The Forest House by Marion Zimmer Bradley

know. Now that I’m thinking about getting married it makes me shiver to imagine spending one’s life that way,” said Dieda.
    "No one has asked it of you,” said Eilan.
    "Not in so many words,” said Dieda. "But Father did ask me once if I had ever thought of giving myself to the gods.”
    "He asked you that?” Eilan’s eyes grew wide.
    "I said I had not,” said Dieda, "but for weeks after I had nightmares that we had quarreled and he had imprisoned me in a hollow tree. And I do love Cynric. Anyway, I could not bear to live my whole life within the Forest House—or confined in any other house whatever. Would you?”
    "I do not know—” Eilan said. "Perhaps if I were asked I would agree—” She remembered how the priestesses moved through the festival, so serene in their dark blue gowns. They were honored like queens. Wouldn’t that be a better life than being at some man’s beck and call? And the priestesses were taught all the hidden lore.
    "And yet I saw you looking at the young stranger,” Dieda teased; "the one Cynric rescued. I think you would make a worse priestess than I!”
    "Maybe you are right,” Eilan turned away so that the other girl would not see the color that was heating her brow. She was concerned about Gawen because she had spent so much time tending him, that was all. "I have never thought much about it. But now I remember,” she said thoughtfully, "Lhiannon was also in my dream.”

FOUR
    L ater that morning the family set out for the festival. It was a fair May day, with a freshness in the air from the rain the night before, but the wind had driven the last of the clouds eastward and overhead the sky was clear. On such a morning, all the world’s colors seemed newly created to honor the day.
    Gaius was still limping, but Cynric had taken the bandage from his ankle, saying it would do him good to walk on it. He walked carefully, breathing deeply of the cool air, doubly inebriating after so long spent lying down indoors. Two weeks ago it had seemed he would never walk under the open sky again. For the moment it was enough to be alive, watching the sunlight on the green leaves and the spring flowers and the bright clothing of the folk around him.
    Eilan had put on a long loose gown woven in crossed squares of pale golds and browns and a color like budding leaves over an undertunic of pale green. Her hair lay in a shining cape across her shoulders, brighter than the gold of her brooches and bracelets. It seemed to him that in all that glowing world she was the fairest thing of all.
    He paid little attention to their chatter about the festival. He had seen a few celebrations among his mother’s people when he was a child, and he supposed this one would be much the same. He heard the noise of the festival before they got there, for the great Celtic festivals were generally combined with a market fair. The festivities had actually begun some days before, and would go on for some time after, but this—the eve of Beltane—was the focus of the festival. It was at dusk that the Priestess of the Oracle would appear.
    The woods had blossomed with tents and bothies of woven branches, for the festival had attracted folk from many days’ journey away. Most of the people here were Cornovii, but Gaius recognized the tribal tattooing of Dobunni and Ordovices and even some Deceangli from up near Deva. After two weeks in the house of Bendeigid, the British speech of his birth came easily to his tongue, and Deva and the Legion were beginning to seem dim and far away.
    Around the base of the old hillfort were clustered stalls selling dishes and small wares, some looking as if they had been made by local peasantry, and some which could have been sold in Rome itself. Perhaps they were of Roman make, for there was a growing trade between Britain and Rome, and the Greek and Gaulish traders went everywhere. There were stalls of