Part 1 (2/2)

Cigfolla clutched at her burden protectively, but the aura of power that surrounded the High Priestess was already descending upon Ganeda, and if the younger woman had objections, she did not voice them aloud.

”Are you sure that is wise?” By virtue of his office, the Merlincould question her. ”Will the child not need to be trained in Avalon to prepare for her destiny?”

”What the G.o.ds have ordained they will bring to pa.s.s, whatever we do,” answered Ganeda. ”But it will be long before I can look upon her face and not see my sister lying dead before me.”

The Merlin frowned, for it had always seemed to him that there was little love lost between Ganeda and Rian. But perhaps it made sense - if Ganeda felt guilt for having envied her sister, the babe would be a painful reminder.

”If the girl shows talent, when she is older, perhaps she can return,” Ganeda continued.

If he had been a younger man, the Merlin might have sought to sway her, but he had seen the hour of his own death in the stars, and he knew that he would not be here to protect the little girl if Ganeda resented her. Perhaps it was better that she should live with her father while she was small.

”Show me the child.”

Cigfolla rose, flipping back the corner of the blanket. The Merlin stared down at the face of the infant, still closed in upon itself like the bud of a rose. The child was large for a newborn, big-boned like her father. No wonder her mother had fought such a grim battle to bear her.

”Who are you, little one?” he murmured. ”Are you worth so great a sacrifice?”

”Before she died... the Lady... said she should be called Eilan,” Cigfolla answered him.

”Eilan-” the Merlin echoed her, and as if the infant had understood, she opened her eyes. They were still the opaque grey of infancy, but their expression, wide and grave, was far older. ”Ah... this is not the first time for you,” he said then, saluting her like a traveller who meets an old friend upon the road and pauses for a moment's greeting before they continue on their separate ways. He was aware of a pang of regret that he would not live to see this child grown.

”Welcome back, my dear one. Welcome to the world.”

For a moment the baby's brows met. Then the tiny lips curved upward in a smile.

Part I

THE WAY TO LOVE.

CHAPTER ONE.

AD 259.

”Oh! I can see water gleaming in the sun! Is it the sea?” I dug my heels into the pony's round side to bring it alongside Corinthius's big horse. The beast broke into a rough trot and I clutched at its mane.

”Ah, Helena, your young eyes are better than mine,” answered the old man who had been tutor to my half-brothers before being given the task of teaching the daughter Prince Coelius had inadvertently got upon a priestess of Avalon. ”A blaze of light is all I can see. But I think that what lies before us must be the levels of the Summer Country, flooded by the spring rains.”

I brushed back a wisp of hair and peered out at the landscape. The waters were broken up by hummocks of higher ground like islands and divided by winding rows of trees. Beyond them I could make out a line of hills where Corinthius said there were lead mines, ending in a bright haze that must be the estuary of the Sabrina.

”Then we are almost there?” The pony tossed its head as I squeezed its sides and then pulled back on the rein.

”We are if the rains have not washed out the causeway, and we can locate the village of the Lake folk that my master told me to find.”

I looked up at him with swift pity, for he sounded very tired. I could see lines in the thin face beneath the broad straw hat, and he sat slumped in the saddle. My father should not have made the old man come all this way. But when the journey was over, Corinthius, a Greek who had sold himself into slavery as a youth in order to dower his sisters, would have his freedom. He had saved a nice little nest egg over the years, and meant to set up a school in Londinium.

”We will come to the Lake village in the afternoon,” said the guide who had joined my escort in Lindinis.

”When we get there, we will rest,” I said briskly.

”I thought you were eager to come to the Tor,” Corinthius said kindly. Perhaps he would be sorry to lose me, I thought, smiling up at him. After my two brothers, who cared for nothing but hunting, he had said he enjoyed teaching someone who actually wanted to learn.

”I will have the rest of my life to enjoy Avalon,” I answered him. ”I can wait a day longer to arrive.”

