Marion Zimmer Bradley - Avalon 2 - The Forest House

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Marion Zimmer Bradley

The

Forest House

For my mother, Evelyn Conklin Zimmer, who

has borne with my working on the book for

most of my adult life

To Diana Paxson, my sister and friend, who anchored

this book firmly in time and space and added Tacitus

to the cast of characters

Author's Note

Those who are familiar with Bellini's opera Norma will recognize the

origins of this story. In homage to Bellini, the hymns in Chapters Five

and Twenty-two are adapted from the libretto of Act I Scene i, and those

in Chapter Thirty from Act II Scene ii. The hymns to the moon in

Chapters Seventeen and Twenty-four are taken from the Carmina Gadelica,

a collection of traditional Highland prayers collected in the late

nineteenth century by the Reverend Alexander Carmichael.

PEOPLE IN THE STORY.

* = historical figure

() = dead before story begins

ROMANS

Gaius Macellius Severus Siluricus (called Gaius, native name, Gawen), a

young officer, born of a British mother

Gaius Macellius Severus, senior (called Macellius), father of Gaius,

Prefectus Castrorum of the II Adiutrix Legion at Deva, Equestrian rank

(Moruadh, Royal Woman of the Silures, mother of Gaius)

Manlius, physician at Deva

Capellus, Macellius's orderly

Philo, Gaius's Greek slave

Valerius, secretary to Macellius

Valeria (later called Senara), half-Briton niece of Valerius

Martius Julius Licinius, Procurator (financial officer) of Britannia

Julia Licinia, his daughter

Charis, her Greek maid

Lydia, nurse to her children

Licinius Corax, the Procurator's cousin in Rome

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Marcellus Clodius Malleus, senator, Gaius's patron

Lucius Domitius Brutus, Commander of the XX Valeria Victrix Legion

after its move to Deva

Father Petros, a Christian hermit

Flavius Macro & Longus } two legionaries who try to raid the Forest

House

* (Gaius Julius Caesar, "the deified Julius", who began the conquest of

Britannia)

*(Suetonius Paulinus, Governor of Britain during Boudicca's rebellion)

* (Vespasian, Emperor AD 69-79)

* (Quintus Petilius Cerealis, Governor of Britain AD 71-4)

* (Sextus Julius Frontinus, Governor of Britain AD 74-7)

* Gnaeus Julius Agricola, Governor of Britain AD 78-84

* Gaius Cornelius Tacitus, his son-in-law and aide, a historian

* Sallustius Lucullus, Governor of Britain after Agricola

* Titus Flavius Vespasianus, Emperor Titus AD 79-81

* Titus Flavius Domitianus, Emperor Domitian AD 81-96

* Herennius Senecio, a senator

* Flavius Clemens, a cousin of Domitian

BRITONS

Bendeigid, a Druid living near Vernemeton

Rheis, daughter of Ardanos and wife of Bendeigid

Mairi, their eldest daughter, wife of Rhodri

Vran, her young son

Eilan, their middle daughter

Senara, their youngest daughter

Gawen, Eilan's son by Gaius

Cynric, foster son of Bendeigid

Ardanos, Arch-Druid of Britannia

Dieda, his younger daughter

Clotinus Albus (Caradac), a Romanized Briton

Gwenna, his daughter

Red Rian, an Irish raider

Hadron, one of the Ravens, father of Valeria (later called Senara)

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* (Boudicca, "The Killer Queen", queen of the Iceni, leader of the

revolt in AD6i)

* (Caractacus, a leader of the rebellion)

* (Cartimandua, queen of the Brigantes who betrayed Caractacus to Rome)

* Calgacus, Caledonian chieftain who led the tribes at Mons Graupius

PEOPLE OF THE FOREST HOUSE

Lhiannon, Priestess of the Oracle, High Priestess of Vernemeton (the

Forest House)

Huw, her bodyguard

(Helve, High Priestess before Lhiannon)

