Roma Mater

by Poul Anderson

  The Great Mother – no, She was a screeching Asiatic. Tonight, around him, Gratillonius felt that majesty of Belisama, to Whom belonged moon and stars.

  He swallowed. ‘Did I insult you Nine? I didn’t mean to. Dahilis said nothing.’

  ‘She wouldn’t. She’s too loving. Nevertheless I suspect she has urged you pay more heed to her Sisters.’

  ‘Well – she has – but –’

  ‘Ah, I speak of pride, of what is due, not of lust, though the flesh does have its just demands. Think back, for example. When you announced Dahilis was pregnant, and this would release you in due course to service the rest of us – Do you like being patronized?’

  ‘No! But–but–’

  She laughed softly and held his arm the tighter. ‘Dear Gratillonius. You’ve never been a man more than now when you flounder helpless. Do you imagine I’d have bothered trying to teach Colconor? Why, Hoel himself could not understand. He might have – he was not stupid – but he would not make the effort, he would not patiently listen. In you there is hope.’

  ‘I will … listen, as long as seems reasonable … and try to do what’s right,’ he said carefully, ‘but I will not humble my manhood.’

  ‘Nobody asks that of you. It’s simply that we will not humble our womanhood.’

  They went on in silence until they reached her home. There Gratillonius tipped the boy and dismissed him. Inside, servants had gone to bed, as short as the nights were now growing, but had left a pair of lamps burning in the atrium. Light fell amber upon Bodilis. She whirled about and seized him. ‘Come,’ she said huskily, ‘don’t wait, the hours are wearing away.’

  She had been good before. This time she was magnificent.

  3

  Rain came misting out of the sea, to hide the towers of Ys and make its streets twilit ravines. Dahilis and Innilis felt it on their faces, like the kisses of a thousand ghosts. They drew their cowled cloaks as tight as they were able while walking. Despite the apprehension in them, they were glad to reach the house of Quinipilis.

  The high priestess let them in herself. She had thrown a shawl over a gown often patched; wool stockings and straw slippers were on her rheumatic feet. Carelessly combed, her hair made a white lion’s mane. ‘Welcome!’ she hailed. ‘Stand not there getting wetter, come inside where ’tis halfway warm. I’ve mulled wine on the brazier, or I can brew up some tisane if you’d liefer.’ She waved them through and rocked after them. ‘Pardon my appearance. Your note asked for a private talk, so I gave the staff this day free. Ordinarily I do not meet folk until I’ve got my jowls neatly tied up against my ears.’

  ‘We, we meant not to cause you trouble,’ whispered Innilis.

  ‘Nonsense, child. You’ve given me unassailable cause to stay away from the temple and slop about here. Toss your cloaks anywhere.’ Quinipilis led the way to a room off the atrium. Like the rest of her establishment, it was somewhat garishly decorated. The furniture was battered but serviceable. ‘Be seated. At ease, as our good centurion would say. We’ve the whole day if we want, not so? – and a kettle of soup cooking. Made it myself. My cook’s no slattern, but she will put in too few leeks.’

  They sat down and, for a space, sipped mutely from their beakers. Across the rim of hers, Quinipilis squinted at the guests. When she deemed the moment ripe, she said: ‘The trouble is yours, plain to see, and a bitter grief in you. Tell me whatever you wish.’

  Twice Innilis tried to answer, and could not. She shrank back in her chair, clutched her cup, and fought against tears.

  Dahilis squeezed her hand before taking the word, low but almost steadily, looking straight into the eyes of Quinipilis: ‘’Twas my thought that we seek your counsel, you, the oldest and wisest of us. We wanted Vindilis along, but she refused – sought to keep us from going – If you find her more aloof and haughty than ever, that will be the reason.’

  ‘Age in itself brings no wisdom, dear. But I have seen a thing or two in the past. Say on.’

  ‘This is a thing that could destroy. Yet I d-dare not call it wrong. I found out by sheer chance, unless ’twas the will of the Goddess … Innilis and Vindilis are lovers.’

  Quinipilis bared what was left of her teeth in a soundless laugh. ‘Ho, is that all? I’ve known for years.’ Innilis gasped. The wine splashed from her cup and stained her lap. Quinipilis ignored that, smiled at her, and said kindly, ‘Fear not. I’m sure none else has suspected. Me, I’m curious about people. Their bodies speak more honestly than their tongues. I’ve learned a bit of the language.’

