Magdalen Rising (14 page)

I repeated my warning with accompanying gestures. First he looked merely bewildered. But when my mothers yanked my tunic again, and I lost my balance, he almost burst out laughing. As I recovered myself, I felt a prickle at the back of my neck; something singed my peripheral vision. I knew, without looking, that Foxface had seen me.

Fortunately, at that moment, someone far more effective than me intervened. A great, roaring bull of a man charged into the circle, placed
a protective arm around my foster brother, and began to bellow at Hot Blue:

“You thrice-cursed son of a mud eel, you slippery spawn of pond sludge, you weasel-whelp of a mangy stoat!” Celts
do
love triptychs. “I should have known you were up to no good. Thought you could drug my wine, did ye? Thought to leave me snoring under those great blood-innocent trees. Well, it didn't work. The gods wouldn't have it. They sent a great dripping, thundering, black mare with Macha herself astride its back to rouse me. And here I am, so!”

The man, who also had a Hibernian accent, had made a great entrance, demonstrating his verbal prowess. For the moment, the crowd was his. The druids, masters of the esoteric art of licking a finger and sticking it into the wind to see which way it was blowing, nodded for him to continue.

“This young candidate—”

“No way!” spluttered Hot Blue, oblivious of Foxface's restraining hand. “No way can he be a candidate. He is not one of the
Combrogos.
He has no lineage. He's no better than a slave—”

At a signal from Foxface, two other druids stepped forward to enforce the restraint.

“This young candidate,” the Hibernian man continued, “yes, I said candidate—for I myself am presenting him for admission to the College—this young candidate is named Esus.”

A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd. They recognized the name as one of the gods'. At that time I knew nothing of the god Esus or of the tree and the cranes and the bull associated with him. I knew nothing of sacrificial kingship. Nor did I know, as you doubtless do, the Greek form of his name so close to the Celtic name the man had given him. But as I heard the name Esus, I saw the crane wings forming and re-forming: Maeve and Esus.

“That's the name,” I whispered to my mothers.

“What name?” asked Boann.

“The name in the sky.”

“She's delirious with exhaustion,” said Fand. “Keep a firm grip on her. I do wish they'd get on with it, and get it over.”

“Ah, I see that name means something to ye,” the man went on. “Let that teach you to show kindness to strangers.”

He was no stranger. Not to me. But the Hibernian had touched a nerve in the crowd. Our gods were not safely elsewhere. Past and
future, human and divine had a way of getting all mixed up. A god could turn up anytime, like a troublesome relation. In fact, they were our relations. It did not do to offend them.

“I met him at the docks in Alexandria. That's in Egypt, in case you don't know. We were preparing to take ship. Some of us prefer to sail through the treacherous narrows and risk the open sea rather than to travel on Roman roads through Gaul. The young man approached me. He addressed me in Greek and said he was seeking the
Keltoi.
That's what we're called in the Greek tongue, for those of you who are linguistically limited. Upon questioning him, I found him to be a young scholar, fluent in Aramaic and Greek, with a smattering of Latin. His people don't like to use that barbarian tongue. A very proper sentiment, I say. But he was lacking the knowledge and training he could only find here among the
Combrogos.
He asked me if the
Keltoi
had any great teachers. Well, I ask you!” He made a deferential gesture towards the druids ranks. “I'd taken a liking to the young man, so I offered him passage—”

“Now there you're right!” Hot Blue burst in.
“You
offered him passage, even though
I
own more shares. And could he pay for his passage? No! Not a single coin, not a torque, not so much as a dagger. Nothing. He owned nothing but the clothes on his back—and those were none too clean, I might add.”

“What are you talking about? He paid with his labor. If anything, we owe him, and I intend to make good my debt by standing surety for him.”

“Bilgewater! He's a land lubber. He'd never set foot on a ship before. What's more he drew bad luck like a dead fish draws sharks. First there were pirates and him with no weapon. Then mermaids—”

“Now, really. You can't blame him for the sailor who lost his head and dived overboard.”

“And dense fog at the straits. Whoever heard of fog there before?”

“And who stood by the helmsman and helped guide the ship?”

“And then bowel sickness. Everyone had it but him.”

“That's because he was the only one who didn't eat the spoiled meat.”

“So you say. And what about ten days of the doldrums?”

“He rowed with the best.”

“And then that storm! The worst I've ever seen.”

“Yes, and who calmed the waves?”

“The same one who caused the storm in the first place! Just to show off.”

