“Behold, the Holy Priestess comes, the sacred herbs are in her crown,” the priests were singing, but tonight there were more verses to their hymn, with different words.
“War! War! Let British woods
A warrior bear for every tree;
As ravening wolves attack the sheep
So shall we make the Romans flee!”
Gaius groaned, but the prick of a spear kept him moving. If only that bitch Dieda had not identified him! Macellius would grieve when he heard of the death of his son; but he would be shamed when the manner of it was known. How could he have blundered so badly, provoking the very incident he had hoped to prevent? He had not even succeeded in saving those he loved. The only ray of hope in all this was that he had not seen Senara anywhere, or the boy.
The road up the Hill of Maidens had never seemed so steep before. He much preferred the last time he had come up here, he thought grimly, with a weapon in his hand and a detachment of cavalry behind him! The embroidered robe rasped his abrasions, and the sacred garland pricked his brow. They had cleaned him up and given him a drink that cleared his head, but Gaius had no illusions about what was in store for him.
From the top of the hill he could see the glow of a great bonfire. Memories of a time before he had entered his father’s world were returning with frightening clarity. The Silures had sacrificed one of their own princes in those last days before the Romans crushed them utterly. The man had been one of his uncles, with the royal dragons tattooed on his arms. Gaius’s mother had tried to hide her half-Roman child, but he had seen them take the Year-King away. He had been smiling, believing his death would help his people.
And what is it, he wondered then, that I will be dying for?
Then they were on the hilltop. A ring of priests surrounded them; beyond, Gaius saw a sea of faces, grim or gleeful as they listened to the Druids’ song. Was Eilan glad or sorry to see him here? He wished he could see her face behind the veil.
Eilan stood beside her father with Dieda and two other priestesses behind her. For the first time he wondered if she also was a prisoner. She had rejected him. It seemed to him that he should be glad of her downfall, but even his own danger had not filled him with such fear as the thought of hers.
“Destroy them all! Avenge our shame!
Now let the slaughter be begun!
In ranks the Roman troops shall fall
As by the scythe the corn is mown!”
The singing ended and the drums grew silent, but a murmur swept through the people and Gaius knew this was only a pause in the storm.
“Children of Don!” the Arch-Druid cried. “It is Samaine Eve! This is a time of changes! The new year is beginning, and a new era for this land! Let the changing of the seasons sweep away the Romans who have blighted Britannia! Tonight we shall gladden the gods of war with a sacrifice. But we must purge our ranks of all offenders. Traitor,” he turned to Gaius, “we can make your death hard or easy. Tell us what you came to Vernemeton to do!”
“Kill me, if you will, but ask no foolish questions!” Gaius said hoarsely. “I will say only that I meant no harm to any here.” Perhaps he had not lived well, but at least he could die with dignity.
“You were in the sacred precinct, where no men but the Druids may come. Have you seduced one of our maidens? Which of them did you come to carry away?”
Gaius shook his head and gasped as a spearpoint pressed into his side. There was a sensation of warmth and he felt blood trickling down.
“Was it Rhian, Tanais, Bethoc?” the litany went on. For each name they cut him again. Once he tried to drive himself upon the spearpoint, but his captors knew their business and held him still. Loss of blood and the ill-treatment he had already endured were making him dizzy. Soon, he thought, I will pass out and it will not matter what they do to me.