I Dorelei Earth Mother and her hus- band Lugh Sun got along very well but areued now very well but argued now Sand then as men and women will because they are differ- [ent. Once when they were very angry, Lugh Sun deserted ^Mother to show her how helpless she was without him. ;But Mother was stubborn. Even covered with ice she re- fused to surrender. . "See here," she demanded, fixing Lugh with her moon- ieye, "many of my animals have died tor lack of your ^warmth. My first children, my Prydn, shiver in caves. Stop fthis foolishness and come back where you belong." "When you admit I am the master," said Lugh. "What are you without me? Dark and cold." "What are you without me?" Mother asked. "Nothing to shine on. No children to love you." So they were both right and for once both had the sense to keep quiet about it and Lugh shone on the earth once more. The ice melted and Mother's children, the Prydn, followed the herds north as they grazed the new grass, until they came to a place so fair Mother drove her seas across the lowlands to make it an island for Prydn. Other men came later and gave the island queer names like Albion or Britannia, but the Prydn with their long memories knew it was theirs and would always be. From time to time Mother and Lugh still bickered and each said things harsh as they were true. "You are careTess," Mother accused. "At least once a 4 Parke Godwin year you wander off just like a man and leave us cold, and we have to beg you to come back." "That shows how much you know about it," Lugh answered. "There are places where I shine al! the time, where it's never cold and always green." "Then where is such a place?" the Prydn demanded, growing restless as children will when they have to wait for anything. "What is it like? We have never seen it." "Can you see the mole on your own back?" Lugh replied. "Earth is larger than you know. It is there." The children always remembered that. The place their father made for them must be wider than they knew, with a secret place for Prydn atone to find when they needed it. They called it Tir-Nan-Og, the land of the young, because no one grew old there and the grass was always green. A part of earth to be sure, but beyond what they knew. This they remembered from the first days, from the time of the ice. This was told by Mabh herself, the greatest queen the Prydn ever knew. Tallfolk feared all Prydn, but they went in awe of Gern-y-fhain Mabh and still used her name to frighten bad boys. So it must be true. The moor was silvered with Mother's eye-moon tight as Owl glided low over the stone circle on Cnoch-nan- ainneal and down the hillside beyond. Her hunting eye caught the mound of sheepskins—saw it move, saw the small dark-haired creature rise and gaze up at the moon. Too large for food. More curious than hungry. Owl flew closer. The girl was very small as Owl knew humans, not much larger than a child, and yet full grown. She con- fused Owl with her disproportion, yet there she was, na- ked, glossy hair tumbling over her shoulders and back, staring up at moon-eye. Owl was not the brightest of Mother's children; what served as her memory was concerned with food and her young. Dimly she remembered that there were once many more like the small girl, as many as the bigger ones in the lowland villages where food was easier found. But now they were few, always moving along the hilltops with their flocks from which Owl might snatch a new-dropped iamb THE LAST RAINBOW 5 ^to feast on, if she were very lucky and very fast. These Hwere the small folk of the hills, moving from one earth |Lhouse to another, setting their rath poles over the crannog | tops and covering the skins with turf so that they looked | like part of the hill itself. And dangerous: their small || bronze arrows flew faster and truer than others. t Owl veered close, saw the girl's dark head lift to I' follow her gliding path, then flew on, thinking of field l^mice to eat. These small humans were not as skillful at H getting as the bigger ones; little wonder there were so few of them now. Look at her there, staring up at Mother in the open where any food she hunted could see her first. [ "Fool!" jeered Owl as the girt looked up and their ^eyes met for an instant. "Foo-foo-fooool . . ." "Faerie." Dorelei tasted the sound, the tallfolk word for herself and Cru. Hard to say, hard to understand, like everything i about tatlfolk. "Faerie. Feh-uh-ree." Cruaddan snuggled closer under the sheepskin robe. -What?" Dorelei ran her tongue over Cru's moist lips, teasing him. It delighted her when they'd just loved each other to .taste and smell herself on him. "Be us. Tallfolk word for us." ".. . um." Being a man, love tired Cru more quickly. He was already floating down the soft darkness toward sleep. Well, not all tallfolk, Dorelei corrected herself. The Atecotti of the northern pastures never used such a word, but they were almost as old in the land as Prydn. No, it was a southern word, a Briton-word, first heard this spring when they came south near the Wall, the long rampart that divided Briton-men from Venicone Picts. Dorelei didn't divide them; they were all lallfolk. More serious, the grass here was no better than at Skirsa, as they'd hoped. Sheep could manage anywhere, but their few cattle had to be butchered or traded- There was always better graze in the valleys, but Venicones kept . them out. It was always so. The scrubby hilltops belonged 6 ' Parke Godwin to her people. The lush valleys were taken by the users of Blackbar-iron. She was gern of a new fhain and the first daughter of a gern. Her people were few but they looked to her to lead as her mother, Gawse, had. That frightened Dorelei sometimes, although she knew it shouldn't. She was six- teen, long past time to be grown up with child-wealth of her own. But Gawse's fhain was already too large for the sparse living north at Skirsa, so before this last Bel-tein, Dorelei was summoned to her mother. "Take Neniane second daughter and Guenloie and thy husbands and so much of our flock and herd. Do thee graze south." From the sacred treasures of the fhain, Gawse took a heavy gold tore set with ruby and emerald. She placed it about her daughter's neck. "First daughter be now Gern-y-fhain." Dorelei's heart came up into her mouth; done quick as that. On a day when she expected no more than her usual tasks and loving Cru—a gern, queen of her own people. The tore lay heavy on her breastbone. Fhain should be four generations in one rath. Hers was only two and the second barely in the world. Second daughter Neniane's sickly child might not last the sum- mer, surely not the winter, did she not take more strength from her food. Nine in all, counting the bairn. Well, they were young and healthy, and new mains must start some- where. But il was frightening. Dorelei felt the fear in the cold weight of the tore. She was Gern-y-fhain: all descent would now be traced through her, all disputes settled, all decisions concerning their welfare would come from her. It was as if the tore held a growing-magic, pulling her too swiftly toward maturity, making her see in a new light the boys and girls she'd played with only a season ago. Seven separate minds she must know as her own hand Tor weak- ness and strength, and none of them was that strong. Her sister Neniane was changed even since last year's Bel-tein fire. Once a playmate, she worried all the time now about the sick child who was not even named yet, so sure they were it would die. Her husbands, Artcois and Bredei, were still new in their own manhood, delighted with the child and not terribly concerned who fathered it, THE LAST RAINBOW 7 .which was only proper. One couldn't make them worry H' for long about anything, stil! careless children themselves. H Dorelei never noticed until now, but it was stone truth: | none of them were very grown up and wouldn't last unless I they were. Gawse couldn't take them back. It would be the | deepest shame a first daughter could bring on herself to run back home after receiving the tore. Then there was Guenloie, fourteen, cousin to herself and Neniane, and a coil beyond understanding. Her fa- ther was pure Prydn, her mother a changeling girl of the Taixali tallfolk, cradle-taken in a year when there was no child-wealth in the crannog. The child grew taller and much lighter-hued than Prydn, with hair so red they feared Lugh Sun might be jealous. She became all fhain in her , heart and took a good husband. Guenloie was the only '- child of five to live beyond her first year. She was fairer than Dorelei and betrayed her mixed blood in the reddish- brown tresses that fell down her back in waves rather than |. straight. Outside blood could strengthen fhain, but Guenloie l^ was drawn to outside ways as welfand sometimes acted as | if her Taixali ancestors