All right, let's hear. What am I offered?"
"Peace, I told you," Everard declared. "Can you afford to refuse? You're in as much trouble as they are. You claim you don't see enemy fighters any more. That's because you aren't advancing any farther. You're bogged down in a land picked bare, every road a quagmire, your troops cold, wet, hungry, sickening, miserable. Your supply problems are hideous, and it won't get better till the state has recovered from the civil war, which will take longer than you can wait." I wish I could quote that great line of Steinbeck's, about the flies having conquered the flypaper. "Meanwhile Burhmund, Civilis, is recruiting in Germany. You could lose, Cerialis, the way Varus lost in the Teutoburg Forest, with the same long-range consequences. Better come to terms while you've got the chance. There, was that plain-spoken enough?"
The Roman had flushed and knotted his hands. "It was insolent. We'll not reward rebellion. We cannot."
Everard softened his tone. "It seems to . . . those whose mouth I'm being . . . that you've punished it adequately. If the Batavi and their allies return to their allegiance and to quietness beyond the river, haven't you reached your objective? What they ask in exchange is no more than they owe to their people to get. No decimation, no enslavements, no captives for the triumph or the arena. Instead, amnesty for all, including Civilis. Restoration of tribal lands, where these are occupied. Correction of the abuses that brought the revolt on in the first place. This means, mostly, reasonable tribute, local autonomy, access to trade, and an end to conscription. Given that, you'll once again get as many volunteers enlisting as Rome can use."
"That's no small set of demands," Cerialis said. "It goes beyond my authority."
Ah, he's willing to consider it. A thrill coursed through Everard. He leaned forward. "General, you're of Vespasian's house, Vespasian for whom Civilis fought too. The emperor will listen to you. Everybody says he's a hardheaded man who's interested in making things work, not in hollow glory. The Senate will . . . listen to the emperor. You can bring this treaty about, general, if you want to, if you'll make the effort. You can be remembered not as a Varus but as a Germanicus."
Cerialis peered slit-eyed across the table. "You talk almighty knowing for a barbarian," he said.
"I've been around, sir," Everard answered.
Oh, I have, I have, around the whole globe, up and down the centuries. Most recently at the wellspring of your sorest woes, Cerialis.
How long ago it already felt, that idyll on Öland, no, on the Eyn. Twenty-five years past by the calendar. Hlavagast and Viduhada and most of those who had been so hospitable were likeliest dead by now, bones in the earth and names on tongues wearing down toward oblivion. Gone with them were the pain and puzzlement left behind by children whom strangeness had called away. But for Everard it was scarcely a month since he and Floris bade farewell to Laikian. Man and wife, wanderers from the far South who had gotten passage over the sea for themselves and their horses, and would like to pitch their tent for a while close to this friendly thorp. . . . It was extraordinary, therefore enchanting; it caused people to talk more freely than ever before in their lives; but there were also the hours alone, in the tent or out on the summery heath. . . . Afterward the Patrol agents got floggingly busy.
"And I have my connections," Everard said.
The histories, the data files, the great coordinating computers, the experts of the Time Patrol. The knowledge that this is the proper configuration of a plenum that has powerful negative feedback. We've identified the random factor that could bring on an avalanching change; what we must do is damp it.
"Hm," Cerialis said. "I'll want a fuller account." He cleared his throat. "Later. Today we'll stick to business. I do want my men out of the mud."
I find that I kind of like this guy. In many ways he reminds me of George Patton. Yes, we can dicker.
Cerialis weighed his words. "Tell your lordlings this, and have them pass it on to Civilis. I see one big stumbling block. You speak of the Germans beyond the Rhine. I can't concede what he wants and pull the legions out while they are faunching for somebody to whistle them up all over again."
"He would not, I assure you," Everard said. "Under the conditions proposed, he'd have won what he was fighting for, or at least a decent compromise. Who else might start a new war?"
Cerialis's mouth tightened. "Veleda."
"The sibyl among the Bructeri?"
"The witch. D'you know, I've thought about a strike into that country just to seize her. But she'd vanish into the woods."
"And if you did somehow succeed, it'd be like snatching a hornets' nest."
Cerialis nodded. "Every crazy tribesman from the Rhine to the Suebian Sea up in arms." He meant the Baltic, and he was right. "But it might well be worse, for my grandchildren if not me, to let her go on spewing her venom amongst them." He sighed. "Except for that, the furor could die down. But as is—"
"I think," said Everard weightily, "if Civilis and his allies are promised honorable terms, I think we can get her to call for peace." Cerialis goggled. "You mean that?"
"Try it," Everard said. "Negotiate with her as well as with the male leaders. I can carry word between you."
Cerialis shook his head. "We couldn't leave her running loose. Too dangerous. We'd have to keep an eye on her."
"But not a hand."