  ‘But what shall we do?’ Dahilis pleaded.

  Quinipilis shrugged. ‘Need we do aught? This cannot have been the first time in the centuries. Nine women to one man may be sacred, but ’tis not natural. Yet Ys has done rather well throughout its history. ’Tis only that its folk have inherited, from their Carthaginian forebears, an abhorrence. I believe Belisama understands.’

  She gazed afar. Her voice dropped. ‘Poor Innilis. And poor Vindilis. I was never the mother I should have been to her, my Runa, Vindilis-to-be. There was Lyria, you remember, my daughter by Wulfgar whom I’d been so fond of. Aye, ’tis fair to say I loved Wulfgar; and you cannot remember, being too young, what a bright, beautiful child Lyria was. Then Gaetulius slew Wulfgar, and on me begot Runa. Oh, I never hated the little one; she could not help having the father she had. I did my duty by Runa. But to Wulfgar’s daughter Lyria I gave my love. And then in the reign of Lugaid the Sign came upon Lyria, and she took the name Karilis, and she died in giving birth, and to this grandchild who is now Forsquilis I passed on the love I had borne for her mother …’

  She shook herself. ‘Enough. ’Twas long ago; and who can command her heart? Do your duty as a Queen. Whoever else may be in your life, provided ’tis not adulterously another man, that person is your own.’

  ‘But I hate keeping a secret like this from Gratillonius,’ Dahilis mourned. ‘It touches him so deeply, though he know it or not. And, and he is the King we prayed for. We owe him our loyalty.’

  ‘What loyalty has he shown us?’ demanded Quinipilis.

  ‘Why, why, he has been – kind and sage and strong –’ Dahilis’s cheeks burned. ‘Aye, certain things he’s neglected, but that’s my fault as much as his, and Bodilis told me she’s spoken to him and he paid close heed –’

  ‘That is well,’ said Quinipilis. ‘Mistake me not. I like him very much. I fear lest he lose the favour of the Three. Mayhap this … between you and Vindilis, dear Innilis –mayhap ’tis Their punishment of him, even though it began ere he arrived. If They do no worse, we should give thanks for mercy.’

  ‘That’s my terror too,’ Innilis forced forth. ‘That the Gods are affronted as They were by … the earlier King. When Dahilis discovered us – could that be Their sign, Their warning?’

  Quinipilis came to attention like an old hound that has caught wolf-scent in the wind. ‘Eh? What’s this? Meseems you’ve more on your minds than you’ve yet told.’

  ‘We do,’ Dahilis answered. Struggling for every word, she related how Gratillonius had held his Mithraic rite in a stream hallowed to Belisama, and afterwards been unrepentant. ‘He swore ’twas no harm; and he is so strong and clever that, that I made myself believe him – but then this next thing happened, and I cannot sleep for fright –Counsel us what to do!’

  ‘Hm. Hm.’ Quinipilis tugged her chin. This is bad, I think. He’s already defied Lir, d’you see, by burying that soldier of his on Point Vanis. And I scarce imagine Taranis is pleased that Gratillonius has dawdled about getting Him daughters on the rest of the Nine. The Gods are patient, but –’

  She rose and paced, hands clasped behind her back, though an occasional wince showed that each step cost her pain. The younger women sat dumb, their stares following her to and fro. Finally she halted, loomed above them – her tall form against the window seemed to darken the room – and said:

  ‘He is worth saving. The best hope, I swear, Ys has had in my long lifetime, or longer than that. Wu
lfgar and Hoel were good men too, but they lacked the skills of war and governance that seem to be Gratillonius’s, nor, in their day, did such storm-driven tides beat on our gate as are now rising. If he refuses to expiate his sins, we Nine must do it for him. Is that not ever the lot of woman?

  ‘How? I cannot tell. In matters like this, I’m a simpleton: too much earth in me, too little fire, air, or seawater. Let me ask of Forsquilis. Young though she be, that grandchild of mine is deep into strange things. Well do we know.’

  Dahilis and Innilis shivered.

