Gaius reached out cautiously and the women let their burden sag into his arms. He blinked, recognizing the Priestess who had invoked the Goddess two years before. Carefully he lifted her, amazed at the fragility of the form within the heavy robes. Most of the people had fled, but cattle were still bucketing about angrily, or drifting in twos or threes with lowered horns and switching tails, lowing defiance at anyone who tried to herd them.
Near by lay the still form of the giant who accompanied the Priestess everywhere. "What’s the matter with him?”
"Huw? Oh, he’s all right,” the older priestess said carelessly. "One of the cows gored somebody; he’s afraid of the sight of blood.”
Some bodyguard, Gaius could not help thinking. "We’ve got to get her out of the way of the cows,” he said aloud. "Where shall I carry her?”
"This way.” The taller of the two attending priestesses quickly led the way through the tumble of wrecked booths. Gaius settled his burden so that her head rested against his shoulder, relieved to hear the rasp of her breathing. He did not want to think what would happen to him if the High Priestess of Vernemeton died in his arms.
His nostrils flared at a sudden scent and he realized that the priestess had led them to the booth of an herb seller. The herbalist, plump and worried, was lifting the hanging rug aside so that Gaius could carry the High Priestess in. He knelt and laid her on the piled sleeping furs.
The place was dim and dusty, pungent with the fresh summery smell of the herbs suspended from the beams or shelved in linen bags. Gaius straightened, and his cloak fell back. From behind him came a sudden cry of surprise. Gaius felt his heart begin to thud heavily in his breast. Slowly, for suddenly he needed more courage than it had taken to face a charge of Caledonian tribesmen, he turned.
The smaller of the attending priestesses had thrown back her veil. From its shadowy folds he saw Eilan staring back at him. He felt the blood leaving his head; the world darkened, then flared into brightness as he got his breath again. You’re dead…he thought. You died in the fire! But even when all other vision failed, shining down at him he saw Eilan’s eyes. He felt a breath of air on his face and gradually his senses came back to him.
"Is it really you?” he croaked then. "I thought you had burned…I saw what was left of your house after the raiders came.”
She stepped backward, motioning him towards the end of the booth, while the other priestesses bent over Lhiannon, and Gaius, his head still reeling, got up and followed her.
"I was away helping my older sister with her new child,” she said quietly so they would not be overheard. "But my mother and little Senara were there.” Her voice broke. Then she stopped and sent a quick guilty glance at the other priestesses.
In the dim light, wrapped in pale robes, she looked like a spirit. He reached out to her. He could hardly believe she was there, alive, unharmed. For a moment his fingers brushed cool linen, then she twitched away.
"We cannot talk here,” she said breathlessly, "even though you are not in uniform.”
"Eilan,” he said quickly, "when can I see you?”
"That is not possible,” she said. "I am a priestess of the Forest House, and not allowed—”
"You are not allowed to speak to a man?” A Vestal, he thought. The girl I love is as forbidden to me as if she were a Vestal.
"It is not so bad as that—” she said with a faint smile. "But you are a Roman, and you know what my father would say.”
"Indeed I do,” he said after a moment, and then thought of what his father would say. Had the Prefect let Gaius grieve, knowing there was no need? Along with his wonder at her presence came a surge of anger.
Looking into Eilan’s hazel eyes, he realized suddenly that in all the time since he had left the house of Bendeigid, he had not felt so alive.