Cerialis blinked, then chuckled. "Ha! I see what you mean. You've got a gift of gab, Everardus. True, if ever we arrested her or anything like that, we'd likely get a whole new rebellion. But what if she provoked it? How can we know she'll behave herself?"
"She will, once she's reconciled with Rome."
"What's that worth? I know barbarians. Flighty as geese." Evidently it didn't occur to the general that he might offend the emissary, unless he didn't care. "From what I've gathered, that's a war goddess she serves. What if Veleda takes it into her head that this Bellona's hollering for blood once more? We could have another Boadicea on our hands."
A sore point with you, huh? Everard sipped of his wine. The sweetness glowed down his throat, invoking summers and southlands against the weather that ramped outside. "Give it a try," he said. "What can you lose by exchanging messages with her? I think a settlement that everybody can live with is possible."
Whether in superstition or in metaphor, Cerialis replied, surprisingly quietly, "That will depend on the goddess, won't it?"
17
The early sunset smoldered abov
e the forest. Boughs were like black bones athwart it. Puddles in field and paddock glowed dull red with it beneath a greenish sky as cold as the wind that eddied whimpering across them. A flight of crows passed. Their hoarse cries sounded for a while after the dusk had swallowed them up.
A hind carrying hay between stack and house shivered, not only because of the weather, when he saw Wael-Edh go by. She was not unkindly, in her stark way, but she was in league with the Powers, and now she walked from the halidom. What there had she heard and said? For months no man had fared hither to speak with her, as often erstwhile. By day she paced her grounds or sat under a tree and brooded, alone. It was surely at her own behest—but why? This was a grim time, even for the Bructeri. Too many of their men had come home from Batavian or Frisian lands with tales of mishap or woe, or had not come home at all. Could the gods be turning from their spaewife? The hind muttered a luck-spell and hastened his steps.
Her tower loomed dark ahead of the woman. The warrior on watch dipped his spear to her. She nodded and opened the door. In the room beyond, a pair of thralls sat cross-legged at a low hearthfire, palms held close. Smoke drifted around bitter until it found its outlet. Their breath mingled with it, wan in the light of two lamps. They scrambled to their feet. "Does my lady want food or drink?" the man asked.
Wael-Edh shook her head. "I will sleep," she answered.
"We will guard your dreaming well," the girl said. It was needless, nobody save Heidhin would dare climb the ladder unbidden, but she was new here. She gave her mistress one of the lamps and Wael-Edh went up.
A ghost of daylight lingered in a window covered with thin-scraped gut, and the flame burned yellow. Nonetheless the loft-room was already heavy with gloom, wherein her things crouched like trolls underground. Not yet wishing for her shut-bed, she put the lamp on a shelf and sat down on her high three-legged witch-seat, cloak drawn tight. Her gaze sought the shifty shadows.
Air whuffed in her face. The floor groaned beneath a sudden heavy weight. Edh leaped back. The stool clattered to the boards. She gasped.
Soft radiance flowed out of a ball atop the horns of the thing that stood before her. Two saddles were on its back, it was the bull of Frae, cast in iron, and on it rode the goddess who had claimed it from him.
"Niaerdh, oh, Niaerdh—"
Janne Floris got off the timecycle and stood as stately as might be. Last time, caught unawares, she had been garbed like any Germanic woman of the Iron Age. It hadn't mattered then, but no doubt memory made her more impressive, and for this visit she had outfitted herself with care. Her gown draped lustrous white, jewels glinted in the belt, a silver pectoral had the pattern of a fishnet, and her hair hung in twin amber-hued braids below a diadem.
"Fear not," she said. The tongue she used was the dialect of Edh's girlhood. "Speak low. I have returned to you as I promised."
Edh straightened, pressed hands to breasts, swallowed once or twice. Her eyes stood huge in the thin, strong-boned countenance. The hood had fallen back and light picked out the gray that was stealing across her head. For a few seconds she only breathed. Then, amazingly fast, a sort of calm flowed into her, an acceptance more stoic than exalted but altogether willing.
"Ever I knew you would," she said. "I am ready to go." A whisper: "How very ready."
"Go?" asked Floris.
"Down hell-road. You will bring me to darkness and peace." Anxiety fluttered. "Will you not?"
Floris tautened. "Ach, what I want of you is harder than death."
Edh was silent a little before she replied, "As you will. I am no stranger to pain."
"I would not hurt you!" Floris blurted. She regained due gravity. "You have served me for long years."
Edh nodded. "Since you gave me back my life."
Floris could not stifle a sigh. "A life lamed and twisted, I fear."
Emotion quickened. "You did not save me for nothing, I know. It was for all the others, wasn't it? All the women ravished, men slain, children bereft, free folk laid in bonds. I was to call their avenging down upon Rome. Was I not?"
"You are no longer sure?"