  ‘’Twill take time, doubtless,’ Quinipilis went on. ‘Meanwhile, we’ll do what we can to make amends and fend off divine anger. First, I’d say, Gratillonius must rightfully honour and make fruitful those of the Gallicenae who are able. If he’ll not take the first step towards that, they – we –shall have to.’

  Dahilis bowed her head. ‘I’ve tried,’ she mumbled. ‘And, and Bodilis says she did reproach him, and afterwards he and she – How glad I was. He keeps telling me, though, he keeps telling me he’ll … see to the matter … when I’ve grown heavier. What else can I do?’

  Quinipilis rasped a chuckle. ‘What, need the Crone instruct the Wench? Your blood knows the answer.’ She sighed. ‘You’ve been too proud, all you lasses. You’ve concealed your hurt. Have you thought that that might have overawed him? Belike he’s unaware of this, he tells himself he only want Dahilis, with whom he’s in love. But underneath – he knows you have powers – and … every man dreads failing with a woman. Which he never will with any of you; but does he truly realize that?’

  She laid a knotted hand on the head of Innilis. ‘Seek him out,’ she urged. ‘Set fear aside. Open yourself to joy. Ah, I remember.’

  ‘I w-w-will do my best.’ The words came high and thin.

  Quinipilis stood a while looking down at Innilis. It was as if that look went past clothes and the skin beneath, to flesh which had been torn and knitted poorly, to frail ribs and narrow hips. Whatever of the restorative Touch that had once belonged to every Queen lingered in Innilis, it sufficed not for the healing of herself.

  Finally the old woman said low: ‘I was forgetting. The birth of your child by Hoel nearly killed you; and Audris is sickly and not quite right in the wits. Aye, a strong reason for you to seek where you did.’ Stooping, though the motion wrenched a groan from her, she hugged the other. Take what time you need, girl. Nerve yourself. Let others go before you. Dahilis will be your ally. And there is the Herb. If the Gods did not smite the Nine for bearing Colconor no child, why, surely they’ll condone you safeguarding your health, mayhap your very life. But when you feel ready, go to him. Never be afraid of loving him.’

  XIX

  1

  Festivals surrounded Midsummer. In part they were religious. On the Eve, bonfires blazed around the countryside after dark, while folk danced, sang, coupled in the fields, cast spells, asked welfare for kith and kine, house and harvest – across Armorica, across Europe. In Ys, day after day processions went chanting to rites at every fane of the Three. Most were parades as well, where the Great Houses, the Brotherhoods, the Guilds turned out in their best, where the marines marched smartly and, this year, the King’s legionaries outdid them. There were traditional ceremonies: the weavers presented Belisama with a brocaded robe, the horsebreeders gave Taranis a new team for His wagon, the mariners sailed forth and cut the throat of a captured seal that Lir might have the blood – the single seal that Ysans were allowed to kill throughout the year. There were other offerings to other Gods, deeds ancient, secret, and dark.

  Midsummer was likewise a season of secular celebration. It was a lucky time to get married in. It was a time for family reunions, grandiose feasts, youthful flings that elders winked at. The short, light nights were full of song, flutes, drums, dancing feet, laughter. Green boughs hung above every door. People forgave wrongs, paid debts, gave largesse to the needy. Few slept much.

  Yet Midsummer was also worldly, political. The day after solstice was among the four in the year when the Council Suffetes always met.

  Often this had been scarcely more than an observance, soon completed. Behind its strong wall and, belief went, the subtle Veil of Brennilis, Ys had been free of many things that aggrieved the earth. But nothing is for ever.

  On the dais of the basilica chamber, Gratillonius raised the Hammer and said: ‘In the name of Taranis, peace. May His protection be upon us.’

  Lanarvilis rose to say: ‘In the name of Belisama, peace. May Her blessing be upon us.’ So the Nine have chosen her for their principal speaker at this session, Gratillonius thought. Why? Because she’s a good friend of Soren Cartagi, who generally opposes my policies?

  Hannon Baltisi stood. ‘In the name of Lir, peace. May His wrath not be upon us.’ The trident butt crashed on the floor.

  Gratillonius gave Adminius the Hammer to hold. A while he stood watching the faces before him – long, narrow Suffete faces for the most part, but not altogether, certainly not on stout Soren or craggy Hannon or, except for traces, any of the Gallicenae. They returned his reconnaissance. Stillness deepened. Best get started, he thought.