made her better than the rest. f That could be dangerous. Tallfolk feelings toward Prydn 6' were always a two-edged blade. You never knew when they would turn and drive you out. They feared Prydn magic and yet sought its aid. Relations between them were always wary. Wise Gawse said it was natural. "A's taken from us the best grass and water. How should a feel when we look down from the hill on their thievery?" Thief: that was another Briton-word. Fhain never stole from each other and nothing taken from tallfolk could be called stealing, so there was no need in Prydn for such a word. But talYfoik were best kept at a distance, especially the young men, who might take the wrong mean- ing from Guenloie's too-eager friendliness and her scant clothing. Dorelei never had to think on that until this summer. Prydn women wore short kilts or fringed skirts that left their legs bare, and usually the open sheepskin vest that allowed them to nurse children as they rode. Dorelei thought nothing of it until they started trading with the Venicones and saw how the young men looked at Guenloie's pretty bare breasts bursting through the loose 8 Parke Godwin vest. Dorelei sensed the disapproval in the Veniconc women and, without knowing why except that she was gern and must think of such things, became queerly conscious of her own body and a shapeless danger. She fastened her vest with its seldom-used gold brooch and told Guenloie to do the same. "Why?" Guenloie wondered. "Be not cold." One day Guenloie lagged behind in a village, speak- ing to the loitering young men. Dorelei sent Drust and Malgon ahead whiTe she waited on the hillside, thinking what she must say as her cousin ran out the stockade gate and up the hill toward her. Dorelei made her face stiff as Gawse's when she was reproving a mistake- "Guenloie, thee shames thy husbands." "How?" "Tallfolk men have no respect for thee. Do not un- derstand thy ways or dress. Do think thee whore." Her cousin's smile was completely innocent. "Whore?" Dorelei wondered if she used the word correctly, hav- ing never heard it until this summer among Venicones. "Be woman who cares not who beds her." Guentoie was honestly bewildered by the idea. "But have husbands." "Do thee remember it. What did a say to thee?" "Who?" "Those men." "Oh—when did come again a would show where did byre a's kine." "Nae doubt. And thee could lie on the straw to see how soft a was. What else?" "And where did buy my gold armlet. As if gold could be bought." Guenloie laughed, touching the thick gold wire twining up her supple brown arm. "Did say the truth. Gift from Rainbow." That again- Taltfolk were always surprised at the gold Prydn wore but never traded. It did come from Rainbow somehow, but none of them remembered how or when. "Guenloie, speak less with a's men. A will spit on thee. Think of Drust and Malgon." That teasing smile again that men would always mis- read. "Do know what to do, Gern-y-fhain." And Guentoie skipped away after her husbands. THE LAST RAINBOW 9 Drust and Malgon were steadier than Artcois or Bredei, but then they had to be, dealing with a wile always be- tween two fires, never one thing or the other. Dorelei never had to lecture them on behavior or responsibility, although Drust second husband was a bit jealous and possessive of Guenloie and the most injured when she smiled at the village men. Artcois and Bredei had to be told-all the time of their responsibilities for the flocks. They'd be contrite and nod: yes, they'd be more careful on watch—and next day the sheep would be wandering and Neniane would screech and box their ears in sheer vexation. Cruaddan was eighteen and the oldest, finding it nec- essary to grow up fast as Dorelei. It sobered the mischief , out of them some of the time, but Cru was a good pro- vider. When ponies begged to be night-borrowed. Cru was there to liberate them. Hawk flew wide of their flocks when Cru was near. There was a time two Bel-teins past when Hawk was hungrier than careful, and a new lamb wobbled away from its mother on untried legs. Hawk was ' a black blur against the sky, stooping out of nowhere to sink his talons in the lamb's soft back. The lamb bleated its terror as Hawk labored to rise with it—then there he was, ^ rising away from the ground, gaining speed and height with every stroke of powerful wings, and Dorelei scream- | ing Cru! Cru! Cru! jumping up and down in helpless fury. Then Hawk lurched sideways and hung like a picture- bird drawn in the earth with the arrow through him before he fell like a stone. The lamb broke two of its frail legs in the fall and had to be butchered, a wasteful luxury. i: Mutton was to eat. Lambs were to grow and increase. The ^ most succulent portion went to Cru. the wool to wrap the newest child-wealth in Gawse's fhain. Tendons were dried i for cord, the head roasted for a delicacy, porridge boiled in the stomach, fat stored in a pouch. Nothing oF a sheep ' was ever wasted but its bad temper. Cru wore Hawk's pinion feathers in his hair and made a necklace of the claws, and always after that. Hawk was '• careful of Cru's bow. < The night was not really cold. Doretei looked down at | Cru sleeping and pulled the sheepskin blanket from his I naked body. In sunlight Cm was dark bronze, darker in 10 Parke Godwin moonlight, shoulders very broad for his short stature like all Prydn men. They were cousins, and neither could remember a time when the other wasn't there, playing in the warm crannog or trudging the hills behind the ponies. They fought and explored together. Dorelei was there when Cru s fhain scars were cut into his cheeks without a sound from him, and he held her in turn so that the painful knife could not make her cry out. They rode reckless over the hills on the nights of fire festival and knew without words that life was good and theirs the best of all. Then came a season when their play turned feverish, when they could not touch each other enough. The playing kindled a fire, pawing turned to clawing, and it was taken for granted that Dorelei would have Cru for first hus- band. She loved his body that fit so perfectly to hers, the spirit of him that joined with hers like halves of a stone with no rift at all. Side by side, peering at their reflection in still water, they seemed much alike, but it was not until this spring—a day of much learning and marvel—when they stood before a tallfolk woman's bronze mirror, wide- eyed at their true selves. They were alike as two black- berries: the same glossy black hair, fine and straight, high-bridged noses with mere slits for nostrils, the same gray eyes set above their Chain-scarred cheeks in a manner different from tallfolk. Cru was perhaps a finger-width taller. Except for the breadth of his shoulders and Dorelei's breasts, they could be small twin brothers. The woman even remarked at it. "Faerie girl, is he your brother?" "Husband." "Husband? Och—peas in a pod." The mirror delighted Dorelei. It was like seeing a whole new self. She wanted to see more, to know the self of her that others saw, like Lugh spying the mole on her back. Then Guenloie crowded in, eager to inspect her own image, and didn't look to her husbands for comparison but to the fair-skinned women of the house, preening when they noticed her waved hair. "Mother be Taixali," she told them proudly. On the day of the mirror. Dorelei resolved that if Guenloie ever brought trouble to fhain because of her THE LAST RAINBOW II too-free ways or let herself be taken by a tallfolk man, she could stay among them or go off with her husbands. Fhain would not have her back. She took another hurtful surprise that day when she heard the fat wives of the house whispering about them. "Don't they smell, dirty little things." "And so ugly." Ugly, she and Cru? They were the most beautiful of all Mother's children, made in the first days when Mother herself was young as Dorelei and bursting to create. "Cru, how be we ugly?" "Remember the Lughnassadh tale," he soothed her. "A's but jealous." He was a comfort and a steady warmth, her Cru. These summer nights Dorelei and Cru liked to take their sleeping robes away from the rath where they could hear the night sounds around them as they loved, starting out snug between the heavy fleeces, throwing them aside as their hunger rose and they went deliciously mad with each other. Then, sated, the night would chill their sweat and they'd cover again, only to start all over, stroking and licking each other's flesh until the sheepskin went Hying once more along with their spirits. But though they loved enough for the whole fhain, no child-wealth came of it. "Do try too much," Neniane counseled. "Wait until thy blood's come and gone. Rest and try again." But they couldn't wait any more than a river could pause or Lugh turn back in the sky. Cru had the