"Ever I knew you would," she said. "I am ready to go." A whisper: "How very ready."
"Go?" asked Floris.
"Down hell-road. You will bring me to darkness and peace." Anxiety fluttered. "Will you not?"
Floris tautened. "Ach, what I want of you is harder than death."
Edh was silent a little before she replied, "As you will. I am no stranger to pain."
"I would not hurt you!" Floris blurted. She regained due gravity. "You have served me for long years."
Edh nodded. "Since you gave me back my life."
Floris could not stifle a sigh. "A life lamed and twisted, I fear."
Emotion quickened. "You did not save me for nothing, I know. It was for all the others, wasn't it? All the women ravished, men slain, children bereft, free folk laid in bonds. I was to call their avenging down upon Rome. Was I not?"
"You are no longer sure?"
Tears glinted on lashes. "If I was wrong, Niaerdh, why did you let me go on?"
"You were not wrong. But child, hearken." Floris held out her hands. Like a small girl in truth, Edh took them. Hers were cold and faintly atremble. Floris drew breath. The majestic words rolled forth.
"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace."
Awe looked at her. "I hear you, goddess."
"It is olden wisdom, Edh. Hear onward. You have wrought well, you have sown for me as I would have you. But your work is not yet done. Now gather in the harvest."
"How?"
"Thanks to the will that you aroused in them, the westfolk have fought for their rights, until at last the Romans would fain yield them back what was robbed. But they, the Romans, still fear Veleda. As long as you might cry again for their downfall, they dare not withdraw their hosts. It is time that you, in my name, call for peace."
Rapture blazed. "They will go away then? We shall be rid of them?"
"No. They will take their tribute and have their warders among the tribes as erstwhile." In haste: "But they will be righteous; and dwellers on this side of the Rhine will also gain by the trade and the lawfulness."
Edh blinked, shook her head violently, crooked fingers into claws at her sides. "No real freedom? No revenge? Goddess, I cannot—"
"This is my will," Floris commanded. "Obey." Once more she gentled her voice. "And for you, child, there shall be reward, a new home, a place of calm and comfort, where you shall tend my shrine, that will henceforward be the halidom of peace."
"No," Edh stammered. "You, you must be aware—I have sworn—"
"Tell me!" Floris exclaimed. After an instant: "I . . . wish you to make yourself clear to yourself."
The shaking, straining figure before her gained back its balance. Edh had long coped with menaces and horrors. She could overcome bewilderment. Briefly, she sounded almost wistful. "I wonder if I ever have been. . . ." She stiffened herself. "Heidhin and I, he got me to swear I would never make peace while he lives and Romans remain in German lands. We mingled our blood in the grove before the gods. Were you elsewhere?"
Floris scowled. "He had no right."
"He—invoked the Anses—"
Floris donned haughtiness. "I will deal with the Anses. You are free of that oath."
"Heidhin would never—He has been faithful through all these years," Edh faltered. "Would you have me cast him out like a dog? For he will never end war against the Romans, whatever other men or you gods yourselves may do."
"Tell him I gave you my bidding."
"I know not, I know not!" ripped from Edh's throat. She sank to the floor and buried her face on the knees she hugged. Her shoulders quivered.
Floris glanced aloft. Roof beams and rafters were lost in blackness. Light had left the window and cold crept inward. The wind hooted.
"We have a crisis, I fear," she subvocalized. "Loyalty is the highest morality these people know. I'm not certain Edh can bring herself to break that pledge. Or if she does, she may be shattered."
"Which'd leave her incapable," sounded Everard's English in her head, "and we've got to have her authority to make this deal work. Besides, poor tortured woman—"
"We must make Heidhin release her from the vow. I hope he will heed me. Where is he?"
"I was just checking on that. He's at home." They had bugged it some time ago. "M-m, it happens Burhmund is with him, riding circuit among the trans-Rhine chiefs, you know. I'll find another day for you to approach him."
"No, wait. This may be a stroke of luck." Or the world lines tightening as they seek to regain their proper configuration? "Since Burhmund is trying to rouse the tribes to a new effort—"
"We'd better not pull any epiphanies on him. No telling how he'd react."
"Of course not. I mean, I won't appear directly to him. But if he sees Heidhin the implacable suddenly converted—"
"Well . . . okay. It's dicey whatever we do, so I'll trust your judgment, Janne."
"Hsh!"
Edh looked up. Tears streaked her cheekbones, but she had fought the weeping off. "What can I do?" she asked colorlessly.
Floris moved to stand above her, bent, again offered her hands. She helped the other rise, clasped arms about her, stood thus for a minute giving what warmth her body was able. Stepping back, she said: "Yours is a clean soul, Edh. You need not betray your friend. We will go together and speak with him. Then he ought to understand."
Wonder and dread became one. "We twain?"
"Is that wise?" Everard questioned. "M-m, yeah, I suppose having her along will reinforce you."
"Love may be as strong as religion, Manse," Floris said.
To Edh: "Come, mount my steed behind me. Hold fast to my waist."
"The holy bull," Edh breathed. "Or the hell horse?"
"No," Floris said. "I told you, yours is a harder road than the way under."
18
Fire sprang and crackled in a trench down the middle of Heidhin's house. Smoke did not rise well toward the louvers, but hazed and made stinging an air that the flames hardly warmed. Their red light wrestled with darknesses among the pillars and beams. It wavered across the men on the benches and the women who brought them drink. Most sat wordless. Although Heidhin's home was as grand as many a royal hall, it had commonly known less mirth than a crofter's hut. This eventide there was none. Outside, wind shrilled through a deepening dusk.
"Naught can come of it save treachery," Heidhin snarled.
Seated beside him, Burhmund slowly shook his grizzled head. The fire threw a bloodshot shimmer over the milkiness of his blind eye. "I know not," he answered. "Yon Everard is an odd one. He may be able to bring something about."
"The best he, or anybody, could bear back to us is a refusal. Any offer would be meant for our ruin. You should never have let him go."
"How could I have stopped him? It was the lords of the tribes whom he spoke with, and they who sent him off. I told you how I did not hear till lately, when I was already on this quest."
Heidhin's lips writhed. "They dared!"
"They had the right." Burhmund's tone fell dull to the ground. "They do not forswear themselves merely by talk with the foe. I think, now, I would not have tried to forbid them, had I been on hand. They are sick of this war. Maybe Everard can find them a hope. I too am death-weary."