As they debated, you could almost feel the rocking of the ship, the pull of one force against the other. All the while, Esus stood, more compelling in his stillness than either man. The faintest trace of a smile played at his lips. He probably couldn't follow the rapid-fire P-Celtic, but no doubt he'd heard it all before. As for the druids, they were no longer heeding either merchant. All eyes were trained on Esus. Without saying anything, he had captured the attention of the entire druid body.

Then the archdruid stepped forward. With one impatient gesture, he swept aside the arguing pair and all their verbiage as a horse sweeps flies from his back with one casual swish of his tail. He walked towards Esus and planted himself in front of him. Even today I wish I knew what each had seen in the other's eyes, but I could only see the druid's back, and he blocked my view of Esus's face. The look that passed between them seemed to go on forever and ever. Whole forests grew up and mountains wore away to sand. At last the druid turned from Esus to address the crowd.

“There will be no blood sacrifice tonight. Gold will suffice.” Here he fixed a stern eye on Hot Blue's arms. “As for the candidate, there is no law saying that he cannot be presented. But this is not the time or place. If he is found acceptable, so be it. If not....” He allowed a moment of enigmatic silence. “Now. Come forward with your offerings, any who have not made them by
tuath.”

“He means us.” Fand and Boann got to their feet. “Come on, Maeve.”

“I can't go up there!” I whispered in panic.

“You have to! What's wrong with you? It isn't like you to hold back.”

“I just can't,” I repeated, unable to explain my dread of Foxface.

“Come on, Maeve.” They hauled me to my feet and dragged me forward.

Then I forgot about Foxface. I forgot the offering. I shook off my mothers' grip and walked straight towards Esus. I stopped before him, mere inches between us. No more veils of water. Just sheer, shimmering air. He returned my gaze, his own a little quizzical. Then he said in his slow P-Celtic:

“Haven't I seen you somewhere before?”

Yes. Those were his first words to me: his sister, his other, the one destined to stand with him beneath the Tree of Life. And my first words?

“Remember when that dove shit on your head?” I blurted in Aramaic. “Oh, no, you probably wouldn't have recognized me then. Well, do you remember a time, when you were, um, relieving yourself in an alley? Did you maybe see a—”

He looked so completely disoriented, I found myself unable to go on. And why wouldn't he be? Here he is far away from home among the
Keltoi
and this redheaded broad comes up to him and starts talking about crude bodily functions like a Galilean home girl—except that no nice girl of his acquaintance would ever have spoken of any such thing.

Before I could try another tack, maybe make a better impression, my mothers seized me and hustled me away. Suddenly I was face to face with the red-bearded druid. For someone so much in command of himself and everything else, he looked startled—no, more than that: as if he'd had an unwelcome seeing, the sort Queen Maeve of Connacht deplored. I half-expected him to ask me the same question Esus had.

“No,” I wanted to answer. “No. You're mistaking me for someone else.”

The look was gone in an instant. He began to examine our bracelets and brooches, a dagger Boann had decided to toss in at the last minute. Maybe he was tired. After the most perfunctory of inspections, he signaled his acceptance and waved us away without looking at us again. I noticed that he had not asked our names or lineage. Only one druid was needed to carry our gifts to the lake where the mist Lady sagged, losing her shape, as if she, too, was weary of the proceedings. Our offerings made a small, unimpressive splash.

It was over—for now.

When we turned to go back to the crowd, Esus was already gone.

I
AM SURE YOU UNDERSTAND—EVEN though my mothers refused to—that I was wild to find him again. My Appended One, Yeshua, or, as I now thought of him, Esus. My mothers understood me well enough to lock their arms through mine. It was two against one. When we rejoined King Bran and his company, I was even more outnumbered. King Bran, though sympathetic to my high spirits, was firm. I was not to wander off on my own again. As for the young foreigner I'd approached so rashly in the sight of all, King Bran assured me I'd see him soon enough when the candidates were presented for admission.

Of course, that was not soon enough for me. I fully intended to disobey again as soon as everyone was asleep. All I had to do was to search every campsite and probe every sleeping body—a very foolish thing to do considering that most warriors slept with their weapons at the ready. What might have happened if I'd made good my plan, I'll never know, because Fand and Boann took turns guarding me all night long. If you are assuming that one slept while the other watched, let me set you straight.

“Where's Fand?” I asked, trying to get comfortable, which was not easy with Boann sitting on me. With her added weight, the pine boughs prickled me through the plaid.

“Gone to pee at the trenches?” Boann suggested.

“She's been gone an awfully long time just for that.”

“Go to sleep, Maeve,” Boann ordered. “You'll need your rest for tomorrow.”

“Just tell me where she is.”

“Go to sleep.”