fire of Herne in him, she had Mother's own need to be filled. Their bodies and spirits were so matched, one hungered with the other's need. Cru rolled over, face up. Dorelei brushed the hair aside where it tangled over his cheek and kissed the two V-shaped fhain marks. She eased down on her back be- side Cru, staring full into Mother's eye. What dost want of me? Be too young for Gern-y- fhain, not wise like Gawse. Yet now she must be wise. She must learn more about tallfolk to be ware of them. They were strange. Sometimes Prydn were allowed in the villages, sometimes no closer than the stockade gates, the village traders wearing Blackbar ' magic about their necks as protection, knowing as well as 12 Parhe Godwin Dorelei's folk that the iron would always be a wall between them. For tens of generations her people had feared the magic of Blackbar that they couldn't make or master. She didn't know why it was potent against them, but Gawse never questioned it or her mother before her, so Dorelei never touched, named, or even looked at iron if she could help it. Only in rare moments like this, awake beside sleeping Cru, did she sometimes ponder on it. What was in the Blackbar magic to make it so potent against her people? Whatever, tallfolk knew and used it. They would never allow Dorelei near their children, but they would travel a full day to find a Prydn midwife whose birth-magic they knew far better than their own and for good reason. Prydn women bore their children in far less comfort than Picts or Britons and knew the best ways td bring them easily and keep them alive. If one of their own lived past its first year, it would grow stronger than others, supple and tough as willow from running the hills. Many were born on the move. Tallfolk never understood the moving. "Why do you always wander?" a Venicone asked Cru only weeks past. "Why not stay in one place?" "Herds move." "Pen them up as we do." "Why?" "Do we not own the land?" Own? Pen? Tallfolk always used such words. Dorelei couldn't fathom their thinking except for the greed. Small wonder they fought all the time. They'd forgotten Mother and her way. A poor lot. Mother must have made them on a bad day toward the end when she was tired of it all. How do children pen off pans of a mother? That was like Salmon fhain saying Doreiei's left arm was Neniane's, the other Guenloie's. How could that be when earth was a living thing, Lugh moved, and the herds drifted as they always had since Mabh followed the reindeer? They moved as birds who were born on the wing, their whole lives pressed to the breast of the wind and taking suck from it. And yet a hard truth stayed with Dorelei. There was only one sickly infant in the rath, and she had none in her. The grass was not good here, nor was it belter for diem anywhere she could remember. If they were Moth- THE LAST RAINBOW 13 er's First children, why did they grow fewer and weaker while tallfoik lived fat in the glens? Why did outsiders seek Prydn magic in important matters like birth or illness and then hate and fear them for having it to give? Gawse must have pondered these things. That was what. took the lightness from her step and made her brood in the crannog of winter nights. While Dorelei rolled in her sleeping robe, Gawse thought of tomorrow. Now it was her turn. She could already feel the weight that bowed Gawse's shoulders and turned down the corners of her mouth, a weight on the soul. Where is tomorrow for us? She wouldn't think of that now. Lughnassadh was coming, the day when their sun father marked them apart from tallfolk. Dorelei would tell the story to fhain as Gawse did each year. Neniane's infant daughter was too young to understand, but the others would expect it. They would feast and drink barley beer, but after Lughnassadh the mist on the moor would grow colder each day, the sun lose its warmth, and forgetful Lugh be that much more distant from them until it was time to crowd the flocks and ponies into the crannog against one more lean winter. She turned to push herself against Cru, half hoping he'd wake and talk to her, but he only sighed and bur- rowed deeper into sleep. It would be light soon. Already Dorelei could smell the rain on the east wind. She couldn't sleep with so much troubling her. Perhaps if she went alone into the circle now and talked to Mother, there might be wisdom. The hill above her, Cnoch-nan-ainneal, was the oldest circle known to Prydn. It was said Mabh's own people dragged the stones into place. She could start her own fhain in no stronger place. Dorelei wrapped the wool kilt about her hips, clasping it with the bronze brooch. She slipped into her vest, bent to pull the robe over Cru, then padded barefoot up the dew-wet slope toward the circle of great stones. On summer nights the heath never grew really dark, lust a silvered gray. Dorelei could see every part of the hill, every tight and shadow on the stones above her. Then the gray and silver moved. Dorelei froze to a stone herself. Only her eyes IT: s^ following the shape that flowed in and out of spJ/^S^ ( 14 Parks Godwin Wolf. Dorelei wailed, it moved again. Only one. Not hunt- ing. Wolf never hunted alone. Like Prydn they lived beyond the tallfolk fires and spent much time singing to Mother. Tallfolk feared Wolfs song without understanding that Wolf sang much the same as men did, for [he pleasure. Hungry wolves were a threat, but in deep summer with food plentiful, Wolf was just another child wandering the moor for the whim of it. The gray wolf sat near one of the stones. She growled deep in her throat when Dorelei slipped into the circle but did not crouch or retreat. Dorelei moved upwind of the wolf bitch and squatted on her haunches, arms dangling from her knees. The wolf growled again, a tentative warning. "Be still," Dorelei assured her. Wolf lifted her muzzle to try the new scent and its many facets—grass, sheep, man, but none of the fear smell that came from humans when she was close. That confused Wolf. Fear and threat always went together. The growl softened to a questioning whine. Dorelei grinned at her. "Dost talk to Mother?" What mother? Wolf clearly didn't know what she meant. Foolish bitch, be nae better than dog. There were fewer wolves now. Men hunted them out of their lairs, remembering a time when they themselves huddled in protective circles of fire and Wolf waited pa- tiently in the dark beyond for the fire to burn down, though it never did. Men grew bigger and Wolf smaller— Like thee. —And now Wolf was dying out of the land. Like thee, said Wolf. "Be still. Dost nae remember Mother?" Wolfs tongue lolled out. She laughed at Dorelei in the moonlight. Remember what? There is hunting and mating and cubs, and now your fear smell rising. You will die out. "And what of thee? Could not even bargain with men to live by their fire like common curs. Must always live outside." u. Like thee. Will come a time when Prydn-Faerie is only THE LAST RAINBOW 15 a name to frighten their pups as mine is: Wolf will eat you. Faerie wilT steal you. Thee's nigh hunted out, Dorelei. Wolf flowed up off her haunches and stalked to Dorelei, sniffing at her knees and between her legs. "Take care, woman. Do have my knife." Be hard as tallfolk knives? They are ten times greed- ier than I. In their ten-times heal they forge harder knives. Blackbar magic was bad luck even to mention, but Dorelei crossed her fingers against it. "My knife be made from bronze in good stone mold." Flint broke flesh. Bronze broke flint. Iron will break bronze. Dorelei felt an urge to cuff her. "Mother will not let us be broken." Broken and forgot. "No." Wolf leered at her. What place has thy name on it? Cannot live on the wind and leave a trail. "Rainbow does." Where dost point thee, Dorelei? Wolf tasted morning in the air. Time to return to her own pups, who were whelped with more sense than this silly woman would ever have. She flirted her tail at Dorelei and loped away down the hillside. Rainbow must point somewhere; unthinkable that the fmost beautiful of earth signs should have no significance. There was a meaning, Dorelei was sure. When she looked at Rainbow, a memory stirred deep in her, rising a little in I response to her effort to recall before it sank again. Where dost point thee? Dorelei rose and stood among the dark stones of the ^rcle. "Mother, speak to me." Not the proper address or respect. She should stand in the right place and scatter the white stones, but this i'once in her need, woman to woman. Mother might for- give her. "Mother, speak to me. Be Wolf right? Would iel us be forgot?" But the reassuring strength that always filled her with Mother's voice did not come. What mother? Dorelei shiv- ered at the treacherous thought. It was not Mother's eye it all but only a light in the sky with no more love for