To the Waters and the Wild

by S C McGrath

  When Déaglán had complied, Meles extinguished the torch in his hand and with youthful exuberance joined Déaglán.

  “Over the years I have accumulated all the comforts of home here.” Meles took blankets and earthenware down from the wall and arranged them with precise care on the floor. “We can rest here and eat before continuing our journey.” Meles settled on one of the blankets as Déaglán retrieved a basket of food from the boat. Meles opened a bottle of wine suspended from the ceiling in rope netting, then the two men ate a meal of bread, cheese, and smoked fish, sharing with each other their tales of the sea.

  “If I were a man to put down roots, I believe I would settle here in Campania,” said Déaglán, as he and the old fisherman finished their meal. “No land is more idyllic.”

  “Campania’s bounty is both a blessing and a curse,” said Meles, shaking his head regretfully while he poured the last of the wine into their wooden goblets. “Life here is too easy. The land is fertile, the sea is bountiful, and the region is safe from invading barbarians. Consequently, many of Campania’s inhabitants have become self-satisfied and soft. They believe the gods have singled them out as deserving of special privilege, and so they live opulently in huge villas, thinking of themselves as highly enlightened. The men have become effete, no longer vigilant and strong protectors of their women and children. What they forget is how fickle our gods can be. The earth tremors are merely a warning, though few take heed. I fear the gods have grown tired of the decadent pleasures of Campania and will balance the scales somehow, reminding us all that we are mere mortals.”

  

  Some time later, the men climbed down into the canoe. Déaglán picked up the paddle as Meles settled comfortably in front, holding a torch in his right hand.

  “We have a considerable distance to travel as this cave meanders beneath Capreae for miles,” Meles said. “The first time I ventured forth, I was sure I would become hopelessly lost or be consumed by a fearful sea creature. My fears proved unfounded. There is but one path in this cave and it leads to a large and quiet pool inhabited by nothing more frightful than small mullet fish.” Meles said no more as Déaglán rowed the canoe slowly along the waterway, the only sound the splash and echo of water as the paddle glided through its surface.

  After more than an hour, Déaglán thought he detected some natural light ahead, the dark walls of the cave illuminated by a faint golden glow. As he paddled toward the light, he also smelled the intoxicating scent of jasmine.

  “We are almost there,” proclaimed Meles. Soon there was enough light for Meles to extinguish his torch, and as they rounded a bend in the waterway a beautiful pool lay ahead of them, soft light filtering down from a large fissure high on the cave’s wall.

  “The smell of jasmine never fails to lighten my darkest mood,” said Meles happily. “It always makes me think of this wondrous cave and the exciting times I have whenever I visit it.” Meles tied the canoe securely and pointed to the steps leading up to the fissure. “I had a difficult time climbing up before I carved these into the rock. I don’t believe I could scale the wall without them today.” Meles started up and beckoned Déaglán to follow. Even with the steps, the ascent was daunting, yet Meles scaled the sheer wall with ease, exhibiting a monkey-like agility. Déaglán shook his head in amazement as he watched the old man move. Meles was a small man, his head not even reaching Déaglán’s shoulders, and his dark, weathered skin was wrinkled and hung loosely on a slight frame. But he had lean, wiry muscles and was astonishingly strong. Déaglán waited for Meles to reach the top and then followed.

  “We must wait here until dusk,” said Meles when Déaglán joined him. Déaglán looked toward the source of the light and noted that the fissure angled upward, the passage narrowing and ending at a small opening some thirty yards away. The sun’s light filtered through a blanket of jasmine, making the pathway appear ethereal and enchanted, leading to the heavens.

  “We are very close to the emperor’s villa,” observed Déaglán.

  Meles nodded. “I see you were able to keep your bearings in spite of the cave’s twists and turns, though I suspect that long ago you guessed the source of my riches.”

  Déaglán smiled in acknowledgment.

