Greet it on high and in your hearts, Return to life, cast off your fear!"

I opened my eyes. Four youths stood now in the corners of the hall, bearing torches. Someone had cast the first handful of herbs onto the brazier, and in their light the sweet smoke glowed as if it had ignited the air. Now I could see the images painted on the plaster of the walls-an island surrounding a harbour, great temples, a pyramidal mountain spouting flame, and other scenes from the fabled land that in one day of doom had sunk beneath the wave. Like this ritual, those tales belonged to a wisdom of which the Druids were only the inheritors.

With question and response, the ritual rolled onwards, defining the sacred moment when, Night and Day being equal, a doorway opened between Past and Future and one who was properly prepared and guided might see between the worlds.

The circle opened to reveal a veiled figure, half-supported by Wren and Aelia. Carefully they guided her to the three-legged stool, steadying her until she found her balance there.The sacred drink has taken her swiftly , I thought, watching.G.o.ddess grant it does not take her too far ...

In the old days, I knew, they had called on the G.o.ddess Herself to speak through the lips of Her priestess. Now, though the G.o.ds might come down sometimes to dance with us at their festivals, it was considered more useful for the Seeress to become open and empty of any personality, even her own, with no will save to describe the images she saw.

The High Priestess moved forwards to stand at her side. The little table with the silver bowl had already been set before her. Berries of mistletoe floated on the water along with other herbs. From where I stood I could see the glitter of torchlight on the dark water. I felt myself sway and blinked quickly to break the spell, then turned my gaze away, hoping no one had noticed my momentary disorientation. I was a trained priestess now, and should have had better control.

"Sink down, sink down... sink deeper and sink deep...'

Ganeda's voice was a murmur, leading the Seeress on her journey inwards, downwards, until the bowl of gleaming water became one with the sacred well beside the white cypress tree. Then she straightened and stepped away.

"What pa.s.ses now among the Romans? What is the Emperor Claudius doing now?" Arganax asked.

For a long moment there was silence.

"Tell us, Seeress, what you see?" Ganeda prompted her.

A shudder vibrated through the sheer folds of the veil. "I see... cypresses against a sunset sky... no, it is firelight. They are burning bodies... one of the watchers staggers and falls..." Heron spoke softly, her voice calm as if she watched from some vantage point outside of the world. "The scene changes... an old man lies in a rich room. His bed is hung with purple, but he is alone... he is dead... Would you know more?"

"Plague-" whispered someone. "May the G.o.ds grant it does not come here...'

"Is the Roman power ended, then? Will they return to Britannia?" the Druid asked, and this time Heron's answer came without prompting.

"I see armies and ships-Briton fighting Briton... blood, blood and fire-" she shook her head in confusion, as if the images were overwhelming her.

"Sink back down to that place where there is only the shining water," said Ganeda in a low voice. "Tell me, who will come to our aid?"

Heron stiffened. "The Sun! The sun blazes in splendour! It blinds my eyes!" For a moment she remained transfixed, then let out her breath in a long sigh. "Ah-He comes... his armour is Roman, but his eyes are those of one who knows the Mysteries. There is a city... I think it is Londinium. In the streets people are cheering-"Redditor lucis... redditor!"

She stumbled on the unfamiliar Latin, but I could translate it:Restorer of the Light !

So could Arganax. He traded glances with Ganeda. "If this man is an initiate, he could help us greatly,"

he said in a low voice. Then he bent forwards again.

"Who is he-no,where is he now?"

Once more Heron swayed above the scrying bowl. "I see him... but he is younger. Hair like dandelion-" she added in response to further questions. "He is riding a chestnut mule along a Roman road... but it is in Britannia... the road to the lead mines in the hills..."

"Here!" exclaimed Arganax. "Surely the G.o.ds have destined that he shall come to us!"

The seeress was still mumbling to herself, but at the Druid's words she straightened, quivering like a drawn bow. "Destiny!" she echoed, and then cried out suddenly in a great voice quite unlike her own.

"The son of the sun, greater than his father! A cross of light burns in the sky! All things changing! Fate hangs in the balance, the son will blaze across the world!" With a last ringing cry the Seeress threw out her arms, sending the scrying bowl spinning across the floor. I saw her begin to crumple, and Aelia and I were just in time to catch her as she fell.