Caillean, a senior priestess assisting Lhiannon

Latis, the herb mistress

Celimon, instructor in ritual

Eilidh & Miellyn} Eilan's friends

Tanais & Rhian} entered Vernemeton after Eilan became High

Priestess

Annis, an old deaf woman who serves Eilan during her pregnancy

Lia, nurse to Eilan's son Gawen

DEITIES

Tanarus, British thunder god, equated with Jupiter

The Horned (or Antlered) One, archetypal god of beasts and woodlands

with many local variations

Don, mythic mother of the gods, and by extension, the British people

Cathubodva, Lady of Ravens, a war goddess similar to the Morrigan

Arianhrod, Lady of the Silver Wheel, maiden goddess associated with

magic, the sea, and the moon

Ceres, Roman goddess of grain, agriculture

Venus, Roman goddess of love

Mars, Roman war god

Bona Dea, the Good Goddess

Vesta, goddess of the sacred hearthfire of Rome, served by virgins

Mithras, a Persian hero-god worshipped by soldiers

Jupiter, king of the gods

Juno, queen of the gods, his wife, patroness of marriage

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Isis, an Egyptian goddess worshipped in Rome as protectress of commerce

on the sea

PLACES

Britannia Superior - southern England

Mona - the island of Anglesey

Segontium - a fort near Caernarvon

Vernemeton (most holy grove) - the Forest House

Hill of the Maidens - Maiden Castle, Bickerton

Deva - Chester

Glevum - Gloucester

Viroconium Cornoviiarum -- Wroxeter

Venta Silurum - Caerwent

Isca Silurum - Caerleon

Aquae Sulis - Bath

The Tor - Glastonbury

The Summer Country - Somerset

Isca Dumnoniorum - Exeter

Lindum - Lincoln

Londinium - London

Britannia Inferior - northern England

Eburacum - York

Luguvalium -Carlisle

Caledonia - Scotland

Bodotria estuary - Firth of Forth

Firth of the Tava - River Tay

Sabrina Firth - Solway

Trimontium - Newstead

Pinnata Castra - Inchtuthil

Mons Graupius - location uncertain, perhaps near Inverness

Hibernia - Ireland

Temair - Tara

Druim Cliadh - Kildare

Germania Inferior - upper western Germany

Colonia Agrippensis - Cologne

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The Rhenus - the Rhine

Prologue

A cold wind was whipping the torches into fiery tails. Angry light

glittered on the dark waters of the strait and the shields of the

legionaries waiting on the other side. The priestess coughed at the reek

of smoke and sea fog and listened to the clangor of camp Latin echoing

across the waters as the Roman commander harangued his men. The Druids

sang out in answer, calling down the wrath of the skies, and thunder

shook the air.

Women's voices rose in a shrill ululation that sent a chill through her

body, or perhaps it was fear. She swayed with the other priestesses,

arms raised in imprecation; their dark cloaks flaring out like raven

wings.

But the Romans were howling too, and now the first rank surged into the

water. The Druid war harp throbbed with a dreadful music, and her throat

was scraped raw with shrieking, but still the enemy came on.

The first red-cloaked soldier set foot on the shore of the Holy Isle and

the gods did not strike him. Now the singing faltered. A priest pushed

the priestess behind him as Roman steel caught the torchlight; the sword

fell and blood sprayed across her dark robe.

The rhythm of the chant was lost. Now there was only screaming and she

ran for the trees. Behind her the Romans were scything the Druids down

like grain. Too quickly, they finished, and the red tide swept inland.

The priestess stumbled through the trees, seeking the sacred circles. An

orange glow filled the sky above the House of Women. The stones loomed

up ahead, but from behind her came shouting. She turned at bay, clinging

to the central altar stone. Now, surely, they would kill her . .. She

called out to the Goddess and straightened, waiting for the blow.

But it was not weapons of steel they meant to use against her. She

struggled as hard hands grabbed at her body, tearing off her robes. They

forced her down upon the stone, and then the first man battered against

her. There was no escape; she could only use the sacred disciplines to

withdraw her mind from this body until they were done. But as awareness

winged away, she cried out: "Lady of Ravens, avenge me! Avenge!"

"Avenge . . ." My own shout woke me, and I sat up, staring. As always,

it took a few moments for me to realize that it was only a dream, and

not even my own, for I was still a child in the year when the Legions

murdered the priests and raped the women of the Holy Isle; an unwanted

girl-child called Caillean, safe in Hibernia across the sea. But since

first I heard the story, soon after the Priestess of the Oracle brought

me to this land, the spirits of those women have haunted me.

The curtain at my door fluttered and one of the maidens who served me

looked in. "My Lady, are you well? May I help you to robe? It is almost

time to greet the dawn."

I nodded, feeling the cold sweat dry on my brow, and allowed her to help

me into a clean gown and arrange the ornaments of a High Priestess on my

breast and brow. Then I followed her out on to the summit of another

isle, a green Tor that rose from the mingling of marsh and meadow that

men call the Summer Sea. From below came the singing of the maidens who

watch over the sacred well, and from the vale beyond it the bell that

calls the hermits to prayer in the little beehive church beside the

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white thorn tree.