  Meles continued. “The cave opens on the southwest perimeter of the villa, very convenient for us because the servants’ quarters, kitchens, and storerooms are located there. In the early years I braved this area of the villa during the day, enjoying the thrill. It was actually quite easy to blend in, with large numbers of servants busily coming and going, paying not the slightest attention to anyone. In more recent years, however, I decided that more discretion was advisable, especially since my object is to pilfer from the emperor’s larder and wine cellar.”

  Déaglán feigned casual interest, yet his heart was beating rapidly with anticipation. “Have you ever ventured near the emperor’s chambers and gardens?”

  “Yes, for I can rarely resist the temptation of a little spying or the promise of riches. I used to visit the formal gardens regularly, though not as often in the last few summers. The way there is perilous and often the trek proves fruitless with no conversations to overhear or prizes to steal. However, it was in the gardens where I found my most prized possession—a wonderful volume of poetry and illustrations that I cherish above all else. I must show it to you.”

  “May we visit the gardens this evening?”

  “Of course, though it is unlikely anyone will be there this early in the summer.”

  

  Just as it was becoming dark, Meles and Déaglán left the cave, both men with large linen sacks tied to their waists.

  “These are for our bounty,” Meles said, chuckling as the two men started along the passage.

  Déaglán followed Meles through the blanket of jasmine, stepping onto a rock ledge perched on the side of a steep ravine. There was a narrow path leading from the ledge that zig-zagged up the hill, looking more suitable for sure-footed goats than men. Meles motioned for silence, holding his finger to his lips, and the two men trod cautiously, careful to avoid a fatal slip or telltale noise. When they reached the top of the ravine, Meles beckoned Déaglán to follow and both men quickly scaled a wall that bordered a wide stone path leading up to the villa. Before they reached it, they left the path and stole through a dense stand of trees, emerging opposite a large building.

  “This building houses the larder and wine cellar and is where we will restock my pantry,” Meles whispered, gleeful delight radiating from him, infecting Déaglán with the same euphoria. “However, we can save our thieving for later. Let us first visit the villa’s gardens, for I sense that you are as anxious as I for some adventure.”

  Ever watchful, Meles and Déaglán weaved their way around buildings, over walls, and through copses, darting across lightened pathways and melting into the shadows. At length they came to a massive stone and mortar retaining wall that encircled the gardens, vines and honeysuckle trailing its height.

  “Now we must go straight up,” said Meles as he began to climb, grabbing the rungs of a sturdy trellis with Déaglán at his heels. At the top was a cluster of citrus trees, and the two men scrambled over the lip of the wall and crouched behind the trees, peering out onto the dimly lit garden.

  “We are in luck.” Meles pointed to the large banner that flew above the emperor’s chambers, silhouetted against the sky. “The emperor is in residence, which is most peculiar. We must redouble our caution. The emperor’s guards are everywhere.”

  The emperor’s chambers blazed with light and voices could be heard through the night air, but the garden was quiet and unoccupied. When both men were ready to give up hope of seeing the emperor or any of his guests, they heard the sound of footsteps and could just make out the figure of a woman, her gown flowing around her, as she hurried in their direction. In the dim light Déaglán could not see her face, but by her slim figure and lithe walk he judged her to be young. Her hair was loose and fell on her shoulders and dow
n her back. Déaglán was delighted—he knew there was to be a lovers’ rendezvous here in this far, dark corner of the garden.

  Soon, Déaglán heard the purposeful and heavy stride of a man approaching. As the man came closer, Déaglán repressed a sharp intake of breath, marveling at his good fortune, for he knew in an instant that it was the emperor Titus who was keeping this clandestine meeting.

  “I knew you would come,” the woman cried, her arms outstretched in greeting. Déaglán was incredulous, recognizing the voice of Longina, Domitian’s wife.

  When Titus reached her, Longina threw herself at him, pressing her body against the length of his. He grasped her upper arms and gently pushed her away, holding her momentarily at arm’s length. “Longina, what is so secret that we must meet in this lonely place? And why your tragic voice? I thought you would be pleased to escape the city for a time, especially since my praetorian Plotius is also here on Capreae.”