her 16 Parke Godwin than the eye of a Fish might hold. Doretei reached to cup the mooneye and wash her hand in its light. It vanished in dull cloud, eluding her. "Do not turn from us." No hint of Mother anywhere on the moor, only the east wind and the first drops of rain. Never before had Dorelei felt so utterly alone, so abandoned, the stomach- sick moment before falling. The rain pelted her upturned face; she backed a step, whimpering. The night was no longer soft, the stones not old friends but strange giants glaring at her with no more pity than Hawk gave the iamb. In a moment they would begin to rock back and forth, tearing themselves out of the ground to bump heav- ily in at her, leaning over her, crushing her under their weight into the earth that was never friend but only cold dirt— Cru! Mother turned from her, the world was cold and dead. Dorelei fled from the circle and down the hill to the only safety left. The rain was falling harder when she dove under the fleece robes, writhing against Cru for comfort. Sleepily he brushed her away. "Wet." "Oh, Cru . . ." She wanted to tell him about Wolf and the drab taste of her thoughts, the emptiness where there was always comfort before. She wanted to know Wolf was foolish, that Mother did hear them. But how strong would Cru feel in turn if Gern-y-fhain herself was lost to magic? She felt bleak with the truth of it. She dare not tell Cru or any of them even when the fear was crushing her spirit. Dorelei squeezed against Cru and set her teeth to his shoulder. He woke foggiTy. There was still sleep in him and the robes were warm against the rain. He didn't see her tears or the rain that washed them away in secret. In a little while Dorelei slept herself as a mercy, but she dreamed of Wolf. When Dorelei raised her head out of the robes the early sun slanted on the stone circle. Far to the west the rain still lowered over the hills, but the east was clear and blue. And there was a rainbow. THE LAST RAINBOW 17 Wolf lied. Mother had not turned from them. The ^rainbow trail arced across the morning sky, and Dorelei J; wanted to cry again for relief at its clear beauty. She ^thought of the old song, the few words of it she remembered. Be not where but only when— y None of them, not even Gawse's old mother, could 'remember the rest. ;: Cru yawned and stretched. "Must go back to rath." Dorelei bent to kiss him. His mouth smiled under ^hers. "Did make child-wealth last night?" "Perhaps. Cru . . . ?" He sat up, pushing the long silky hair back from his ^face. To the northwest, around the side of the hill, a few ll-of their sheep straggled away from the flock, nibbling at H the wet grass. "Cru, dost remember Rainbow song?" [' Cru's mind was on food, but he allowed part of it to ^.her question, remembering no more than Dorelei- There |pnce was such a song in the old fhains. 1 " 'Be not where . . .' " r " 'But only when.' Be more words than that." || "Not in my head." Cru cupped the breasts of the ^rainbow-rapt Dorelei from behind and nipped at her neck. "Dost nae remember the tale?" "Of what?" "Rainbow, fool." "Nae." "Was a sign," Dorelei said. "Of what?" "Do nae know." Neither of them could remember the story. It was pong ago. They had no concept of time like house-dwelling 1-Venicones or Britons, but counted from seasons and fire- ji&stivals, and it seemed tens of seasons past, when they |fWere little more than infants, that Cru might have heard |something of it. He was barely walking then and Dorelei ^ still slung from Gawse's shoulder. |, "Came a woman from some other fhain," Cru strug- gled to recollect. "Were in western pastures then and tallfolk there, Brigantes and Roman men. Gem told the story to them." 18 Parke Godwin Cru remembered only that the woman spoke of Rain- bow and wore more gold and silver than any gern in his young memory. Even the Romans wondered al it. But then their herd dog, Rof, barked from a shoulder of the hill. Artcois hallooed after, holding up cheese and milk and reminding Dorelei and Cru that they were hungry. Some fire festivals were shared with tallfolk, but not Lughnassadh, since it meant different things to them. To Venicones and Votadini, it was a harvest fire, a lamenta- tion for the death of old Barley Woman and celebration of new Barley Maid. In old times a person was chosen as Barley King for the year and scythed with the harvest at the end of it. Prydn once sacrificed for the same reasons, for the prosperity of the herds, usually a prisoner or stolen child. Old days were crueler. With children so pre- cious now, such a thing would be foolish. Now it was all pretend, although the devotion and the serious meaning remained. From their hilttops fhain could see the harvesters working furiously through the narrow- ing stands of barley. None wanted to be the last to finish. On the last day the remaining workers were closely watched until only one man or woman remained with a sheaf uncut. Then, with much ceremony, the village head or the wise woman would lead the ritual mourning for Barley Woman who gave birth to Barley Maid even in her death. The cailleach doll made from the last sheaf would bear in its center a smaller image of the Maid, and mourning would turn to celebration. The last laggard harvester took a fun drubbing from the rest of the village, and dire predictions for the next year were cast for him. If a man, he would be childless. A woman would remain barren or unmarried at all. There was feasting then and much mak- ing of child-wealth, as was fitting. As man sowed wealth in woman, hay and cabbage and other crops could now be sown in the ground- All their magic had to do with crops and staying in one place. Prydn remembered the reindeer. The herds moved in the oldest dance of earth. Fhain's festival was one of movement. In the summer Lugh rode close to earth, his feelings for Mother at their warmest. It was this marriage Prydn celebrated. The men brushed down their shaggy THE LAST RAINBOW 19 inies, decked the saddles with heather, and rode in a procession to the foot of Cnoch-nan-ainneal. Dorelei, Neniane, and Guenloie waited there, circlets of vervain, agwort, and pimpernel in their hair. As Cru pranced his )ny toward her, Dorelei shot her hands high in the air. "Have seen Raven. Lugh be with us!" Raven was one of the forms Lugh took in flesh, and see him on this day was a sign that he favored Salmon lain. Cru leaned from the saddle and caught Dorelei, yho hopped up nimbly behind him. Neniane rode with Iredei, Guenloie with Malgon, Artcois and Drust bringing Up the rear. They paraded in solemn pomp three fufi circles about Cnoch-nan-ainneal. There was work to do preparing the Lughnassadh feast- There would be oats and ground pork cooked in a itheep's stomach with aromatic basil and garlic to make the pleasured tongue beg for more, barley soup thickened ith mushrooms and all the week's leftovers, and a mea- ire of mead traded from the Venicones, plus a honey- ?mb paid to Guenloie for a charm against the suspected n\ eye of a neighboring ancient. Fhain had great fun rith that. "Will work as well as not," Guenloie reasoned. And the centerpiece of their repast! A lamb who )ked unhappy in its Venicone captivity until Cru night- Bbrrowed the fortunate lostling, its tender meat flavored •ith mint and wild garlic. This night fhain would feast ntil their stomachs popped. At dusk, like eyes opening all over the land, one could •e the Lugh fires kindled in one tallfolk village after aother, inside the stockades or beside the fields. From a lecial dry corner of the crannog. unburned remnants of ist year's fire. a gift from Gawse, were brought out and ed to kindle the flame and replenished with aromatic imps of dried peat. From the new fire torches were lit Neniane and passed up to the mounted fhain. Torch aloft, Dorelei gazed across the few miles to the losest fire-lit village and felt the fierce, ancient pride swell ter chest. "We are the Prydn," she whispered to the dis- Bnt light. "You are not so old in the land as us." She swooped her torch in a fiery circle. "Be the peo- »le of the hill!" 20 Parke Godwin The torches wheeled against the darkening sky. "Yah!" "First children!" "Yah!" "Will carry Lugh's light." Six torches strung out behind her, Dorelei rode a route along the hilltops. As her sure-footed pony plunged up and over the ridges, she knew no lowlanders would venture within a mile of them this night; they called this procession a Faerie rade, and deep in their beliefs was the certainty that this time could bring the worst luck one could imagine, lik-e blighted crops or dead children. Some Venicones would not even took up at the moving lights, and every person and threshold bore iron as protection. In these southern parts where the crown-shaven priests of the Christ-man had passed, some believed