Sunbeams and cloud shadows pursued each other, with rainsqualls and rainbows, till the wind lay down to rest and whiteness brooded huge in the blue. Lambs, calves, foals explored meadows, amazed by brilliance. Wives reopened their homes to air while they scrubbed away winter’s grime; farmers hitched ox to plow, mariners bent sail to yard. Little of the day had entered the house of Queen Vindilis, unless it be a certain bleak freshness. When Fennalis arrived, she gave her brief greeting and led her straight through the austerely ornamented atrium to the private room. Refreshments did wait on its table, nothing more than wine, bread, cheese, and, to be sure, oysters in their opened shells. Having closed the door, the women made reverence before the image that occupied a niche, Belisama in Her aspect of the Wild Huntress. “Be seated,” said Vindilis then. “Avail yourself. How fare you?” “Oh, you know my rheumatism plagues me in changeable weather, and we get so many bad colds among people at this season that I’ve scarce had time to think.”