  “Yes, I am overjoyed to escape, but from Domitian not the city. Life with him has become intolerable. He is so cruel to me, suspicious of my every move. He denies me all pleasures, yet he is free to enjoy his perversions with prostitutes and assignations with other men’s wives. His touch makes my skin crawl. Let us not talk of Domitian but of us. Surely, you brought me here so that we could be together, away from the spying eyes of enemies.” Longina’s voice, at first shrill and petulant, took on a purring seductiveness with her last words, and she attempted to move closer to Titus.

  Titus held up one hand, stopping her advance. “Longina, you are my brother’s wife. Isn’t it enough that I shield you from his wrath and help cover up your less than discrete love affairs?”

  “You loathe him as much as I do,” cried Longina. “You constantly belittle and torment him. Do not use brotherly loyalty as an excuse for not acting on the undeniable passion between us.”

  Titus sighed. “Whatever I think of my brother, there are certain lines I will not cross. Your affair with Plotius has given me enough cause for concern. You were ill-advised to choose a lover so closely associated with me. Why do you think I invited you to Capreae? Your trysts with Plotius would very soon have been exposed. At least here you are safe from Domitian’s spies. You had best practice some discretion or Domitian will eventually rid himself of you.”

  “I do not care if he sends me away. What prize is it to be the wife of Domitian, I, the daughter of a great general!” Longina was nearly screeching now, working herself into a frenzy. “It was always you I wished to wed, you I cared for, not your worthless and despicable brother. I should be your wife!”

  Titus laughed and shook his head. “I have always known you to be ruthless and fiendishly ambitious. It is not I you yearn for but the power of the imperial throne. I must admit that while I admire your lofty ambitions, your utter lack of scruples disturbs me. If we were wed, I should always fear of being murdered in my sleep, for you cannot control or manipulate me as you do my brother.”

  “You malign me and my intentions! You only deny me tonight because your foreign mistress is here,” Longina hissed, her voice spiteful and venomous. “Berenice still has you mesmerized, doesn’t she? You meet secretly with her on Capreae, deceiving the people, making them believe you no longer see that eastern temptress they despise. If I were to share my knowledge of your continuing love affair with that Jewess, your shining image would be sorely tarnished.”

  “Longina, do not forget to whom you speak.” Titus’s voice turned hard and deadly, his menace palpable, and Longina shrank from him.

  “Please forgive me,” she beseeched, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I would never betray you. It is only that I despair of my life with your hateful brother and the dismal years ahead.” Longina grasped Titus’s arm, clinging to him.

  “Let go of me, Longina. You have tried my patience enough for one night. Go now to the arms of Plotius or sleep alone. It is of little consequence to me. I can almost pity my brother.” With that Titus turned and strode back to the villa.

  Longina called out to him, pleading for Titus to understand her sorrow. However, once he was gone and out of earshot, Longina’s crying stopped abruptly. She cursed his name and muttered, “I will make you pay for my humiliation of this night, Titus. You are no better than your brother. We will see who ultimately triumphs.”

  

  Déaglán and Meles made several more trips to Capreae over the long summer. When the sun faded below the horizon, the men raided and stalked with the skill of nocturnal predators, never once arousing any alarm. Déaglán heard little more of interest when visiting the gardens, instead finding the idle talk of the emperor’s guards more enlightening with battle victories, military expeditions, and imperial gossip figuring prominently in their conversations.

  Late in the summer, Déaglán reluctantly said farewell to his good friend Meles and traveled to Misenum, a Romhanach naval port on the northwestern tip of the Bay of Neapolis, staying there briefly before returning to Eire. Déaglán would learn some months later about the cataclysmic eruption of Mount Vesuvius. Shortly after his departure from Misenum, the mountain had rained death and destruction over Campania. He would not learn for years whether or not Meles had survived the conflagration. It seemed the grizzled old fisherman’s prophecy had played out in horrifying detail.