They were not the first folk to seek sanctuary on this island at the end

of the world beyond the narrow seas, nor do I suppose they will be the

last. So many years have passed since the death of the Holy Isle, and

though in my dreams ancient voices still cry out for revenge, a hard-won

wisdom tells me that the mixing of blood strengthens a breed, so long as

the ancient knowledge is not lost.

But to this day I have never found any good in the Romans or their ways.

This is why even for Eilan, who was dearer than a daughter to me, I

could never trust in any Roman, not even Gaius, whom she loved.

But no tramping of iron-shod legionary sandals on stone-paved roads

disturbs us here, for I have cast a veil of mist and mystery to keep out

the straight-edged Roman world.

Today, perhaps, I will tell the maidens the story of how we came here,

for between the destruction of the House of Women on the Isle of Mona

and the return of the priestesses to the Isle of Apples, the women of

the Druids dwelt at Vernemeton, the Forest House, and that story must

not be forgotten.

It was there that I learned the Mysteries of the Goddess and taught them

in turn to Eilan daughter of Rheis, who became the greatest High

Priestess and, some would say, the greatest traitor to her people of

all. But through Eilan the blood of the Dragon and the Eagle have

mingled with the blood of the Wise, and in the hour of greatest need

that line will always come to Britain's aid.

In the marketplace men say that Eilan was the Romans' victim, but I know

better. In its time the Forest House preserved the Mysteries, and the

gods do not require that we all be conquerors, or even that we all be

wise, but only that we serve the truth that we are given until we can

pass it on.

My priestesses are gathering around me, singing. I lift my hands, and as

the sun strikes through the mists I bless the land.

One

Shafts of golden light shone through the trees as the setting sun

dropped below the clouds, outlining each new-washed leaf in gold. The

hair of the two girls who were making their way along the forest path

glowed with the same pale fire. Earlier in the day there had been rain.

The thick, uncleared forest that still covered much of the south of

Britain lay damp and quiet, and a few low boughs still shook scattered

drops like a blessing across the path.

Eilan breathed deeply of the moist air, heavy with all the living scents

of the woods and sweet as incense after the smoky atmosphere of her

father's hall. In the Forest House, she had been told, they used sacred

herbs to purify the air. Instinctively she straightened, trying to walk

like one of the priestesses who dwelt there, lifting the basket of

offerings in her best imitation of their balanced grace. For a moment,

then, her body moved with a rhythm both unfamiliar and completely

natural, as if she had been trained to do this in some ancient past.

Only since her moonblood began had she been allowed to bring the

offerings to the spring. As her monthly cycle made her a woman, said her

mother, so the waters of the sacred spring were the fertility of the

land. But the rituals of the Forest House served its spirit, bringing

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down the Goddess herself at the full of the moon. The moon had been full

the night before and before her mother called her in, Eilan had stood

for a long time staring up at it, filled with an expectancy she could

not define.

Perhaps the Priestess of the Oracle will claim me for the Goddess at the

Beltane festival. Closing her eyes, Eilan tried to imagine the blue

robes of a priestess trailing behind her, and the veil shadowing her

features with mystery.

"Eilan, what are you doing?" Dieda's voice startled her back to

awareness, she stumbled over a tree root and nearly dropped the basket.

"You are lagging like a lame cow! It will be dark before we get back to

the hall if we do not finish soon."

Recovering, Eilan hurried after the other girl, blushing furiously. But

already she could hear the gentle murmur of the spring. In another

moment the path dropped downward, and she followed Dieda to the cleft

where the waters trickled out from between two rocks and fell into the

pool. In some time long past men had set stones around it; over the

years the water had worn their spiraled carvings smooth. But the hazel

to whose branches folk tied their wishing ribbons was young, the

descendant of many trees that had grown there.

They settled themselves beside the pool and spread a cloth for the

offerings, exquisitely prepared cakes, a flask of mead, and some silver

coins. It was only a small pool, after all, where the minor goddess of

this forest had her dwelling, not one of the holy lakes where whole

armies sacrificed the treasures they had won, but for many years the

women of her line had brought her their offerings every month after

their moon-times, that their link to the Goddess might be renewed.

Shivering a little in the cool air, they pulled off their gowns and bent

over the pool.

"Sacred spring, you are the womb of the Goddess. As your waters cradle

all life, may I bear new life into the world . . ." Eilan scooped up

water and let it trickle over her belly and between her thighs.

"Sacred spring, your waters are the milk of the Goddess. As you feed the

world, let me nourish those I love . . ." Her nipples tingled as the

cool water touched them.

