The Forest House by Marion Zimmer Bradley Page A

your tribe keeps this festival. The Silure customs are somewhat different, and I do not wish to offend against your ways.” A safe way, he thought, of covering the fact that he had only been to one native Beltane celebration, when he was six years old.
    She colored. "Are they?” Now she was genuinely embarrassed. "It is a very ancient festival. Perhaps once all the tribes kept it the same way. Ardanos says our people brought it with them when they came to these islands. And he should know.”
    "Yes indeed,” Gaius said. "He is so old—your grandfather—do you suppose he came over with those first ship’s from Gaul?” She giggled, and Gaius sighed with relief, feeling the tension between them ease.
    "You have seen how they made the sacred flame,” she said then. "Tonight when the Priestess comes out to bless the fires we will hail her as the Goddess. I do not know how it is with the southern tribes, but in the North, in the olden times, women were more free than now. Before the Romans came, the Queen sometimes ruled the tribe in her own right. Now it is the Priestess and the Druids. That is why Cartimandua could command the Brigantes, and the Iceni followed Boudicca.”
    Gaius stiffened. Among the Romans, Boudicca, the Killer Queen, was still a name to frighten children. In Londinium you could see the marks where the basilica had burned, and workmen digging foundations as the city grew sometimes found the bones of those who had tried to flee the bloodlust of the Iceni hordes. Eilan, oblivious, was still talking.
    "Only in wartime did she appoint a duke of war to lead the armies; sometimes he was her brother, and sometimes her consort, but whatever he was, it gave him small power in the tribe. The Queen ruled of her own right, and whatever you may say, women know more of ruling, because each woman runs her own household. Isn’t she better qualified to rule over a tribe than a man who can only do what his war chief says?”
    "Over a tribe, perhaps,” said Gaius. "Absurd it would be indeed, for a woman to command a Legion—or to rule a great empire like that of the Caesars.”
    "I cannot see why that should be so,” Eilan said. "Surely a woman who can govern a large household is as fit to rule an empire as any man. Have there been no mighty queens among the Romans?”
    Gaius grimaced, remembering the history that his Greek tutor had insisted he learn. "In the days of the Claudian Emperors,” he said carefully, "I have heard there was an evil old woman named Livia, the mother of the deified Tiberius. She poisoned all her kinfolk. Perhaps that is why the Romans are not fond of female rulers.”
    Their walking had brought them to the far side of the fires, where the barrow mound sloped down to the festival ground.
    "Gawen, do you think women are evil?” Eilan asked.
    " You are not evil, certainly,” he said, meeting her clear gaze. Her eyes were like a well of pure water into which he could sink for ever. A well of truth—at that moment it seemed to him monstrous that he should have to live this lie. Though it made no sense, he felt that he could trust her with his life; and if he entrusted her with his true identity, he might be doing just that.
    There was a stir behind them. The shouts and singing grew closer. Gaius turned, and saw men bringing up images made out of wicker or straw. Some were human in shape, some, figures out of nightmare. One was even clad in a recognizable simulation of a legionary’s helm.
    The hair lifted on his neck. Earlier he had told Eilan he remembered nothing of the Beltane rites, but now, whether because of the drumming or the flickering light or the scent of sweet herbs they had cast on the fire, he suddenly knew that he had seen something like this before. He closed his eyes, seeing in memory tattooed dragons coiling up strong arms, hearing a young man’s laughter. For a moment the drumming deafened him; blood