that these were the false lights of Lucifer, sower of confusion and harm. No matter how one believed. Faerie were best avoided when they rode at night. Dusk deepened to dark and stars as they rode. Moth- er's eye rose and opened to approve their worship, and Dorelei's heart felt warm as they approached the rocky outcrop that marked the entrance to their rath. Neniane stood waiting with the bairn in her arms, shaggy Rof capering about among the ponies. "Feast! Come feast," she called to them as they dis- mounted. "All's prepared." But Dorelei sensed a forcing in the welcome and knew her sister's heart was not in it. While the men led the ponies to their byre, she placed her own flower crown on Neniane's head and kissed her. "The bairn?" Neniane's serious dark-kitten face bent to the wrapped child. "Still fevered." Dorelei placed the backs of her fingers against the tiny brow: far too hoi. In spite of potent magic, the child's preserved birth string greased and laid near the Fire, in spite of lavender tea and beech-fungus poultice, the bairn still grew weaker. "Should never have left Gawse," Neniane mourned. "Hush. Be home now. Will brew more tea tor it." Neniane's daughter was given more hot lavender and wrapped in lamb's wool to sweat the fever out of her. The flushed infant barely moved. Dorelei felt hopeless. She THE LAST RAINBOW 21 lad no real zest for the feast but dared not show it. More |and more this summer she was coming to realize that jmuch of the strength and courage of a gern lay in the masking of troubles from her people while they nourished |on her spirit. | The order of seating at a meal was a statement of Iposition within fhain. Everyone had a certain place. Only |children were allowed to roam about or partake of any |dish at random. As gern, Dorelei sat on a flat stone in the Hiighest place, Cruaddan on her right hand, Neniane on |her left. Then to Neniane's left and Cru's right came |Artcois as first and Bredei as second husband. Then |Cuenloie, Malgon, and Drust in the same order. |; Dorelei dipped from the soup and cut a portion of pmeat; Neniane followed, and then they talked and laughed |freely, deferring only to Dorelei when she spoke as gern. |For this reason, as Gawse had, she chose her times care- fully for gem-speaking and listened more than she spoke. |t lent her needed gravity and set her somewhat apart like xr mother. The men's talk turned to the Wall. It fascinated them &ven more than the high stone brochs of the north, a solid (tone wall fifteen feet high and stretched the width of the and from sea to sea with castles every mile and camps in fcipport. AH things Roman were a source of wonder and nore than a little fear. Everything they built was to last, all iquare and counted and uniform, cities, armies, even men. Squares seemed awkward to fhain, whose idea of perfect inity was circular. The Romans had been in Britain for- ver; yet now, suddenly— "A's gone," said Cru. Drust couldn't believe that. "Nae!" "Did hear from Venicones." "Gone where?" Well, as Cm gathered from villagers, there were wars oversea and all the soldiers went to fight in them and lone were left but Briton-men. Rome claimed all the iarth south of the Wall, which meant nothing to fhain. |Their journey south this spring was the longest any of 'hem could remember. Anything greater had no meaning. k.nd when was this leaving? 22 Parke Godwin Cru searched for a measure. "Oh, tens of seasons past. But Wall be guarded yet." " 'Gainst Venicones?" "And us," said Cru. That sat strangely with Malgon- " 'Gainst Prydn? What be in Briton-land we would want?" The notion was comic: Artcois spluttered through his soup. "Can picture it: tens and tens of Briton-men a-shiver on the Wall while Dorelei and Cruaddan lead fhain flying against them." Cru swept his arm in a great arc. "Forward!" "Forward! Yah!" Neniane lashed out suddenly. "Be still!" They all heard the thin-worn desperation behind her temper. "Bairn can nae eat. Can nae have a little rest at least?" Artcois subsided. "Be only joke, wife." "Thee's always joking. Thee's a fool." "Why?" Guenloie wondered. "May not even laugh at feast?" Neniane turned away in disgust. "Be those who can do little else." "Second daughter be right," Dorelei settled it. "Bairn needs rest. Do not wake her." They quieted in concern and respect. Neniane was worried and not enjoying the feast even though Dorelei saved the tenderest cuts of lamb for her. "But did hear there be good graze south of Wall," Guenloie nodded. "An could use't." "And thee's worse than fool," Neniane lashed out at her. "With thy mooning after tallfolk men and boasting thee's one of them." "Nae true," said loyal Malgon. Guenloie bristled. "Mother be Taixali." "And proud to be fhain." Dorelei reminded her. It wasn't wise for Guenloie to hold such thoughts, much less voice them. Her husbands were pained by it, especially Drust who was achingly in love with her. Dorelei was suddenly sick of them all. "Neniane, hold thy temper. Do all care for bairn. Guenloie spoke only of graze." "Which is good in Briton-land," Guenloie glowered. "Not for us." Cru spat out a piece of gristle. "Lugh promised us Tir-Nan-Og." THE LAST RAINBOW 23 "When?" Neniane asked. It was a hopeless, disbeliev- ing sound. "Where?" "In the west," Bredei said. "At world's edge." "Or even farther," Artcois amended. Neniane glared at her husbands like a brace of idiots. "What be farther than world's edge?" J| "Thee knows the story," Dorelei said. "Can see the |anote on thy own back?" I, Family bickering subsided as the richness of the feast ^thickened and warmed their blood. When all were mellow ||with mead and only nibbling at honeycomb, when talk had ^fallen to a torpid murmur, one or two of them glanced |||Eatpectant!y at Dorelei. She sat cross-legged on the stone, ll&ack straight, hands on her knees, and spoke the ritual ^vords as gern, praying she had her mother's stern com- I'lBiand or at least a hint of it. "Was in the First days." Dutifully, fhain sat back to listen, although Dorelei inew there was none of Gawse's husky, low authority in !>er voice. Nevertheless, she told the story as her mother lid, even with the remembered inflections that she prac- aced m secret. Gawse did it so easily; her voice had the |weight of distant thunder across the sky even when it sank |to a whisper. H The Lughnassadh story was mainly for children, that |piey remember their honored place among the offspring Jof earth and sky. Neniane took up her child and brought |her to the Fire. I, "Gern-y-fhain, tell my first daughter of Mother and |l.ugh." ^ "Was a time when all men were nigh beautiful as P*rydn," Doretei began. | But Mother and Lugh gave so much of food and jwealth that many grew larger and sleeker. They could pook down on the heads of the First children, and so pooked down on their hearts as well. In their pride, tallfolk ||forgot their kinship with Prydn and the animals, and even |the generosity of their parents. "Was m the long summer before Lugh grew angry Mid went away. Before the ice came. Was in the First days rf his love for Mother. A were like fhain then." Dorelei Parke Godunn smiled at her folk. "Young and strong and loving all the time." But the younger children grew too proud for even Mother's patience and she admonished Lugh. "See how haughty they grow. They need a lesson." Lugh knew Mother was right. Taltfolk were so proud they no longer spoke the language of their kin even though Lugh commanded it. "Speak to your brothers. Thee knows I go as raven on earth. What is my song then? What does the wolf say?" But in their arrogance and greed, in making new words for new things, they had forgotten the first lan- guage. Only the Prydn remembered and were able to speak to Mother and their brothers. "What is that to us," the tallfolk jeered. "They're stupid and backward, these first children. We are the humans. They are not our brothers." Well, what father or mother could tolerate such arrogance? "So be it," Mother said in judgment. "So be it," said Lugh to seal her command. "You are no longer my children. Do you go out and make your own way. Only these first small ones will we call our own." And that was the whole of it. The proud ones went off in a huff, and to mark the division. Mother kissed the Prydn on each cheek to leave her sign, and Lugh saw to it that their black hair and beautiful dark skin did not lighten, as with some of the ignorant ones. This honor was passed from generation to generation among Prydn in the fhain marks they wore with pride. Oh, there were some crafty tallfolk who tried to pass as Prydn when things went bad for them, dyeing or scarring their skin as the Picts still did. "And were some who cut the foreskins of their men," Dorelei confided darkly, "and others even the pleasure- buds of women." Guenloie squirmed