"Sacred spring, you are the spirit of the Goddess. As your waters well

for ever from the depths, give me the power to renew the world . .." She

trembled as the water bathed her brow.

Eilan stared into the shadowed surface, seeing the pale glimmer of her

reflection take shape as the waters stilled once more. But as she stared

into the water, the face that stared back at her changed. She saw an

older woman with even paler skin, and dusky curls in which red

highlights glinted like sparks of flame, though the eyes were the same.

"Eilan!"

As Dieda spoke, Eilan blinked, and the face looking back at her from the

water was her own once more. Her kinswoman was

shivering, and suddenly Eilan felt cold as well. Hastily, they pulled on

their clothes. Then Dieda reached for the basket of cakes, and her voice

soared, rich and true, in the song.

"Lady of the sacred spring,

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To thee these offerings I bring;

For life and luck and love I pray,

Goddess, accept these gifts today."

In the Forest House, thought Eilan, there would be a chorus &f

priestesses to sing the song. Her own voice, thin and a little wavering,

blended with Dieda's in an oddly pleasing harmony.

"Bless now the forest and the field,

That they their bounty to us yield;

May kin and kine be hale and whole,

Safeguard the body and the soul!"

Eilan poured mead from the flask into the water while Dieda crumbled the

cakes and cast them into the pool. The current swirled them away, and

for a moment it seemed to Eilan that its sound had grown louder. The two

girls leaned over the water, letting drop the coins they had brought.

As the ripples stilled, Eilan saw their two faces, so alike, mirrored

together. She stiffened, fearing to see the stranger there once more,

but as her sight darkened, this time there was only one face, with eyes

that shone in the water like stars in the dark sea of heaven.

"Lady, are you the spirit of the pool? What do you want from me?" her

heart asked. And it seemed to her that words came in reply:

"My life flows through all waters, as it flows through your

veins. I am the River of Time and the Sea of Space. Through many

lives you have been mine. Adsartha, my daughter, when will you

fulfill your vows to Me?"

It seemed to her then that from the Lady's eyes flashed brightness that

illuminated her soul, or perhaps it was sunlight, for when she came to

herself she was blinking into the radiance that flared through the

trees.

"Eilan!" Dieda said in the tone of one who is repeating a summons for

the second time. "What is wrong with you today?"

"Dieda!" Eilan exclaimed. "Didn't you see Her? Didn't you see the Lady

in the pool?"

Dieda shook her head. "You sound like one of those holy bitches at

Vernemeton, babbling of visions!"

"How can you say that? You're the Arch-Druid's daughter - at the Forest

House you could be trained as a bard!"

Dieda frowned. "A female bard? Ardanos would never allow it, nor would I

want to spend my life mewed up with a gaggle of women. I'd rather join

the Ravens with your foster brother Cynric and fight Rome!"

"Hush!" Eilan looked around her as if the trees had ears. "Don't you

know better than to speak of that, even here? Besides, it's not fighting

you want to do at Cynric's side, but to lie there - I've seen how you

look at him!" She grinned.

Now Dieda was blushing. "You know nothing about it!" she exclaimed. "But

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your time will come, and when you grow foolish over some man it will be

my turn to laugh." She began to fold up the cloth.

"I never will," said Eilan. "I want to serve the Goddess!" And for a

moment then her sight darkened and the murmur of the water seemed to

grow louder, as if the Lady had heard. Then Dieda was thrusting the

basket into her hands.

"Let's go home." She started up the path. But Eilan hesitated, for it

seemed to her that she had heard something that was not the sound of the

spring.

"Wait! Do you hear that? From over by the old boar pit -"

Dieda stopped, her head turning, and they heard it again, fainter now,

like an animal in pain.

"We'd best go and see," she said finally, "though it will make us late

getting home. But if something has fallen in, the men will have to come

and put it out of its misery."

The boy lay shaken and bleeding at the bottom of the boar pit, his hopes

of rescue fading with the ebbing light.

The pit where he lay was dank and foul, smelling of the dung of animals

trapped there in the past. Sharp stakes were set into the bottom and

sides of the pit; one of these stakes had pierced his shoulder - not a

dangerous wound, he judged, nor even particularly painful as yet, for

the arm was still numb with the force of his fall. But still, slight

though it was, it was likely to kill him.

Not that he was afraid to die; Gaius Macellius Severus Siluricus was

nineteen years old and had sworn his oaths to the Emperor Titus as a

Roman officer. He had fought his first battle before the down was thick

on his face. But to die because he had blundered like a silly hare into

a deadfall made him angry. It was his own fault, Gaius thought bitterly.

