The white half-almond lay on the black stone. Waiting, for someone to come and take it up, and all that it represented. Behind the larger altar, half-hidden in the shadows, was the image of the Goddess Herself. It towered over the altar and it was old, old—older, some said, than the island itself. It did not look anything like the graceful statues of the great Grecian sculptors from the island's glory days. It was not even anything like those earlier images, stiff and rigid, with fixed, staring eyes and jutting breasts like twin mountain peaks. No, this was more like a pile of boulders, round-headed and faceless, with the merest suggestion of hair and of arms and legs, and enormous, sagging breasts and belly, the hallmark of fertility and plenty. And there was, if you looked at Her long enough, the suggestion of a faint haze of gold about her, and the feeling that She was looking back at you, out of her eyeless face.
The two women came in, one sweeping the old, dried leaves before her, the other strewing the new leaves. When the chamber was prepared, the two acolytes went to lower the ladder. Few would come tonight, for it was raining so hard that it would be difficult to come and go undetected. Here, in the middle of the Venetians, there were few devotees anyway. But this was the second oldest temple on the island, a place where the life-flame had been kindled many thousands of years ago. The temple had always had at least a holy mother and three or four devotees.
The priestess had not expected a group larger than three or four. But as she stepped out of the shadows she saw that tonight, despite the rain, there was an unfamiliar face, a comfortably middle-aged woman.
The priestess saw with a twinge of disappointment that the newcomer was beyond child-bearing age, unfortunately. Months had passed, and there was still no one willing to take up the almond. The rains had come, the crops—if the invaders left anything of them—would be no worse than usual, but this could not last forever.
Not for the first time, the priestess wondered how much of this was because of the Christians and their priests. For centuries, She and they had lived, if not in harmony, at least not in conflict. But just after the death of the last bride, the priestess had sensed that there was something inimical to the Goddess that was searching for the source of Her power.
Shortly after that, the attacks began. And shortly after that the four stranger-priests had arrived, and the two hawks that were the eyes for the hostile power. Was it coincidence? It hardly seemed possible, and that was especially so once the priestess had learned that these four priests, and their leader in particular, were closely linked with the Grand Metropolitan of Rome.
True, they had close ties to the Hypatian Order, which, unlike the Servants of the Trinity, were not known for the persecution of those who were pagan. In fact, it had been the Hypatian Siblings that had dwelled here quietly for so very long. But this particular priest had a reputation for militancy that was not typical of the Order. And directly after arriving here, he had attempted to work magic.
She had put a stop to that, needless to say. No one worked magic upon this island without Her approval. But how long could that hold? Great and evil powers were being bent against Her, to usurp Her Power, and without a bride, the Cold God could not defend Her.
The priestess drew her thoughts back to the ceremony, and the new woman who had come. After purification and the rituals she must speak with her. But now the withered bay leaves swept up from the floor must be fed to the life-flame.
The women repeated the old, old words. "Out of death there is new life."
* * *
It was, as the priestess suspected, someone from outside the walls. She had known this would come; to an extent, she was only surprised that it had taken this long. The captain-general was not, by nature, a cruel man, but he was a foolish one to think that he could demand the labor and allegiance of the populace and not assume the responsibility for them.
And attempting to close the gates against those who deserved shelter here was nothing but an exercise in futility, as the presence of this woman showed.
"My brother is with the boatyard. The sea took my Yani three years ago. My daughters are married. My sons are at sea," the woman said, simply. "My brother is here. The captain-general refused to allow the men to bring their families. But the men brought us in anyway, by the boatyard gate. There are several of the timber-sheds that are not in use, and now that the Hungarians are outside the walls there is nothing happening in the Little Arsenal anyway. It is crowded, but it is safer than outside." She sighed. "Why does the Goddess allow these Xenos to trample our soil?"
"Men's business, my daughter. We do not make war, and they do not make children. Invaders come and go, but the Goddess remains."
She did not speak aloud the question that was in her own mind.
. . . for how long?
* * *
Caesare Aldanto walked past the man who had been crucified upside-down outside King Emeric's tent as if he wasn't there.
Emeric was sprawled in his gilded and gemstone-encrusted throne. Aldanto bowed mechanically. "You wished to see me?"
Emeric stared at the blond man. He stood up, and put his hands on Aldanto's throat. "You interfered with the admiral of my carracks and sent them north in pursuit of four vessels. You interfered and used my name to direct the Dalmatians in an attack on the same vessels. We lost a number of the galliots. According to my admiral you have only captured one of the Venetian vessels. Why should I allow you to live?"
Emeric allowed the pain to flow from his hands into his intended victim. But Caesare Aldanto didn't scream and writhe. He didn't even blink. He answered in the same calm voice that he'd used earlier.
"Because I had credible information that they were coming to the relief of Corfu. The ships had Knights of the Holy Trinity on board, including, according to our captives, Prince Manfred of Brittany. I considered that you would wish them sunk rather than at large on Corfu. There were also a number of powerful and dangerous magicians on board. We were not aware of that. That is why three of the ships escaped."
Emeric was somewhat shaken by the lack of response from the blond Milanese man; it took him aback, and left him thinking madly down directions he had rather not have gone. There could be little doubt now—Aldanto was indeed a puppet-man. He stepped back. Always before, he'd known his power stood between him and any threat of a knife-wielding assassin. With this man . . . he was potentially in his enemy's grasp. He had no doubt at all that Grand Duke Jagiellon was indeed his enemy, even if their purposes ran in the same direction for now.
Or could this be a trap?
Then logic reasserted itself. Jagiellon's man would hardly have risked his position and Emeric's displeasure if Jagiellon did not desperately wish the Knights to be sunk at sea.