her tegs together at the distressing thought. "Ooo . . ." "But could nae fool our parents. Did know a's own. And real as the fhain marks on our cheek is Tir-Nan-Og, the land of the young where a will lead Prydn in a time after tomorrow. Was promised." "Yah!" Cru hissed in approval. THE LAST RAINBOW 25 Dorelei took up her mead bowl and drank, pleased iat she'd told the tale almost as well as her mother. The tory of Mabh. now, was usually told at Brigid-feast, but he guessed it wouldn't hurt to hear it this night. Perhaps ilemane would tell it. All through the feast her sister had een withdrawn and joyless. "Neniane second daughter, will thee tell fhain how tabh led her people to this land?" Nemane's head was bent over the swaddled child. torelei touched her arm. "Sister?" From Neniane came only a low, falling whine. "A's one. My bairn is gone. Mother does turn from us." She rocked back and forth as the bowls were lowered, yod dropped from all hands. One by one Artcois and ^redei took the dead child from her and looked to see, as only then would it be true. Then they added their •eper voices to Neniane's keening. Dorelei wanted to flee the sound of it darkened around her and tore at her >urage. Just now it was too much for her: alt this way )Uth just to find poor grass, hostile tallfolk, and dead lildren. Were she alone she'd run home to Gawse this light, whatever the shame. The fhain swayed back and forth around the fire in ie mourning that began as feast. Neniane's cries rose bove the others. She tore at her hair and stumbled out of ie rath into the darkness of the hill. With a glance at Cru, torelei followed. Neniane stared up at the moon riding £Sover a bank of cloud "A turns from us, Dorelei." "Nae, dost not." "Must go home." "Cannot, thee knows it. Be home now." "No. Would not have died at home," Neniane denied, | hoarse with crying. "Gawse be strong. A's strong magic." I "And sister has not? Be nothing for us north. Would |be shamed." ^ "Want my baby!" Neniane wailed. "Want to go home. SNMother turns from us. Be nothing here but death." She jilted on the ground, beating her fists against the turf. wrelei cradled her close as if Neniane were the sick child, riping the tears from the small face, crooning to her. 26 Parks God-win "Will take the bairn to the circle afore barrowing. Will to speak to Mother about this." "Will need more than speaking," Neniane whimpered. "Nae, strong words. Do need better fortune for fhain." "A wilt noth-hear, sister—" "Hush, hush. Did see thy husbands' sorrow? Would make it heavier?" "What of mine?" "Will go in the circle." "Will go home." "No, no." Doretei rocked her back and forth. "Sister will care for you. Thee has good husbands. On Bel-teins after tomorrow, our flocks will cross Gawse's trail, and thee will have child-wealth anew to show her. Will ride with one child on the saddle and another running behind as we did, and Gawse will know her seed was strong enough to grow where tallfolk could not." "Was mine." Neniane whimpered against Dorelei's breast. "Was out of me, a piece of me. So little. Artcois thought 'twas his but Bredei made it . . ' that, sister." oh, must nae tell "Nae." "Was a good mother, never left her alone." "Be still . . . hush." Their words blurred to mere soft sounds, the cry for comfort, the comfort given, blended with the keening from the rath in a single bleak voice that cried the loss of future in the midst of now, for the flesh of tomorrow cut from them. The chill sound like a bleeding lifted on the night air and sang to the wind that carried it from the hill to the valley beyond. The feast-drunken Venicones, tying with their own women, heard the loss of life in the act of getting it, and were goaded to fiercer need without know- ing why. The hill was far, the wind an unreliable messen- ger. It spread the mourning wail thin on its wings, not quite like wolves nor yet quite human as it reached their ears and those of their fathers for hundreds of genera- tions, so that it even had a name now. The bravest of them would not go outside his iron-bolted door while the bean sidhe cried from the ancient stones on the hill. THE LAST RAINBOW 27 They could not give up now. At least Cru realized it, but Cru was older and steadier than the rest. Durelei epended on his strength more than she ever admitted. A em-y-fhain with a weak husband was a woman with only ne arm, and Dorelei's mind struggled with a problem lal touched them all. if Mother andLugh had forgotten iem, where could she take fhain? Dorelei wondered if Ipawse ever felt so confused and alone, having to be strength 'Itself when she felt lost and frightened as Neniane. •i. Men were no more helpful in death than in birth. A ;||»rd to Cru and he kept them enormously concentrated -^tti the stone molds, making new arrowheads and gather- ing white moonstones for the coming night. Neniane tculdn't bear to look at her dead daughter, and Guenloie yfas watching the flocks. Dorelei alone prepared the child i^r harrowing. It should be interred right away. but she'd Come to a decision. When the fhain had voiced their proper grief, Dorelei told them what she planned. "Will take the bairn and show it to Mother in the -^rcle of stones. And the grass and oats." ^ Neniane assented listlessly. Dorelei felt her helpless iBary and that of the others. That day the wheeling birds teamed quickly to fly wide of Cru's angry bow. Tod- |?0wery, the fox, narrowly escaped with his hide when Bredei sank an arrow inches from his swift-running paws. f Drust made a paste of clay and reddish macha for <)orelei to work with. The dead child was painted with the Inixture and each eye sealed with white clay. Dorelei placed &e body on her gern stone, took up a bronze hammer, Sfnd broke the large bone of each limb with one sharp ^ow, which must be done to release the spirit. Then she •trapped the child in its lambskin and carried it out to JHeniane. "Go in the circle with thy husbands. Uncover it to ;h. Our parents must be concerned with this." Dorelei fasted all that day as Gawse would. No more an water had passed her lips since the child died. When e moon rose, she led the rest of fhain up Cnoch-nan- ineal to the circle. Neniane had placed the child before e large eastern stone where Lugh rose on Midsummer orning. With her people behind her, Dorelei cupped - hands to take the stones from Bredei. He'd washed 28 Parke Godwin and rubbed each carefully so that they shone white as moonlight itself. "Mother. Lugh. Prydn would speak with thee." Dorelei scattered the pebbles with smooth motions of her arms. The ritual offering done, she spoke the mind of fhain. All of them heard the firmer tone in her words. Gern-y-fhain did not say "please" now, but "listen!" Their need called for it. "Mother and Lugh: fhain keeps thy festivals and wears thv mark, given in the first days. Do follow the herds as Mabh's people followed the reindeer. Do use no Blackbar, turn to no parents but thee. "Why, then. in the plain sight of thy eye, do Prydn grow weaker? Our child-wealth dies, we get only the leav- ings from tallfolk who have long since turned from thee A put names to us that are not ours, and fences to keep us out. A tell ties about us and yet grow fat in the land while Prydn starve and die like Neniane's child. Prydn would not turn from thee. . . ." Dorelei felt her people tense behind her as she ut- tered the words. She'd thought it out all day, her mind clear from fasting. Above all else, they must survive. Bar- gains had two sides. Earth and sky could not expect wor- ship without a like return. It, was nol disobedience, merely the desperation she saw growing in Neniane and the rest of them. Without some hope and a strong Gern-y-fhain, they would drift away from her. "Mother and Lugh: can see our wants. Send them to us." Or we will turn away. Dorelei dare not say it, but what did earth or Gawse or any of them expect of her? They needed a miracle. "Thee has promised us Tir-Nan-Og in the west. Show il to us. Give us a sign. Thy children put their hands out to thee, hungry. We must have Tir-Nan-Og now." Dorelei took a breath and swallowed and made the plunge. "Or will make new magic without thee." Out and said; she felt her shoulders hunch as if Mother might open and swallow her on the spot. Cru's head turned slightly; she knew his thoughts: she was bargaining and threatening, uttering words on the edge of blasphemy, but fhain was dying before it could begin. What else could she do? THE LAST RAINBOW 29 "Go back to the rath," Dorelei bade her folk. "Will ratch with Cru tonight and barrow't when the sun rises." Stilt Neniane lingered by the small bundle. Doretei t knelt by her. "Take my promise, sister. Tir-Nan-Og will be Iffound. Will be like hound rooting after fox, will tear ^Mother's secret places apart to find it. Fhain wilt prosper sand thee bear again." ^ She embraced Neniane, hoping to squeeze a firmness "fof faith into both of them. A disturbing thought had been ^•|n"owing in her mind, something not so much said by .