If he had listened to Clotinus Albus, he would now be sitting by a warm

fire, drinking the beer of the South Country and flirting with his

host's daughter, Gwenna -- who had put off the chaste ways of the

up-country Britons and adopted the bolder manners and bearing of girls

in Roman towns like Londinium as easily as her father had adopted the

Latin tongue and toga.

And yet it was for his own knowledge of the British dialects that he had

been sent on this journey, Gaius remembered now, and his mouth curled

grimly. The elder Severus, his father, was Prefect of the Camp of the

Second Adiutrix Legion at Deva, and had married the dark-haired daughter

of a chieftain of the Silures in the early days of the conquest, when

Rome still hoped to win the tribes by alliance. Gaius had spoken their

dialect before he could lisp a word of nursery Latin.

There had been a time, of course, when an officer of an Imperial Legion,

stationed in the fort of Deva, would not have troubled himself to phrase

his demands in the language of a conquered country. Even now, Flavius

Rufus, tribune of the second cohort, cared nothing for such niceties.

But Macellius Severus senior, Prefectus Castrorum, was responsible only

to Agricola, Governor of the Province of Britain, and it was the

responsibility of Macellius Severus to keep peace and harmony between

the people of the Province and the Legion that occupied, guarded and

governed them.

Still licking their wounds a generation after the Killer Queen Boudicca

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had attempted her fruitless rebellion -- and had been fiercely punished

by the Legions - the people of Britannia were peaceful enough beneath

the heavy impositions of tax and tribute. Levies of manpower they bore

with less meekness, and here, on the outskirts of the Empire, resentment

still smoldered, fostered adroitly by a few petty chiefs and

malcontents. Into this hotbed of trouble, Flavius Rufus was sending a

party of legionaries to supervise a levy of men being sent to work in

the Imperial lead mines in the hills.

Imperial policy did not admit of a young officer being stationed in the

Legion where his father held a post as important as Prefect. So Gaius

now held the post of a military tribune in the Valeria Victrix legion at

Glevum, and, despite his British half-blood, from his childhood he had

undergone the severe discipline of a Roman soldier's son.

The elder Macellius had sought no favors for his only son as yet. But

Gaius had taken a slight wound in the leg during a border skirmish;

before he had quite recovered, a fever had sent him home to Deva, with

permission to convalesce there before returning to his post. Recovered,

he was restless in his father's house; the chance to go with the levy to

the mines had seemed nothing but a pleasant holiday.

The trip had been largely uneventful; after the sullen levies had been

marched away, Gaius, with a fortnight of his leave yet to run, had

accepted the invitation of Clotinus Albus, seconded by the daughter's

immodest glances, to stay for a few days and enjoy some hunting.

Clotinus was adept at this too and - Gaius knew -- had been pleased at

the thought of offering hospitality to the son of a Roman official.

Gaius had shrugged, enjoyed the hunting, which was excellent, and told

Clotinus's daughter quite a number of pleasant lies, which was excellent

too. Just the day before, he had killed a deer in these same woods,

proving himself as adept with the light spear as these Britons with

their own weapons; but now . . .

Sprawled in the filth of the pit, Gaius had poured out despairing curses

on the timorous slave who had offered to show him a short cut from

Clotinus's home to the Roman road that led straight, or so he said, to

Deva; on his own folly in letting the simpleton drive the chariot; on

the hare, or whatever it was that had dashed in front of him and

frightened the horses; on the ill-trained animals themselves, and on the

fool who had let them bolt; and on the off-guard moment in which he had

lost his balance and been thrown, half-stunned, to the ground.

Stunned, yes, but if he had not been half out of his mind from the fall,

he'd have had sense enough to stay where he'd fallen; even such a fool

as the driver must sooner or later have regained control of his horses

and come back for him. Even more than this he cursed his own folly in

trying to find his own way through the forest and for leaving the path.

He must have wandered a long way.

He must have been still dazed from the earlier fall, but he remembered

with sickening clarity the sudden slip, the slither of the leaves and

branches as the deadfall gave way, and then the fall, driving the stake

through his arm with a force that had deprived him of consciousness for

some minutes. The afternoon was getting on before he had recovered

enough to take stock of his injuries. A second stake had torn the calf

of his leg, ripping open his old wound; not a serious injury, but he had

struck his ankle so hard that it had swollen to the size of his thigh;

it was broken - or felt like it at least. Gaius, unwounded, was as agile

as a cat and would have been out in moments; but now he was too weak and

dazed to move.

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