Mothers always say go to sleep, as if it were a matter of will. But it's almost impossible to sleep when someone's sitting on your diaphragm, immobilizing you, while your mind races. Think of the day I'd had. Arriving on Mona; practically swooning in the arms of the first man I met; attending the votive sacrifices; seeing a horse goddess plunge into a sacred bog; and to top it all off: a hot debate over human sacrifice. I had enough on my mind to give me insomnia for a century. Now Fand
had disappeared, probably off to investigate Esus for herself. And I was supposed to sleep? Meanwhile, Boann had decided to stretch out on me full length, fully relaxed.

“Boann!” I poked her in the ribs. “I know Fand is not at the trenches. Just tell me where she is, and I promise I'll go to sleep.”

“Taking a damn long time about it,” grumbled Boann. “It's not fair. When I let her have first go.”

A loud caterwauling rent the night.

“She could at least have the decency not to make so much noise. She sounds like a whole pack of hyenas in heat.”

Don't ask me how Boann knew anything about hyenas. A little while later Fand returned, not from the direction of the trenches but from King Bran's bower.

“Took you long enough,” said Boann crossly as she rolled off. “Is there any left for me?”

Fand, amazingly mellow, merely murmured, “I'm sure you'll manage, dear. After all, you're a witch.”

Then Fand stretched out on me, as if I were the most comfortable of couches and had the effrontery to go to sleep. Despite Fand's snores, I could still hear throaty laughter followed by moans. Boann working magic, presumably. Finally sheer exhaustion claimed me, and I slept after a fashion, only half-waking as Fand and Boann changed places again—and again.

I've always found that morning is a hopeful time after a restless night. You can give up the exhausting business of trying to get enough sleep. The full force of fatigue won't hit till later. We didn't have caffeine in those days, but if you're waking outside in springtime, the rush of morning energy can have just as stimulating an effect. Birds, insects, flowers, all cued to the light and the shifting temperature of the air as the dew evaporates. Everything rising, opening, flying. Even the water flowing in the river sounded louder that morning.

We broke fast with the Silures. My mothers sat on either side of King Bran in a benign stupor. They sipped the morning slowly, sensuously. Weary of holding my leash, so to speak, they allowed me the run of the Silures' camp as long as I agreed to stay with Branwen.

“Did you get
any
sleep last night?” I asked her as we skipped away from the parental triumvirate.

She knew exactly what I meant, and we convulsed ourselves with laughter. The pleasures of friendship were new to me, and sweet. Without any effort on her part, Branwen restrained me that morning more effectively than my mothers could have. She held no grudge against me for giving her the slip last night. I was glad, and I didn't want to get her into trouble again. At least not so soon.

We'd hardly begun to enjoy our relative freedom before our parents called us back to break camp. We had a ten mile journey to make that day to the site of the College. Most of the teaching groves and the clusters of round huts where students and faculty lived ranged along Afon Braint from Bryn Celli Ddu (The Mound of the Dark Grove) to two enormous standing stones that marked the way between the world of the college and the rest of Mona.

Our few bundles were soon loaded into one of the Silures' wagons. While we waited for the rest of our party, my mothers drew me apart for a mothers-to- daughter heart-to-heart. I suspect they had suddenly realized that today might be our last full day together. They had to wring themselves of their last drops of wisdom. As my brace of mothers bore me off, I turned and waved to Branwen, catching a look of wistfulness on her face. I remembered she had no mother. That moment stays with me, perhaps because it was the first time I clearly saw through someone else's eyes. When I came back to myself, I found I was missing Grainne very much.

“Well, Little Bright One,” said Fand as we strolled towards a large copper beech and sat down in its shade. “We don't have much time left together.”

All right, then, I thought. I'll let the baby name pass.

“We think there are things you haven't told us that, as your mothers, we ought to know about,” Fand announced.

“Like what?” Put it down to sleep deprivation or to the automatic response of a daughter when any mother pries. I honestly drew a blank.

“Oh, just little things,” said Boann. “Like the ‘name in the sky' you babbled about last night. And just what you meant by standing and shouting in an unknown tongue.”

“Aramaic is not unknown to me,” I pointed out.

“Don't get smart with us, Maeve,” said Fand. “And why did you walk so brazenly right up to that young stranger? Is that how we've raised you to behave?”

I thought it best not to answer that question.

“Here's the long and the short of it,” Boann summed up. “We're worried about you.”

“Yes,” agreed Fand. “How can we leave you here when you show such poor judgment?”

“I didn't show poor judgment at all,” I protested. “To meet the one you call the Stranger is the very reason I've come here.”

“It is not,” declared Fand. “You have come to the druid isle to train as a bard, not to meet boys.”