Tears glinted on lashes. "If I was wrong, Niaerdh, why did you let me go on?"
"You were not wrong. But child, hearken." Floris held out her hands. Like a small girl in truth, Edh took them. Hers were cold and faintly atremble. Floris drew breath. The majestic words rolled forth.
"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace."
Awe looked at her. "I hear you, goddess."
"It is olden wisdom, Edh. Hear onward. You have wrought well, you have sown for me as I would have you. But your work is not yet done. Now gather in the harvest."
"How?"
"Thanks to the will that you aroused in them, the westfolk have fought for their rights, until at last the Romans would fain yield them back what was robbed. But they, the Romans, still fear Veleda. As long as you might cry again for their downfall, they dare not withdraw their hosts. It is time that you, in my name, call for peace."
Rapture blazed. "They will go away then? We shall be rid of them?"
"No. They will take their tribute and have their warders among the tribes as erstwhile." In haste: "But they will be righteous; and dwellers on this side of the Rhine will also gain by the trade and the lawfulness."
Edh blinked, shook her head violently, crooked fingers into claws at her sides. "No real freedom? No revenge? Goddess, I cannot—"
"This is my will," Floris commanded. "Obey." Once more she gentled her voice. "And for you, child, there shall be reward, a new home, a place of calm and comfort, where you shall tend my shrine, that will henceforward be the halidom of peace."
"No," Edh stammered. "You, you must be aware—I have sworn—"
"Tell me!" Floris exclaimed. After an instant: "I . . . wish you to make yourself clear to yourself."
The shaking, straining figure before her gained back its balance. Edh had long coped with menaces and horrors. She could overcome bewilderment. Briefly, she sounded almost wistful. "I wonder if I ever have been. . . ." She stiffened herself. "Heidhin and I, he got me to swear I would never make peace while he lives and Romans remain in German lands. We mingled our blood in the grove before the gods. Were you elsewhere?"
Floris scowled. "He had no right."
"He—invoked the Anses—"
Floris donned haughtiness. "I will deal with the Anses. You are free of that oath."
"Heidhin would never—He has been faithful through all these years," Edh faltered. "Would you have me cast him out like a dog? For he will never end war against the Romans, whatever other men or you gods yourselves may do."
"Tell him I gave you my bidding."
"I know not, I know not!" ripped from Edh's throat. She sank to the floor and buried her face on the knees she hugged. Her shoulders quivered.
Floris glanced aloft. Roof beams and rafters were lost in blackness. Light had left the window and cold crept inward. The wind hooted.
"We have a crisis, I fear," she subvocalized. "Loyalty is the highest morality these people know. I'm not certain Edh can bring herself to break that pledge. Or if she does, she may be shattered."
"Which'd leave her incapable," sounded Everard's English in her head, "and we've got to have her authority to make this deal work. Besides, poor tortured woman—"
"We must make Heidhin release her from the vow. I hope he will heed me. Where is he?"
"I was just che
cking on that. He's at home." They had bugged it some time ago. "M-m, it happens Burhmund is with him, riding circuit among the trans-Rhine chiefs, you know. I'll find another day for you to approach him."
"No, wait. This may be a stroke of luck." Or the world lines tightening as they seek to regain their proper configuration? "Since Burhmund is trying to rouse the tribes to a new effort—"
"We'd better not pull any epiphanies on him. No telling how he'd react."
"Of course not. I mean, I won't appear directly to him. But if he sees Heidhin the implacable suddenly converted—"
"Well . . . okay. It's dicey whatever we do, so I'll trust your judgment, Janne."
"Hsh!"
Edh looked up. Tears streaked her cheekbones, but she had fought the weeping off. "What can I do?" she asked colorlessly.
Floris moved to stand above her, bent, again offered her hands. She helped the other rise, clasped arms about her, stood thus for a minute giving what warmth her body was able. Stepping back, she said: "Yours is a clean soul, Edh. You need not betray your friend. We will go together and speak with him. Then he ought to understand."
Wonder and dread became one. "We twain?"
"Is that wise?" Everard questioned. "M-m, yeah, I suppose having her along will reinforce you."
"Love may be as strong as religion, Manse," Floris said.
To Edh: "Come, mount my steed behind me. Hold fast to my waist."
"The holy bull," Edh breathed. "Or the hell horse?"
"No," Floris said. "I told you, yours is a harder road than the way under."
18
Fire sprang and crackled in a trench down the middle of Heidhin's house. Smoke did not rise well toward the louvers, but hazed and made stinging an air that the flames hardly warmed. Their red light wrestled with darknesses among the pillars and beams. It wavered across the men on the benches and the women who brought them drink. Most sat wordless. Although Heidhin's home was as grand as many a royal hall, it had commonly known less mirth than a crofter's hut. This eventide there was none. Outside, wind shrilled through a deepening dusk.
Time Patrol Page 51