After the n.o.ble stonework of Avalon, the round daub-and-wattle huts of the monks on Inis Witrin seemed clumsy and mean. I drew down my veil to hide the crescent on my brow as we climbed the slope, and Con, the young Druid who had been a.s.signed to escort me, moved forwards to take my arm.

Nearly six weeks had pa.s.sed since the Oracle rite, and Beltane was hard upon us. After the usual debate regarding the meaning of the oracle's p.r.o.nouncements, Arganax had sent out some of his young men to the Mendip Hills to see if any Roman fitting Heron's description could be found, and we had had to wait for their reply.

"You will have to let me talk to them. These holy men are forbidden to speak with a female," he said softly. The monks allowed us to keep the few horses belonging to Avalon in their pasture, in exchange for herbs and medicines. I wondered where they thought we came from.

"What, do they think I will tempt them to impurity?" I snorted derisively. "I will need to put on the guise of an ugly old woman when we meet the Roman. I might as well begin practising now." My father had made sure his children learned good Latin-it was one of the reasons I had been chosen for the task of bringing the Roman to Avalon.

As the path curved around, I could see the round church, the lower ambulatory supporting a central tower, whose thatch shone golden in the sun. Con showed me a bench near the sanctuary where I could wait while he went off to see about the horses. It was a surprisingly peaceful place in which to sit, listening to the soft drone of chanting that came from within as I watched the meandering progress of a b.u.t.terfly above the gra.s.s.

The singing in the church soared suddenly and I turned to listen. When I looked back, the b.u.t.terfly had alighted on the outstretched hand of an old man. I blinked, wondering how he had come there without my seeing him, for the area all around the church was clear. The other brothers I had seen wore rough tunics woven from the undyed fleece, but the old man's garment shone snowy white and the beard that covered his chest was as white as the wool.

"The blessing of the Most High be upon you, my sister," he said softly. "And my thanks to Him for allowing me to speak with you once more."

"What do you mean?" I stammered. "I have never seen you before!"

"Ah-" he sighed. "You do not remember..."

"Remember what?" Defiantly, I pushed back my veil. "You are a follower of the Christos, and I am a priestess of Avalon!"

He nodded. That is true-today. But in ages past we were both of the same order, in the land that now is sunk beneath the waves. Lives and lands pa.s.s away, but the Light of the Spirit shines still."

My lips parted in shock. How could this monk know about the Mysteries? "What-" I stammered, struggling for focus. "Who are you?"

"My name in this place is Joseph. But it is not my name you should be asking, but your own."

"I am called Eilan," I answered swiftly, "and Helena...'

"Or Tiriki..." he answered, and I blinked, finding a strange familiarity in that name. "If you do not know who you are, how can you find your way?"

"I know where I am going-" With an effort I stopped myself from blurting out my mission, but it struck me that the old man already knew.

He shook his head and sighed. "Your spirit knows, but I fear that the flesh you wear now must walk a weary way before you understand. Remember: the symbol is nothing. It is the reality behind all symbols that is all."

I was still no closer to comprehending who or what this old man might be, but I had training enough to know that what he said was true.

"Good father, what must I do?"

"Seek ever for the Light..." he answered, and with his words, the sunlight on his white robe grew blinding.

I blinked, and when I looked up, Con was standing before me, saying something about the horses, and the old man was gone.

"The horses are waiting down by the gate," the young Druid repeated, "and the day is wearing on."

Still wondering, I allowed him to help me to my feet. I knew better than to speak of what I had seen, but I knew that I would be thinking about it for a long time to come.

Dusk was drawing its cloak across the Vale of Avalon, covering marsh and meadow alike with the same dim purple-grey. From my post by the Mendip road I could see from the higher ground in the east almost all the way to the Sabrina estuary, where the sun was setting into the sea. Now all but the Tor lay in shadow, with a gleam of water below. For ten years I had said farewell to the sun from within that scene; it was fascinating to observe it from outside. Indeed, it was in all ways strange and fearful and oddly exciting to be back in the world of humankind, even if only for a little while.

Con touched my elbow. "It is almost dark. The Roman should be coming soon."