  

  CHAPTER fifteen

  

  eelin rode up to Nuala’s cottage with the sun still high. After a fortnight of dark, stormy weather, blue sky joined scattered clouds. Keelin had recovered quickly from the blow to her head, but she and Brian had all but abandoned any hope of discovering the whereabouts of the spy. He had simply vanished. Brian had continued to scout the forest and surrounding countryside until the storms and heavy rain made tracking impossible. Nor had they identified the young woman who had visited the spy that night. If he had indeed given her the perfume, she had thus far not betrayed herself by wearing it. In truth, Keelin had little time to ponder any of this. Nuala still had not returned from Tara, and the care of the sick and injured fell solely on her shoulders. Deirdre, ever perceptive, had recently declared that she had little left to teach Keelin and suggested they meet only in the afternoons at Nuala’s cottage.

  Jumping down from Bran’s back, Keelin removed his bridle and patted him on the rump. “Now go and enjoy the grass I saw you eyeing so longingly in the upper pasture.” Bran turned, and with decided alacrity, trotted back down the hill. Keelin watched him for only a moment, then walked toward the cottage.

  “Deirdre,” called Keelin as she opened the door and stepped inside. Usually the young priestess greeted her before she even had time to open the door. Strange, thought Keelin, when both the cottage and the apothecary proved empty. She walked to the small barn where Nuala kept chickens and an old milk cow and peered inside.

  From behind her a stern voice sounded, “Deirdre is not here.”

  Keelin jumped noticeably and turned to see Nuala standing there.

  “Nuala, you gave me a fright, sneaking up on me so.”

  Nuala made no apology and instead looked at Keelin appraisingly. “Deirdre tells me you have learned the art of the starling quickly. I am pleased though not surprised.” Turning back toward the cottage, she added, “Come, we have much to accomplish today. Have you completed your cloak?”

  “Yes, I made the finishing touches on it last week.”

  “Good, though we will not use it today. I must get a few items from my apothecary, and then we will leave for Danu’s cave. Deirdre also tells me you are impatient to test your affinity for the Otherworld. Today you will learn whether or not your powers of the mind are strong enough to transcend our natural world.” Reaching the cottage door, Nuala stopped and turned abruptly. Keelin, scurrying to keep up with the priestess’s long stride, almost slammed into her.

  “Wait here,” Nuala ordered.

  Keelin stood fidgeting, excitement and dread dueling within her. The past weeks with Deirdre had clarified nothing. She was no closer to reconcili
ng her dreams of adventure with a secretive, duty-bound life within The Dagda. Still, the magic and allure of the Otherworld was undeniable and Keelin hoped she had the power to break through its barriers. But therein lay her dilemma. If she possessed an affinity with the Otherworld, her fate was sealed. She paid little heed to Deirdre’s assurances that novices were not compelled to take their final vows. Keelin could feel—almost viscerally—the powerful pull of The Dagda. Overshadowing everything was the threat to Eire.

  “You will accomplish much with your powers. Never regret possessing them.” Nuala looked down at Keelin reprovingly, hearing her thoughts, and then brushed past her, striding toward the winding path that led through the mountain pass behind her cottage. Keelin followed, heartily disliking the priestess and yet knowing she spoke the truth. Now was not the time to bemoan her fate. Keelin took a deep breath and glanced up at a small cloud as it passed in front of the sun, darkening the landscape. After the cloud moved on, she set out at a run and soon caught up with the priestess, settling into a jog behind her.

  

  Shortly before Keelin and Nuala reached the entrance to the cave, they met Deirdre sitting in the shade on a large boulder alongside the path. She had been inspecting the contents of a small leather pouch when she looked up and saw them.

  “There you are. I was beginning to wonder what happened to the two of you,” Deirdre said, pulling the ties of the pouch tightly closed and knotting them securely. She picked up two other pouches that lay on the boulder next to her and walked toward Nuala and Keelin.