^Gawse as what her mother had been—absolutely unwaver- " ing in her faith and her holding to the correct way, as if • ihe faith were more important than the fact. She still had "no assurance she was right, except that Gawse's fhain lived S,and hers withered. She had to show strength before her ^people and hoped Mother understood the need for strong words. "Artcois, Bredei—take second daughter to the rath." Standing silent by the dead child and the other ob- jects carefully placed beside it, Cru and Dorelei watched (he line of ponies wend down the dark hillside. Cru brought his new cloak from the rath to keep them warm on the vigil, which must last until sunrise. The cloak was huge -iand thick, traded to Cru by a Venicone farmer in return for the mending of harness. It was too large even for most tallfolk and once belonged to a man of the yellow-haired Angles from oversea. "Was a giant," Cru marveled, shaking out the oceanic folds. The farmer said the Angle was so big he needed two days to stand in the same place. When Cru tried it on, if. flowed down and over the ground in waves so that he looked like a corn shock with a man's head on top. He could wear it riding, but its best use was for sleeping, he and Dorelei engulfed in its thick folds. For tonight's vigil it ,. was perfect to warm them both, their small heads cowled ..together within the wide hood. The great dark cloak made ttfiem look like pan of the stone they rested against. : "Did speak harshly to Mother," Cru said. ^ "Cru?' Dorelei's voice was small and tentative inside i?Jthe hood. "If Tir-Nan-Og be in the west . . ." S"Was nae told so?" „-, "Where?" 30 Parks Godwm. "Who can say? Beyond world edge." "Could Prydn go there? Find a curragh to sail beyond world edge tike Lugh?" It was not one of his wife's strange questions, like Where do the clouds go? or What holds the world up? Dorelei wanted an answer. "Well, now . . ." Cru tried to picture such a craft but honestly considered it beyond even Mabh's formidable powers. "Who could build such?" Dorelei didn't know, but they must go somewhere, find quickly those ends and rewards promised them, or all go into the barrow with Neniane's child. The shape ot wolf-truth and world-truth was plain as that. Cru's arm emerged from the cloak, pointing down the valley. "See." In the gloom where the Venicone village would be, a torch was lit, tiny in the distance, but as they watched another and another spark flared up until Cru counted ten of them. The lights milled about tor a few moments, then formed two straight lines close together and began to move. The lights passed out the stockade gate and kept moving. Most strange: tallfolk never left their stockade after dark. "Where do a go?" Dorelei wondered. In a few moments they knew: not going but coming. "Here," said Cru. His name was Magonus Succatus Patricius, and it had been remarked of him, to his secret pleasure, that he was obsessed with God. In later years he would sign himself Patrick to all the Christian world. In later centuries mira- cles as preposterous as his present youthful self-esteem would be solemnly ascribed to him and devoutly believed. In his twenty-eighth year, like many men who grow slowly to the simplicity of greatness, he was quite unfinished and thoroughly insufferable. Patricius admitted this in mo- ments ot candor, but it disturbed him to think that men who professed a devotion like his own, men of the Church, found him abrasive. Later in life, Patricius often chuckled over the obvious answer. Not his holiness but his holy nai'vete and brash assumption of absolute right. Among wise and worldlier men, a little youth goes a long way. Patricius' father was a decurion of ClannavenEa on the northwestern coast just south of Solway. Since the rank THE LAST RAINBOW 31 . hereditary, Patricius might have looked forward to a fre and uneventful career preparing the town's tax edules, maintaining the baths, and arranging public ertainments. The legions left when he was a child; the iain in which he grew to young manhood was a part of Be only in hopeful spirit. Most men were sure the Ons would return; meanwhile, the engine of adminis- |on churned on in Roman form if not efficiency. In his early youth Patricius could not be called either in or Christian. More accurately he thought very little H it. Rome had given him a secure land to grow in, tianging and tolerant, sheathed in the Pax Romana. father, Calpurnius, was a Christian, and his grandfa- r Potitus a priest of the growing new faith. Like most cated citizens of the Empire, they took sophisticated light in the verses of Martial, were vaguely disturbed by ; attacks on the rich by young British monks—not wrong- ded attacks, but tending to shake the established order hings—and in matters of faith inclined to the reason- humanism of Pelagius rather than Augustine. Pelagius », after all, British and patrician, postulating a reason- SSge God who would not create men intrinsically incapable his own credit, Amathor had enough tolerance for mself and one fire-minded young man. When his social ends in Auxerre made fun of the terribly serious young olyte, Amathor only responded with a knowing smile. "This one is tough. This one will last. Give him time." ; Patricius heard with a flush of righteous vindication It Augustine was favored over Pelagius at Rome. When nathoi died and was succeeded in the diocese of Auxerre fc a rigorous Augustinian, Germanus, the young priest ew he'd come into his own. Germanus had no use for lying with words or the easygoing Pelagianism that per- led the British Church and was spreading its seductive ^n even to Gaul- Man's pride-ridden error that his intelligence and natural inclination to good would him, Germanus thrust aside with rough contempt, iching that only those chosen by God would receive 34 Parke Godwin Grace, and chat blessed company was much smaller in number than the complacent heretics would dare to guess. Germanus routed out and challenged the Pelagian heresy wherever he found it. When he sailed for Britain to beard them on their very doorstep, Father Patricius followed in his wake like Peter after Christ on the shore, to be a fisher of men. Germanus was much more popular with the British commoners than the educated followers of Pelagius. Like Caesar, he came and conquered. His appeal was emotional and direct, a strong man in severe garb, plainly speaking his beliefs and supporting them with Scripture. He caused a stir and flutter, announced his victory, and left Britain again. After Germanus' departure, Patricius was something of a man without a star. For all the triumph, he could see no marked difference in his countrymen, not even his parents, with whom he now had nothing in common spiri- tually. It was not enough to preach, then; one also had to proselytize. The true men of God were not in the estab- lished centers of faith. Potitus had been thus, comfortably preaching to the converted. His father still dozed through the Mass and the sermons along with the other well-fed decurions and tradesmen of Clannaventa. Not for him: Patricius' panting zeal remembered the caustic purity of Germanus and viewed with the eye of unforgiving youth those Britons whom he now saw as a people gelded of honor or pride, begging Rome to return because they were unable to fend for themselves, yet, like contrary children, wanting their own way in the bargain. Where was the glory in such a congregation of sheep? He would go where men were still benighted but vital, fallow but ripe for his seed. To Ireland. This called for a tedious round of protocol. Certain prelates must be seen; he must have a sponsor. Patricius grated as harshly on clerics as he did on the laity. The bishop of Camulodunum listened politely and referred Pairicius west to the prelate of Caerleon, who neatly de- flected him with tactful letters of introduction to Bishop Meganius at Eburacum. Thus, blind luck and God's intervention being per- haps two names for the same effect, Patricius came on a THE LAST RAINBOW 35 | summer evening to the man who could shape his life for ; the best while it was still malleable. Like Patricius, Cai meqq Owain was the son of a decurion 'and styled himself Caius Meganius to the clergy at home and abroad, with whom he was in continual touch. A mellow and worldly man well past fifty, Meganius knew to the core the spirit and needs of his people and those of the Church that had consecrated him bishop of Eburacum. If the needs were often at odds with the spirit, so were those in any marriage. The faith would endure, as would the people of his diocese, both strong enough to