Now, at last, Gaius dared caress her; she did not pull away, but he felt her tremble at his touch. Afraid to frighten her, he lifted his hands.
“Oh, what shall I do? God help me,” she whispered, turning her head so that her cheek lay against his hand.
“I think,” he whispered into her ear, “that it must be your God who has brought us together.”
“God grant you are right.”
“I will go to your uncle and get his authority to take you from the Forest House. Be ready to leave when I come for you,” he said. “By the time the next moon has waned you will be on your way to Londinium with me.”
Once again, with a great effort, he did not touch her. He had his reward when she shyly stood on tiptoe and whispered, “My brother, let us exchange the kiss of peace.”
“Ah, Valeria, it is not the kiss of peace I want from you,” he whispered into her fine-spun hair. “And some day you will know it.”
She broke away from him; and with a new wisdom—or guile—he let her go. Just in time, for in the next moment a step sounded, and the hermit, Father Petros entered. Senara, he was surprised to see, greeted the hermit without a blush. Had all women that trick of hiding their feelings on the instant? He remembered with what swiftness Eilan, too, had been able to conceal her emotions.
She said, “Rejoice, Father. Gaius Macellius has promised to take me from the Druid temple and find me a new home, perhaps even in Rome.”
Father Petros looked sharply at Gaius; he was not as naive as the girl. Gaius said, “Senara has been trying to show me, Good Father, why I ought to become one of your congregation.”
“And will you do so?” The priest regarded him suspiciously.
Gaius said quietly, “She has certainly been most persuasive.”
Father Petros positively glowed. “I will welcome you to my flock as a son,” he said fulsomely. “You will set a fine example for the others of your class.”
Indeed, thought Gaius, a Roman nobleman with my connections would be a good catch for this fisher of men. So much for the idea that Christians were no respecters of persons. But there must be some good in it, to have attracted a girl like Senara.
TWENTY-NINE
“Eilan! Eilan! The Emperor is dead!” Senara burst through the door, then stopped short, trying to assume the dignity with which the High Priestess of Vernemeton should be approached.
Smiling, Eilan set her spindle on the little table beside her and invited the girl to sit down. With Caillean gone, Miellyn suffering from one of her periodic bouts of depression, and Eilidh busy supervising the maidens, she found herself depending more and more on Senara for company. Dieda had not spoken to her since Cynric died. At least they had managed to bury him without arousing comment. Two of the Druids had come by night and taken the body to the ancient mound on the Hill of the Maidens. Perhaps Cynric’s death had been without honor, but he had a hero’s burial.
“The man that brings us fresh eggs heard the news in Deva,” said Senara, her eyes wide with excitement. “He was assassinated a week ago, just before the equinox, and the world from Caledonia to Parthia is buzzing like an overturned hive! Some say that a senator will be the next Emperor, and others think one of the Legions will elevate their Commander to the purple. More likely still, several will claim it and there will be civil war!”
“What is happening in Deva?” Eilan asked when she could get a word in.
“The men of the Twentieth are uneasy, but so far they have stayed quiet. The Commander has ordered a great feast for them, with unlimited wine and beer. Lady Eilan, what do you think will happen now?”
Eilan sighed. “No doubt the Roman Commander is hoping that they will all get very drunk, and awaken too sick to make trouble for anyone.” If they were lucky that was how it would go. If the drink sent the legionaries fighting mad instead, there was no knowing what they might do.