”And start your studies once more!” Corinthius laughed. ”They say that the priestesses of Avalon have preserved the old Druid wisdom. It consoles me a little for losing you to know that you will not spend your life running some fat magistrate's household and bearing his children.”

I smiled. My father's wife had tried to convince me that such a life was a woman's highest hope, but I had always known that sooner or later I would be going to Avalon. That it was sooner was due to the rebellion of a general called Postumus, whose war had cut Britannia off from the Empire. Unprotected, the south-eastern coasts were vulnerable to raiders, and Prince Coelius had thought it best to send his little daughter to the safety of Avalon while he and his sons prepared to defend Camulodunum.

For a moment then my smile faltered, for I had been the apple of my father's eye, and I hated the thought that he might be in danger. But I knew well enough that while he was away from home my life there would not have been a happy one. To the Romans I was my father's love-child, without maternal relatives, for it was forbidden to speak of Avalon. In truth it was Corinthius and old Huctia, who had been my nurse, who had been my family, and Huctia had died the winter before. It was time for me to return to my mother's world.

The road led downwards now, winding gently back and forth across the slope of the hill. As we emerged from the shelter of the trees, I shaded my eyes with my hand. Below, the waters lay upon the land like a sheet of gold.

”If you were a faerie horse,” I murmured to my pony, ”we could gallop along that s.h.i.+ning path all the way to Avalon.”

But the pony only shook its head and reached for a mouthful of gra.s.s, and we continued to clop down the road one step at a time until we came to the slippery logs of the causeway. Now I could see the grey stalks of last summer's gra.s.s waving in the water and beyond them the reedbeds that edged the permanent channels and pools. The deeper water was dark, charged with mystery. What spirits ruled these marshes, where the elements were so confused and mingled that one could not tell where earth ended and the water began? I s.h.i.+vered a little and turned my gaze to the bright day.

As the afternoon drew on towards evening, a mist began to rise from the water. We moved more slowly now, letting our mounts choose their own footing on the slippery logs. I had ridden horses since I could walk, but until now, each day's journey had been a short one, appropriate to the strength of a child.

Today's ride, the last stage in our journey, had been longer. I could feel the dull ache in my legs and back and knew that I would be glad to get out of the saddle when the day was over.

We came out from beneath the trees and the guide reined in, pointing. Beyond the tangle of marsh and woodland rose a single pointed hill. I had been taken from this place when I was barely a year old, and yet, with a certainty beyond memory, I knew that I was looking at the holy Tor. Touched by the last of the sunlight, it seemed to glow from within.

”The Isle of Gla.s.s...” murmured Corinthius, eyes widening in appreciation.

But not Avalon... I thought, remembering the stories I had heard. The cl.u.s.ter of beehive huts at the foot of the Tor belonged to the little community of Christians who lived there. Avalon of the Druids lay in the mists between this world and Faerie.

”And there is the village of the Lake people-” said our guide, indicating the trails of smoke that rose beyond the willows. He slapped the reins against his pony's neck and all of the horses, sensing the end of their journey, moved forwards eagerly.

”We have barge, but crossing to Avalon needs priestess. She says if you are welcome. Is important to go now? You want that I call?” The headman's words were respectful, but in his posture there was little deference. For nearly three hundred years his people had been the gatekeepers for Avalon.

”Not tonight,” answered Corinthius. ”The maiden has endured a long journey. Let her have a good night's sleep before she must meet all those new people in her new home.”

I squeezed his hand gratefully. I was eager to get to Avalon, but now that our journey was over, I was painfully aware that I would not see Corinthius again, and only now did I realize how fond of the old man I really was. I had wept when my nurse died, and I knew that I would weep to lose Corinthius as well.

The Lake people made us welcome in one of the round thatched houses set on poles above the marsh.

A long, low boat was tied up beside it, and a creaking bridge connected it to the higher ground. The villagers were a small, lightly-built folk, with dark hair and eyes. At ten, I was already as tall as a grown woman among them, though I had the same dusky brown hair. I watched them curiously, for I had heard that my mother had been like them in feature, or perhaps she and they were both like the people of Faerie.

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