tolerate a few differences. "Surely you will take a little more wine, my lord." Smiling at Prince Marchudd, Meganius barely lifted his hand to the hovering servant, and the prince's silver goblet was refilled. Meganius savored both his wine and that exquisite moment when the heat of the afternoon was softened but not quite gone from the day. The sun was : well below the courtyard wall, light still sparkled on the water of the fountain, and the mournful falling cry of the peacocks punctuated the tranquil afternoon. Prince Marchudd's Fingers drummed on the arm of , his chair: a restless man, Meganius thought, quite aptly named before he changed the appellation. He was chris- tened Rhys, which means "rapid" or "rushing," and only on his accession to the throne of the Parisii and Brigantes did he style himself Marchudd or "horse lord." Some clergy saw this as a lapse of faith. Meganius knew it was entirely political, helping Marchudd and his consort to identify with the unbaprized among their tributary chief- : tains, especially the remote Brigantes. The royal house of Eburacum, like the Church, would do or be whatever it needed to survive. Marchudd shifted in his chair, obviously more com- fortable in movement than repose. A small, darting, intel- ligent man, he was more at ease in British trousers and tunic than the purple-striped gown and toga his visit prompted him to wear. The toga trapped his left hand, holding it in place, quite an annoyance since he was left- handed, and forced him to wear the gold armlet of the 36 Parke Godwin Parisii and Brigantes on his right arm, where it always felt awkward. "On this matter of the Coritani," he said in clipped tones, "if they want a war, they've got one. I've relin- quished the claims on their northern lands, but I'll have their respect. The cattle raids will cease, by God. Those people are worse than Faerie for thieving and I've told their nuncios as much." "How do you think it will come out?" Meganius plied in real concern. "In all candor?" "And all confidence." "I think in a year or two I'm going to be at war—och! Let's talk of pleasanter things." Marchudd's balding pate jerked impatiently. "My new son." "Ah. yes. How does he?" "Lusty as a bull, hungry all the time." "A proper princeling." "We'd have him baptized tomorrow if you will officiate." "Of course. What will you name him?" "We thought of Constantius, but the princess thinks something old-fashioned might be better, so we'll name him Cador." "Excellent." The bishop bobbed his head judiciously. He raised his goblet to the notion. "May he be chosen prince in his time and grow wise as his father." As a matter of fact, Meganius' wish was answered with an embarrassment of riches. Marchudd was an able ad- ministrator. Cador grew into one whom even Ambrosius noted as a wizard at playing both ends against the middle, and he sired Guenevere, who was much of the political genius ascribed to Arthur. Meganius was distracted for a moment; his gatekeeper had just admitted a stranger, a young priest who stood waiting inside the portal, noting with obvious disapproval the bas-relief of Janus carved into the gate arch. The gatekeeper relayed his whispered message to the servant in attendance on Meganius and his guest, who then hur- ried to the bishop's elbow. "Who is it, Corus?" "A Father Patricius, your grace. He says you have had letters from Caerleon of his coming." THE LAST RAINBOW 37 "Oh. yes," Meganius verified without enthusiasm. Then to Marchudd: "The young Augustinian, my lord. One of Germanus' lion-killers." "Well." Prince Marchudd rose, eager to be away and to waiting business as always. "I'll leave you to receive him. I can't abide that sort." "Perhaps he's still green enough to be salvaged. Be- sides, I think you know his father. Send him to me, Corus." Marchudd looked blank. "His father?" "The decurion Calpurnius of Clannaventa." "Oh, of course." "Shall I present him?" "If you wish, but then I must be off. People to see . . ." the prince-magistrate trailed off vaguely. "Yes, he does favor Calpurmus somewhat. Spent some time as a slave among the Irish, didn't he?" "Six years." Marchudd whistled softly in compassion. "Ought to take that off purgatory for the lad." "From what I've heard of Father Patricius, I don't think he'd permit it." As the young priest strode energetically across the atrium, Meganius couldn't see where Irish captivity had done him much harm. Patricius had a rugged, unpriestly gait. He bobbed his head to the prince and dropped to one dutiful knee to kiss the bishop's offered ring. "Thank you for receiving me, your grace." "My blessing, Father Patricius. Prince Marchudd. allow me to present Magonus Succatus, the son of Calpurnius." "Father." "Honored, my lord," Patricius said in a brusque tone that signified a deal less than that. A comely enough young fellow, Meganius decided: in his mid- or latter twenties, reddish hair shaven across the crown, eyes large and inconsistently brown in the round face, the fair skin permanently darkened from years of living in the open. Where many British priests allowed themselves light linen in warm weather, Patricius was se- vere in coarse dark woolen canonicals, the studiedly plain garb Germanus wore when he refuted the Pelagians in debate. Yet, somehow, Meganius sensed the severity of Patricius 38 Parke Godwin to be something laid on and not inherent, like an actor striving loo hard for effect in a role. He'd paused a mo- ment coming across the courtyard to stroke one of the house dogs and note with pleasure the lush spread of a peacock's tail. Underneath the zeal, Meganius suspected a sensual and perhaps very sensitive man. "Until tomorrow, your grace." Prince Marchudd turned to go. "Mv anticipated pleasure, my lord." Bishop and priest inclined their heads as Marchudd hurried away, wrestling with his toga. "So that is Marchudd Rhys, prince of Parisii and Brigantes." Patricius dropped it like an accusation. "Why does he style himself in the pagan manner when he is baptized?" The bishop waved him gracefully to the vacated chair. "Sit down, Father. Some wine?" "No. Thank you." "Well—1 will in any case." His goblet hardly needed refilling, but Meganius felt a need to turn aside the rigid intensity of the young man. "You and 1 are priests with one allegiance. Father. The prince has many to deal with, not all of whom have seen the light of God." "Germanus noted that. And deplored it." "And rightly, perhaps, but Germanus is in Auxerre. You, Father Patricius, might at least attempt the patience of the Church that ordained you and give our prince a year or two to convert them." Meganius raised his goblet. "Long life—which hardly needs my invocation by the sturdy look of you, Sochet." "No one has called me that since I left home. Your grace is a Brigante?" "Born and bred. Cai meqq Owain. I thought I recog- nized the accent. We northerners have a prickly sound that doesn't tade." "With your leave, I would speak of my mission." Mentally Meganius riffled through the letters from Caerleon. "Yes . . . Ireland?" "Will you sponsor me?" As a bishop. Meganius was of necessity a diplomat. "Well, I will certainly consider it- Ireland surely needs a mission. Meanwhile—" THE LAST RAINBOW 39 "It is my calling." The young priest thrust forward in ,the chair, serious and intent. "Frozen and burned into me ;lhrough six years. And in a vision at Auxerre, I heard Irish voices calling me back to preach to them." "Yes ... so said the bishop of Caerieon. Admirable." And an annoyance. Meganius saw some malice on Caerleon's part for sending this bristling avatar to him; they were hardly personal friends. Meganius felt his irritation rising. The priest's rude'y direct glance might be unsettling to Some. Patricius gave the impression that he was weighing tone's every word—one's sou!—against the feather of his truth and Finding you light in the balance. Strength was there but that pitiless youth as wetl- "You doubt my catling, your grace?" Yov dare? "No, no." Meganius found his usual courtesy an ef- fort. There is nothing more rancorous to an older man at .^peace with an imperfect world than a young one remind- |mg him of unsullied verities, especially when the young one may be essentially right. Canonical volunteers for -Ireland did not crowd the western ports. "My boy, if I , Sponsor you and Auxerre sends you a consecrated pal- f^um, you will be bishop of Ireland." And while he was not yet an experienced parish priest, ^'no more than a year in Germanus' charismatic wake, no f, doubt Patricius saw himself in Meganius' robes with the I pliant Irish kneeling to kiss the diocesan ring. Meganius ^ saw them boiling him alive for his callow arrogance. Pagan ^or not, the Irish kings and their shamans were men of ^experience, appalling as much of it could be. Reason, wis- |i