"Thank you," I nodded, glancing up at the clouds that loomed to the north. Even the folk of Avalon could not call rain from an empty sky, and we had had to wait for a weather pattern that would serve my purpose. I had held the clouds at bay throughout the afternoon. Now I released some of the energies that bound them, and felt on my cheek the chill damp breath of the storm.

To learn that Heron's vision of the death of the Emperor had been a true Seeing was encouraging. The men who drank at the taverna near the lead mines were full of gossip. It was said that Claudius had willed the Empire to another general called Aurelian, by-pa.s.sing his own brother, Quintillus, who, after an abortive attempt at a coup, had died by his own hand.

"He will come, never fear," said the Druid who had been waiting for us. "These Romans are creatures of habit, and every evening for the past week he has come this way."

"He is fair-haired?" I asked once again.

"As fair as bleached flax, with the mark of Mithras between his brows."

I reached up beneath my veil to touch the blue crescent tattoed on my own forehead.He is an initiate , I reminded myself,and may see more than an ordinary man. I will have to be careful .

From beyond the curve of the road came a curlew's piping call, an unlikely sound for the high moors, but the Roman whose coming it signalled would not know that. I took a deep breath, lifted my arms to the heavens, and released the clouds.

In moments I felt the first spatterings. By the time the figure on the red mule came into view the rain was driving down in sheets, as several storm fronts that would have pa.s.sed over one at a time simultaneously released all their stored rain.

Our quarry had pulled up in the tenuous shelter of an elder bush, holding his sagum cloak half over his head in a vain attempt to protect it. For a little longer I watched him.

"Stay out of sight," I told the two Druids, wrapping my mantle more securely, "but when I move, follow me." I gave my mount a kick and reined it across the slope below the road.

"Help-oh, please, help me!" I called in the Roman tongue, pitching my voice to carry above the storm and hauling on the reins of the pony, who had started to plunge as if to make my plight a reality. For a moment nothing happened, and I let the pony move forwards, clutching its mane. "Can anyone hear me?"

I cried again, and saw the red mule at the rim of the hill.

I was wearing a white mantle so that the Roman should be able to see it even through the storm. I screamed and gave the pony a good kick, hanging on desperately as it galloped down the hill. I heard a Roman oath and the crashing of brush as the mule scrambled after me, but we were all the way down the hill and well into the tangle of oak and alder beyond before the Roman caught up with me.

"Lady, are you hurt?" His voice was deep, and so far as I could see beneath his sagum, his body seemed st.u.r.dy, though he was tall. He grabbed for the reins that I had artistically allowed to fall as he arrived.

My pony ceased to struggle, recognizing a master's hand, and freed of the need to divide my strength between my mount and the storm, I drew the next squall shrieking down upon us.

"Thank you! Thank you! The pony ran and I feared I would fall!"

He edged the mule closer and put his arm around my shoulders. I leaned against him gratefully, aware now just how long it had been since I had done much riding. His warmth spread through me faster than I would have expected. Perhaps Heron was right, I thought dimly, and he really was the sun.

"I must get you to shelter," he muttered against my hair, and a shiver ran through me at the touch of his warm breath. The storm had expended its first fury, but the rain was still driving down.

"That way-" I said, pointing south. "There is an old tile shed." The tile-makers had not yet started work for the summer: we had slept there on our journey here.

By the time we reached the shed, I did not have to feign exhaustion. My knees gave way as I slid down from the pony, and only the Roman's quick reactions saved me from falling. For a moment he held me, and I realized that we were matched in height. In what else would we be a match? I wondered then, feeling the strength in his arms.

Not that I was likely to find out. The Council, in its wisdom, had decided to bind the Roman to our cause by giving him one of our number in the Great Rite at the Beltane fires; but the priestess whom the lots had selected to be his consort was not me, but Aelia.

I watched, shivering, as the Roman proceeded with swift efficiency to build a fire. At least the tile-makers had left plenty of fuel for it. The little flame leapt and kindled, revealing a sinewy arm, strong cheekbones, short hair plastered close to his head and darkened to old gold by the rain. As the fire began to catch in the larger branches, he stood to unfasten his sagum and drape it, dripping, over one of the low beams. He wore a tunic of good, grey wool edged with red. A short sword in a well-worn leather sheath hung at his side.