“Oh?” I decided to get really smart. “And why did you come here?”

“Why did we come here?” they both echoed. “To see that you get admitted to college.”

“No other reason?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Then what were you doing last night?”

Fand and Boann exchanged a look across me and smirked. There is no other word for it. I smiled to myself. My mothers were so easy to distract.

“What do you think, Boann?” said Fand. “Given our Maeve's impetuous nature, perhaps we ought have a little talk with her about that. It occurs to me that her knowledge of relations between the sexes may be more theoretical than practical.”

Now, there was an understatement.

“Maybe we'd better start by finding out how much she does know,” suggested Boann. “Maeve, do you know what Fand and I were doing last night?”

“You were offering King Bran the friendship of your thighs,” I answered, proving that their tales of Queen Maeve of Connacht had not been lost on me.

“Well, yes.” They smirked again, embarrassed but clearly enjoying themselves. “Now, do you know exactly what that means?”

“I've seen pigs and sheep.” I did my best to sound bored. “I know which parts go together.”

“Er, quite,” said Fand, a little nonplused. “But did you know that people often—not always, mind you, but often—do it face to face? It adds a certain...
je ne sais quoi.”

(No, Fand did not suddenly start speaking modern French, but that's the best translation I can make of what she did say in Q-Celtic.)

“Most animals can't do it face to face,” said Boann thoughtfully. “Comes of having four legs, I suppose. Think of trying to do it frontally with hooves.”

“Well now, Boann, I have to say, I don't think it's just the number of legs.” Fand gave her agile mind to the conundrum. “It's just that other animals don't walk upright. Therefore, the head in relation to the legs makes it difficult to embrace frontally. Don't you see?”

I knew from experience that any two or more of my mothers were capable of pursuing a bizarre tangent indefinitely. Now that we were on the subject—you might say
the
subject—I realized there might be more I did want to know.

“Okay. So people do it face to face,” I broke in.

“With either partner on top,” added Fand.

“Or both on their sides, don't forget,” said Boann.

“Or standing. And remember the rear entry position is an option.”

“Fand, I just thought of a great one.” Boann was getting into to it. “Hanging upside down from a tree branch. Have you ever tried that?”

“I have, but I don't recommend it for beginners or for people with back problems.”

“I disagree. I think it's an excellent position for people with back problems. It puts all the strain on the thighs—”

“How old do you have to be?” I got right to the point, the one that mattered most to me. “When can I do it?”

Fand and Boann stared at each other, looking pretty dumb for a couple of shrewd witches. They had stumbled right into the pitfall especially reserved for enlightened parents. They prided themselves on their ability to impart information, but they couldn't make the leap to application. Talk about a gap between the theoretical and the practical.

“Well, Maeve, that all depends.”

“On what?”

“Why, on whether or not you're ready.” Boann sounded vague.

“And we don't think you are,” Fand hastened to add. “You have to be mature, responsible....”

“Fand, I think we better get down to brass tacks. We don't have much time left. We can't have her getting pregnant.”

Pregnant? On Tir na mBan, my mothers had seemed to think my having a baby might be a solution of sorts. Now they seemed to regard it as a problem. I still found the very idea almost unthinkable. I was a
daughter,
not a mother.

“She can always say no. Abstinence is the better part of valor.”

Valor?

“Ha!” snorted Boann. “Believe it! Listen, Maeve, let's get one thing straight. If you get pregnant—you
do
know how that happens, don't you? That's what we've been talking about—you might have to leave college. King Bran told us that the druids are admitting women to College for the first time this year. It's being regarded as an experiment by the druids and by the priestesses of Holy Isle.”

(I know that some people in your century like to believe that the Equal Rights Amendment is of ancient Celtic origin. It is true that Celtic law, taking its cue perhaps from the traditions of the pre-Celtic native traditions, recognized and respected rights of women that were later trampled upon by Romans, Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Normans, not to mention the 104th Congress of the United States. Women could inherit and own land and herds, marry and divorce as freely as men, and rule in their own right. There were priestesses, and all manner of -esses who had training equivalent to druids. But despite inroads matriarchy had made into an essentially patriarchal conquering horde, there remained male bastions. The Druid College of Mona was about to be infiltrated. And if you are wondering why it took close to two thousand years for the British Groves of Academe to open again to women, well, read on.)

“What happens if I do get pregnant?” I was careful to keep my voice neutral. I didn't want them to guess that I might not mind having twenty years of drill cut short.

“That's just it. We don't know. Boann, we must have a conference with the priestesses before we go. They must have some sort of contingency plan. And surely they're planning to teach the girls how to protect themselves.”