  ‘Let me begin by thanking you for your patience and support in these past difficult months,’ he said. Flashing a grin: ‘Today we can talk Ysan.’ A few lips flickered upwards, not many. ‘We’ve weathered a mighty storm. The seas still run high, but I know we can reach safe harbour if we continue pulling together.’ Don’t remind them how they quibbled and bickered and sometimes came near rebellion. They never quite went over the brink. That’s what counts.

  ‘We broke the Scoti. They’ll not come again soon, if ever! We kept ourselves from embroilment in the Roman civil war, and kept Armorica out of it too, by our direct influence on our near neighbours and theirs on people farther east. For this, Magnus Maximus is grateful. I have letters from him, which some of you have read and all are welcome to. Having served under him, I can tell you that he rewards service; and he is not far now from winning his Imperium.

  ‘But we have work yet undone, we in Ys. I think the Gods have laid a destiny upon us. We have become the outer guard of civilization itself. We must not fail in our duty.’

  Hannon barely signalled for recognition before he stood up, greybearded patriarch, and snapped: ‘Aye, we know what you want, you. To keep our whole strength marshalled, however the cost may bleed us. For what? For Rome. King, ’twas I who showed you the mystery of the Key, and loth I am to clash with you – for you are at least an honest man – but why should Ys serve Rome, Christian Rome who’d forbid us to worship our Gods – and yours, Grallon, yours?’

  Adruval Tyri, Sea Lord, heaved his burly form erect. As head of the navy, and a former marine, he could say: ‘Hannon, with due respect, what you speak is walrus puckey. A grandmother of mine was Scotic, my mother was half Frankish, I’ve travelled about both trading and fighting. I know the barbarians. What d’you want? That we haul in our warships, keep none in commission save the usual coast guard, and thereby avoid offending the Saxons? I tell you, if you buy the wolf off with a lamb, next twilight he’ll be back wanting the ewe. The Gods have given us a King who understands this.’ He ran fingers through thinning red hair. ‘Heed him, for Their sake!’

  Hannon glowered and growled, ‘What do you wish in truth, lord?’

  They returned to their benches. Gratillonius cleared his throat. ‘This,’ he said. ‘We’ve a Heaven-sent opportunity. Armorica has been spared war, thanks largely to Ys. ’Twill accept our leadership, eagerly, at least until such time as the Imperial issue is decided. I’d have us work with the Roman authorities throughout the peninsula. We can help them rebuild signal towers and establish a line of beacon fires ready for ignition. We can keep our fleet on standby for them, who have almost none – for, if the Scoti are no longer a menace, the Saxons remain, and are worse. In exchange, the Romans can defend our landward frontiers.’

  Soren stirred. ‘What need have we of that?’ rumbled the Speaker for Taranis. ‘What on lan
d endangers Ys?’

  ‘The threat to Rome, if naught else,’ Gratillonius replied: ‘which is the threat to civilization, I tell you. Sirs and ladies, Ys cannot feed herself. Trade is her life. Let Rome fall, and this your city will starve.’

  Lanarvilis rose. Grace had never imbued her long body or heavy haunches; but the blonde hair lifted on high like a helmet as she said quietly: ‘I would not gainsay the King – not at once, on a single point of issue – but mothers must needs look further ahead than fathers. So I ask this assembly, although we may indeed find some cooperation expedient – ultimately, does Ys the free want to rejoin that Rome which has become a slave state? Had we not better keep our distance and trust in our Gods? Bethink you.’

  She sat down. Gratillonius swallowed hard. The worst was, he couldn’t deny to himself that her question was quite reasonable. If it had not happened that his own Mother was Rome – Clearly, his rampart for her would be years a-building. Well, a mason necessarily went brick by brick. Today he might lay two or three. He cleared his throat for a response.

  2

  In ancient times the King had stayed always at the Sacred Wood, whither the high priestesses sought by turns, and whatever men he invited. Gradually it came to be that he visited the city to preside over various ceremonies; and these visits lengthened. When Julius Caesar’s man won the crown and refused to sit yawning in the primitive House, he merely confirmed and completed what had been the case for several reigns before his. Thereafter the Kings moved freely about and inhabited a proper palace in Ys.