Read Online The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) by Morgan Llywelyn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
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you, I could support a whole tribe by bartering off your collection of ornaments.”
Rigantona’s eyes flashed. “It’s mine, not yours to barter! If I were widowed it would go with me, as much of it came with me.”
“Not that bronze buckle with the blue stones,” Toutorix commented. “For one example. I seem to remember your getting that in exchange for honey gathered in my hills.”
“Honey gathered from my bees.”
“Honey the children gathered for you from wild bees; you did not risk any stings to get it.”
“Those bees are not wild,” she told him, unwilling to let any point escape her. “I can command them as the shape-changer commands the game.”
“There is a fine distinction there, but for once I’m not in the mood to fight over it. These Marcomanni have brought a lot of gifts to exchange for the privilege of courting wives, and I want them to have a look at our Epona. Where is she?”
Rigantona glanced around the lodge. Three small boys played by the firepit, three little girls played by the loom. Of the older children, Alator and Okelos were working together on cutting up a leather hide, but Epona was nowhere to be seen.
Rigantona shrugged. “Out, I suppose.”
“Don’t you know?”
“I haven’t had time to watch her all day, no! She is a woman now; she comes and goes as she pleases.”
“I expected to see her on the commonground, staring at the strangers, for the girl is usually as curious as a raven, but she was not there,” Toutorix said. “And now she is not here. She should be at the guest lodge right now, serving red wine to the Marcomanni and heating cauldrons of water for their bathing. When another tribe of the people visits, our hospitality must be beyond any they could offer us in their own village.”
He opened the door of the lodge and gazed out, watching the women scurrying to prepare for the feast. Perhaps they would have to eat in the lodges; the sky was already darker than it should be, the wind had turned colder, and the clouds were beginning to pelt the earth with stinging particles of ice. “Where is that girl?” Toutorix muttered. The spirit within had an uneasy feeling.
He went for the second time that day to the magic house. The black birds in the pine trees made derisive noises as he approached; the air was thick with blue smoke. He found the priest stretched naked on his bedshelf, forearm across his eyes. Toutorix wrinkled his nose at the smell of the lodge but said nothing; it was shapechangers’ business, after all.
“The hunting is going well?” he asked to open the conversation.
“A great stag appeared and led a whole herd of deer to the lake,” Kernunnos reported with satisfaction. “There is more than enough meat now to feed your guests for many nights, and when they leave, the women will have meat to salt.”
“Surely we haven’t killed more than we need?” Toutorix asked with concern. Waste offended the spirits. To kill game unnecessarily would result in famine, the animals disappearing just when they were most needed.
“Of course not,” Kernunnos replied, insulted. He sat up, looking at the chief through slitted eyes. “You are worried, but not about meat. You know we do not overkill.”
Toutorix held his face immobile. It was unseemly for a chief of the Kelti to express excessive concern over one
daughter, but Epona was his special favorite. He empathized with her reckless spirit and was touched by her occasional bouts of doelike shyness. Rigantona was all muscle and hard edges; Epona was the blaze of the fire and the soft sound of rain on thatch.
“My eldest daughter does not seem to be in the village, and I have asked everyone,” he said. “A storm is coming. And the Marcomanni are looking for wives.”
“Ah. Epona.” Kernunnos rolled off his bedshelf and walked, still naked, to the open door of his lodge. The wind was blowing harder now and raised the hackles on his skin; the cold shriveled his scrotum but he paid no
Rigantona’s eyes flashed. “It’s mine, not yours to barter! If I were widowed it would go with me, as much of it came with me.”
“Not that bronze buckle with the blue stones,” Toutorix commented. “For one example. I seem to remember your getting that in exchange for honey gathered in my hills.”
“Honey gathered from my bees.”
“Honey the children gathered for you from wild bees; you did not risk any stings to get it.”
“Those bees are not wild,” she told him, unwilling to let any point escape her. “I can command them as the shape-changer commands the game.”
“There is a fine distinction there, but for once I’m not in the mood to fight over it. These Marcomanni have brought a lot of gifts to exchange for the privilege of courting wives, and I want them to have a look at our Epona. Where is she?”
Rigantona glanced around the lodge. Three small boys played by the firepit, three little girls played by the loom. Of the older children, Alator and Okelos were working together on cutting up a leather hide, but Epona was nowhere to be seen.
Rigantona shrugged. “Out, I suppose.”
“Don’t you know?”
“I haven’t had time to watch her all day, no! She is a woman now; she comes and goes as she pleases.”
“I expected to see her on the commonground, staring at the strangers, for the girl is usually as curious as a raven, but she was not there,” Toutorix said. “And now she is not here. She should be at the guest lodge right now, serving red wine to the Marcomanni and heating cauldrons of water for their bathing. When another tribe of the people visits, our hospitality must be beyond any they could offer us in their own village.”
He opened the door of the lodge and gazed out, watching the women scurrying to prepare for the feast. Perhaps they would have to eat in the lodges; the sky was already darker than it should be, the wind had turned colder, and the clouds were beginning to pelt the earth with stinging particles of ice. “Where is that girl?” Toutorix muttered. The spirit within had an uneasy feeling.
He went for the second time that day to the magic house. The black birds in the pine trees made derisive noises as he approached; the air was thick with blue smoke. He found the priest stretched naked on his bedshelf, forearm across his eyes. Toutorix wrinkled his nose at the smell of the lodge but said nothing; it was shapechangers’ business, after all.
“The hunting is going well?” he asked to open the conversation.
“A great stag appeared and led a whole herd of deer to the lake,” Kernunnos reported with satisfaction. “There is more than enough meat now to feed your guests for many nights, and when they leave, the women will have meat to salt.”
“Surely we haven’t killed more than we need?” Toutorix asked with concern. Waste offended the spirits. To kill game unnecessarily would result in famine, the animals disappearing just when they were most needed.
“Of course not,” Kernunnos replied, insulted. He sat up, looking at the chief through slitted eyes. “You are worried, but not about meat. You know we do not overkill.”
Toutorix held his face immobile. It was unseemly for a chief of the Kelti to express excessive concern over one
daughter, but Epona was his special favorite. He empathized with her reckless spirit and was touched by her occasional bouts of doelike shyness. Rigantona was all muscle and hard edges; Epona was the blaze of the fire and the soft sound of rain on thatch.
“My eldest daughter does not seem to be in the village, and I have asked everyone,” he said. “A storm is coming. And the Marcomanni are looking for wives.”
“Ah. Epona.” Kernunnos rolled off his bedshelf and walked, still naked, to the open door of his lodge. The wind was blowing harder now and raised the hackles on his skin; the cold shriveled his scrotum but he paid no
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