The chair creaked as the figure who sat there leaned forward. In the firelight Her face and Her hair were as red as Cynric’s sword. Ardanos looked from one to the other, straining to stop this; but the force that linked them was too strong and he did not dare.
“Well indeed have you served Me…” Her voice scraped the silence. “Severed heads and dismembered bodies are your offerings, blood the libation you pour upon the ground. The wails of women and the groans of the dying are your sacred music; your ritual fires are fueled by the bodies of men…You have called Me, red raven. What would you, now that I have come?”
She smiled terribly, and Midsummer though it was, the wind was suddenly icy, as if Cathubodva’s darkness had killed the sun. The people began to edge backward. Only Cynric, Ardanos, and the two attendant priestesses held their ground.
“Destroy the invaders; strike down the despoilers of our land! Victory, Lady, is what I demand!”
“Victory?” Hideously, the battle-goddess began to laugh. “I do not give victory—I am the battle-bride; I am the devouring mother; death is the only victory that you will find in My arms!” She raised her hands and the folds of her cloak flared out like dark wings. This time even Cynric recoiled.
“But our cause is just…” he faltered.
“Justice! Is there ever justice in the wars of men? Everything the Romans do to you, men of your blood have done to each other, and to the peoples who were before them in this land! Your blood feeds the earth whether you die in the straw or on the battlefield—it makes no difference to Me!”
Cynric was shaking his head bewilderedly. “But I fought for my people. At least tell me that our enemies will also suffer one day…”
The Goddess leaned forward, staring at him, and he could not look away. “I see…” She whispered. “From the bright god’s shoulders the ravens are flying—no more shall they counsel him. Instead it is an eagle he welcomes. He shall become an eagle, betrayed and betraying, suffering in the branches of the oak tree until he becomes a god once more…
“I see the eagle put to flight by a white horse that gallops from across the sea. Now the eagle joins with the red dragon, and together they fight the stallion, and the stallion battles dragons from the North and lions from the South…I see one beast killing another and arising in its turn to defend the land. The blood of all of them shall feed the earth, and the blood of all of them shall mingle, till no man can say who is the enemy…”
There was silence in the circle when She had finished, as if folk did not know whether to hope or fear. From further away came the moaning of cattle, and a sound like drumming, though the musicians were still.
“Tell us, Lady—” Cynric croaked as if he found it hard to get the words out. “Tell us what we should do…”
The Lady sat back, and this time her laugh was low and amused.
“Flee,” She said softly. “Flee now, for your enemies are upon you.” She lifted her head and looked around the circle. “All of you, go swiftly and quietly, and you will live…for a while.”
Some of the people began to shift away from the fires, but the remainder stayed staring as if enchanted.
“Go!” She flung up her hand, and a wing of darkness swept the circle. Startled into movement, people began to push against their neighbors like the first rolling pebbles in an avalanche of stones. “Cynric, son of Junius, run!” She screamed suddenly. “Run, for the Eagles come!”
And as the people fled the distant drumming became a present thunder and the Roman cavalry charged.
Gaius let the impetus of the charge sweep him forward, willing his awareness to confine itself to the movement of the horse beneath him, and the riders to either side, the rising ground, the running shapes of men and women and the glow of the flames. He tried to banish the memories which colored his perceptions, but he kept seeing a full moon and dancers, Cynric walking hand in hand with Dieda, and Eilan’s rosy face lit by the Beltane fires.