Read Online Myths of the Modern Man by Jacqueline T Lynch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jacqueline T Lynch
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his people. Taliesin stood at attention with a different torch, a long silver ornamented shaft that as yet bore no flame.
“ Feis de Beltain.” Cailte leaned into me, laughing at my obvious expression of curiosity. Of course, the feast of Beltain, the god of life and death. Tomorrow would be May 1st, the beginning of summer.
So who said I needed a calendar?
The Celts had two seasons, winter and summer. Summer began on what we knew as May 1st, or perhaps the druids felt they made it begin on that day, I don’t know. Winter began on November 1st, after the Samhain, the night where departed souls from the otherworld mingle with the living in this one. When I was a kid we called it Halloween.
Nemain lifted sparks from pieces of flint and scraps of prayer, and Taliesin held the ornamented torch to it. When the fire leapt to the torch, everyone in the lodge sighed in relief, and chuckled, and began to sing and laugh. There would be a summer this year. The time of the dead was over.
The crude torches which had been extinguished were re-lit from Nemain’s fire. He held the ornamented silver torch now, having taken it from Taliesin. He held all the mystical power and grandly doled out its protection as a gift.
What a cheesy act.
Boudicca watched him, but she did not praise him, nor did she join in the praise of Lugh the sun god. She was I think, pragmatic, preoccupied, and the glowing, golden light now beginning to fill the lodge made her sit back with what looked like resignation. How odd. I wonder if she preferred the darkness.
Boudicca had called for magic to challenge the Romans on this matter of inheritance, for wisdom to know what to do. I understood that much. But, such important matters would require more of Nemain than could be performed in the lodge before mere humans. He would lead her to the temple later, and make votive offerings to divine their fate.
Boudicca ate sporadically, foraging among the bowls before her, and encouraged her daughters to do so as well. They were fidgety, excited as any teenagers at a party. Her girls were dressed in long, flowing tunics of green and gold and purple. Their hair, the color of their mother’s, was plaited into several thick braids and decorated with beads. They wore armlets. They wore silver broaches and their skin was white from being protected from the sun with long cloaks. They were enjoying themselves.
Boudicca had dressed in a long linen tunic as well, belted at the waist, the color of corn silk, and I did not expect that. A sword in its scabbard lay at her feet, the only indication that she had authority over all present, and that she was a warrior. Her hair flowed freely, as would a warrior’s, and was not bound neatly as a maid’s.
She glanced sideways at her girls and smiled, with begrudging, rueful, motherly authority. What did they know of her responsibility or her burdens? They were young.
Cailte stood, and crossed the floor, past the pit where the torches had been extinguished, to the other side of the lodge. I lost him in the bodies for a moment, then recognized him again as he approached her daughters. They both nodded shyly to him, and he strained to lift his voice above the voices of many others to be heard.
Taliesin watched me still from his post three paces behind Nemain. A young woman brought me food. She did not look me in the eye, required behavior of a servant or slave. I dipped a fistful of bread into the bowl of honey and shoved it into my mouth. I didn’t care about the proper protocol, I was hungry.
I glanced over my dripping, sticky fist to the queen. Boudicca called to Cailte, distracting him from his pursuit, and jerked her head, I think towards me. She looked him in the eye, never taking her eyes off him as she herded him back here with her glare, without ever lifting a finger. He stood before me and sighed, annoyed, shaking his head. I glanced toward the daughters, with whom he would clearly rather spend time, and looked up at
“ Feis de Beltain.” Cailte leaned into me, laughing at my obvious expression of curiosity. Of course, the feast of Beltain, the god of life and death. Tomorrow would be May 1st, the beginning of summer.
So who said I needed a calendar?
The Celts had two seasons, winter and summer. Summer began on what we knew as May 1st, or perhaps the druids felt they made it begin on that day, I don’t know. Winter began on November 1st, after the Samhain, the night where departed souls from the otherworld mingle with the living in this one. When I was a kid we called it Halloween.
Nemain lifted sparks from pieces of flint and scraps of prayer, and Taliesin held the ornamented torch to it. When the fire leapt to the torch, everyone in the lodge sighed in relief, and chuckled, and began to sing and laugh. There would be a summer this year. The time of the dead was over.
The crude torches which had been extinguished were re-lit from Nemain’s fire. He held the ornamented silver torch now, having taken it from Taliesin. He held all the mystical power and grandly doled out its protection as a gift.
What a cheesy act.
Boudicca watched him, but she did not praise him, nor did she join in the praise of Lugh the sun god. She was I think, pragmatic, preoccupied, and the glowing, golden light now beginning to fill the lodge made her sit back with what looked like resignation. How odd. I wonder if she preferred the darkness.
Boudicca had called for magic to challenge the Romans on this matter of inheritance, for wisdom to know what to do. I understood that much. But, such important matters would require more of Nemain than could be performed in the lodge before mere humans. He would lead her to the temple later, and make votive offerings to divine their fate.
Boudicca ate sporadically, foraging among the bowls before her, and encouraged her daughters to do so as well. They were fidgety, excited as any teenagers at a party. Her girls were dressed in long, flowing tunics of green and gold and purple. Their hair, the color of their mother’s, was plaited into several thick braids and decorated with beads. They wore armlets. They wore silver broaches and their skin was white from being protected from the sun with long cloaks. They were enjoying themselves.
Boudicca had dressed in a long linen tunic as well, belted at the waist, the color of corn silk, and I did not expect that. A sword in its scabbard lay at her feet, the only indication that she had authority over all present, and that she was a warrior. Her hair flowed freely, as would a warrior’s, and was not bound neatly as a maid’s.
She glanced sideways at her girls and smiled, with begrudging, rueful, motherly authority. What did they know of her responsibility or her burdens? They were young.
Cailte stood, and crossed the floor, past the pit where the torches had been extinguished, to the other side of the lodge. I lost him in the bodies for a moment, then recognized him again as he approached her daughters. They both nodded shyly to him, and he strained to lift his voice above the voices of many others to be heard.
Taliesin watched me still from his post three paces behind Nemain. A young woman brought me food. She did not look me in the eye, required behavior of a servant or slave. I dipped a fistful of bread into the bowl of honey and shoved it into my mouth. I didn’t care about the proper protocol, I was hungry.
I glanced over my dripping, sticky fist to the queen. Boudicca called to Cailte, distracting him from his pursuit, and jerked her head, I think towards me. She looked him in the eye, never taking her eyes off him as she herded him back here with her glare, without ever lifting a finger. He stood before me and sighed, annoyed, shaking his head. I glanced toward the daughters, with whom he would clearly rather spend time, and looked up at
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