Gallicenae Read Free Page A

forced a grin. “Or sects, rather. They might as well have a dozen different Christs, the way they quarrel about His nature.”
    Dubious, she yielded. “Well, we can be tactful.”
    “Aye.” Bodilis leaned across the table and laid her hand over his. “Dear, if you are going to Lugdunum, and not terribly belated, would it be too much farther for you to come home through Burdigala?”
    “What?” he asked, startled.
    Her smile was wistful. “You remember how for years I’ve been in correspondence with Magnus Ausonius, the poet and rhetor. He’s retired to his estate there. If you could bring him my greetings, and carry back an account of him as a person, it would be—almost like meeting him myself.”
    Pity touched Gratillonius. Her life was not impoverished. More than the perquisites of a Queen, she had the riches of her spirit. But she had never travelled beyond the island of Sena in the west and the frontier of the Ysan hinterland in the east, a few leagues away. The glories of Greece, Rome, all the great civilizations of the Mediterranean and the Orient, existed for her only in books, letters, and the conversation of an occasional visitor. Bound by Imperial law and military discipline, he nonetheless had freedoms she could but dream of. “Why, indeed,” sprang from him, “if I can, indeed I will.”
    3
    Again the King stood on the dais in the council chamber of the basilica, at his back the twenty-four legionaries remaining to him, behind them the eidolons of the Triad, and before him the Gallicenae and magnates of Ys. He wore a robe inwoven with gold-threaded tapestry figures to represent the eagle and thunderbolts of Taranis. In sight upon his breast hung the Key, and to his right, deputy Adminius had received the Hammer.
    The garb was a part of his message, for at the quarterly meetings he had not dressed quite this grandly, and in everyday life he picked clothing simple and serviceable. It told the assembly that today he was not the blunt-spoken soldier with whom they handled the affairs of the city; he was embodied Power, secular and sacred. Several of the councillors must have anticipated this, for they too were attired in antique vestures or in Roman togas.
    Still, after the invocations, Gratillonius used plain language. Oratory was not among his gifts, and while he had become fluent in Ysan, a number of its subtleties would always elude him. First he summarizedthe situation in the Western Empire and the reasons why he hoped for a better future, at least in those parts where Maximus had control.
    “What are the Augustus’s plans for us?” growled Soren Cartagi.
    “That we shall learn,” Gratillonius told them. “I am bidden to his presence.”
    The news drew the storm of protest he had expected. He let Lanarvilis and Bodilis do most of his arguing for him. Although unprepared, a few joined in on their side, such as Sea Lord Adruval Tyri and Mariner Councillor Bomatin Kusuri. Their grounds were practical. “In Roman eyes, our King is an officer of the army and the state,” Adruval reminded. “If he goes not when ordered, that’s insubordination. D’ye want a legion coming to winkle him out of here?”
    Vindilis’s lean features whitened. “Let them dare!” she cried.
    “Nay, now, be wise, my Sister,” Quinipilis urged. Her voice was unsteady; in the past year or so she had much weakened. “How could we stand them off?”
    “The Gods—”
    Forsquilis the seeress interrupted in a tone low and carrying: “I think the Gallicenae may no longer be able to raise the Gods in aid; and They Themselves are troubled. For the heavens have moved from the Sign of the Ram to the Sign of the Fish, and the old Age dies as the new comes to birth.” Her gaze dropped and her hands passed across her robe, under which a life swelled toward its own forthcoming.
    “Will the Emperor let our King return?” asked Innilis. She sounded terrified.
    “Why not?” said Bomatin. “He’s been doing a masterly job