"Let me take your mantle, Lady," he said, turning. "The fire will warm the air in here soon, and perhaps it will dry-"

The fire flared suddenly, for the first time revealing him fully, and my world stood still. I saw intelligent grey eyes that enlivened a rather ordinary face, permanently reddened by exposure to sun and wind and pinker than ever from the cold. Tired and wet, he was hardly at his best, but he would never be famous for beauty. His colouring proclaimed him Roman by culture rather than ancestry; he hardly seemed the stuff of prophecy.

Yet I knew him.

In the ceremony that made me a woman, the G.o.ddess had shown him to me. He was the lover who would claim me at the Beltane fires, and I was the woman who would bear his child...

The Druids found the wrong man, I thought desperately.This is not the hero of Heron's vision, but of my own ...

And if they were the same?

I do not know what my face showed at that moment, but the Roman took a step backwards, lifting his hands in self-deprecation.

"Please, domina, do not be afraid. I am Flavius Constantius Chlorus, at your service."

I felt myself flushing as I realized that I hardly looked my best either. But that was as it should be. He must see me as ugly, old even, until I knew... until I knew whether he wasmy destiny...

"Julia Helena thanks you," I murmured, giving my own Roman name. It felt as strange on my tongue as the Latin. The girl who bore that name had lived another lifetime, ten years ago. But suddenly I wondered if she was destined to live again.

A leather flask hung at his side. He pulled the strap over his head and held it out to me. "It is only wine, but it may warm you-"

I managed a smile, and turned to rummage in my saddlebags. "And I have here a little bread and cheese and dried fruit that my sisters packed for me."

"Then we will feast." Constantius seated himself on the other side of the fire and smiled.

It transformed his face, and I felt a rush of heat that seared my flesh like fire. Wordless, I held out the loaf of bread, and he took it from my hand. I had heard once that in the hill country, to share a meal, a fire and a bed made a marriage. We had the first two already, and for the first time in my life I felt the temptation to deny my vows.

When my fingers brushed his, he had trembled. My extended senses knew that at a level below thought, he was responding to my nearness. My Druid escorts were outside somewhere. They would not disturb us unless I screamed. It would take very little, a step in the Roman's direction, a shiver as if I was cold and needed his arms to warm me. A man and a woman, alone together-our bodies would do the rest without direction.

But what of our souls?

To come to him without honour would destroy that other thing, sweeter even than the desire that heated my body: the potential that I sensed between us. And so, although I felt like a starving woman pushing food away, I edged back, drawing ugliness around me like a tattered cloak, the reverse of the glamour a priestess knows how to wear.

Constantius shook his head a little, cast a frowning glance at me and looked away. "Do you live nearby?" he asked politely.

"I dwell with my sisters on the edge of the marshes," I answered truthfully, "near the isle where the Christian monks have their sanctuary."

"The isle of Inis Witrin? I have heard of it-"

"We can come to my home tomorrow before the sun is high," I said. "I would be grateful for your escort-"

"Of course. The men who oversee my family's holdings would rather I had never come here-they will not care if I miss a day or more," he added bitterly.

"How did you come to riding the back roads of Britannia? You seem a man of authority," I asked with real curiosity.

"Not to mention family connections." There was an edge to the bitterness now. "My grandmother was sister to the Emperor Claudius. I wanted to make my own way by ability, not patronage. But since my great-uncle tried to seize the Imperium, and failed, I will settle for simply staying alive. The new Emperor has good reason to distrust men of my family."

He shrugged and took a pull from the wineskin. "My mother's family has investments here in Britannia-an import company in Eburac.u.m, and an interest in the lead mines, and it seemed a good time to send an agent to check on them. At the moment, the Gallic Empire is safer for me than Rome."

"But will not Tetricus and... what is his name, Marius, consider you a danger?"

Constantius shook his head and laughed. "It is Victorina Augusta who really rules. They call her the Mother of the Camps, you know, but she has little attention to spare for Britannia. So long as she gets a share of the profits, they will leave me alone. Emperors may come and go, but business makes the world go round!"

"You do not sound very happy about it," I observed. "I would not have guessed you for a merchant."