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love let go of you.
    Long and long he stood at the edge of the fallen city while the siren sang to him. He remembered how he had called Mongfind the witch from her grave, and knew now that once a man has let the Otherworld into his life, his feet are on a road that allows no turning back.
    But he was Niall of the Nine Hostages. Fear and regret were unbecoming him. At the turn of the tide, she who sang fell silent and swam away out of his sight. He strode back to the camp, laid himself down, and dropped quickly into a sleep free of dreams.
    —In the morning he ranked his followers before him. They saw the starkness and were duly quiet. “Hear me, my dears,” he said.
    “A vision, a thought, and a knowledge came over me in the night. You will not be liking this, but it is the will of the Gods.
    “Ys, that murdered our kinsmen, must do more than die. Overthrown, she could yet be victorious over us. For folk will be coming back to these parts and settling. If they saw what we see, they would recall what we have heard, the tales and the ballads, the memory of splendor; and in their minds
we
would be the murderers. Shall they found a new city and name it Ys? Shall they praise and dream of Old Ys till heaven cracks open? Or shall, rather, the city of treachery die forever?
    “Already, I have told you, I want no word of it bound to my own fame. Today I tell you that
nothing
of it may abide.
    “Our time here
is
short. We cannot do the whole workat once. But this is my command, that we leave the valley houses be—others will clean them out soon enough—and start the razing of yonder lighthouse which once guided mariners to Ys.”
    —Dry-laid, it yielded more readily to strong men than might have been awaited from its stoutness. They cast the blocks over the cliff. When they set sail, half was gone. Niall thought of a raid in summer, during which the rest could be done away with. Of course, warriors would require booty. Well, much should remain around the hinterland, as well as in settlements on this whole coast.
    He grinned. They might find a party of Gauls picking over the shards of Ys, and rob them. In the song of the siren had been promise as well as threat.
    He sobered, and men who noticed slipped clear of his nearness. She had laid a word on him. Year by year, as he was able, he must obey. Untouched thus far on Cape Rach stood the necropolis. He must level it. First would be the tomb of Brennilis.

II
    1
    The sun was not yet down, but the single glazed window was grayed and dusk beginning to fill the room where Apuleius Vero had brought his guests. It was a lesser chamber of his house, well suited for private talk. Wall panels, painted with scenes from the Roman past, were now vague in vision. Clear as yet sheened the polished walnut of a table which bore writing materials, a pair of books, and modest refreshments. Otherwise the only furniture was the stools on which the three men sat.
    The news had been brought, the shock and sorrowuttered, the poor little attempts at condolence made. It was time to speak of what might be done.
    Apuleius leaned forward his slender form and regular features. “How many survivors?” he asked low.
    Gratillonius remained hunched, staring at the hands clasped together in his lap. “I counted about fifty,” he said in the same dull voice as before.
    The tribune of Aquilo drew a sharp breath and once more signed himself. “Only half a hundred from that whole city and … and those from outside whom you say had taken refuge? Christ be with us. Christ have mercy.”
    “There may be two or three hundred more who stayed in the countryside, including the children. We’ve tried to get in touch with them.”
    Corentinus’s fist knotted on his knee. Tears gleamed under the shaggy brows. “The children,” he croaked. “The innocents.”
    “Most will starve if they don’t soon get help,” Gratillonius said. “Afterward the reavers will come.”
    Apuleius forced business into his tone.