“Love poetry is dull,” Uald replied, just barely hiding her smile, then headed off to the barn with the horses. “Sing about battle,” she called with a laugh.
“Are you sure she isn’t a raven goddess?” Frey, who had a drum strapped on his back, asked Epona.
It was my turn to laugh.
“Perhaps these ladies are more romantically-minded?” Ivar, a slim man whose bald head was covered in tattoos, said to Gwendelofar and me.
Gwendelofar smiled kindly at Ivar then turned to Sigurd. “I would like to hear,”’ she said but blushed and looked down, her long lashes resting on her cheeks. Beltane was truly the holiday for maidens. Gwendelofar looked lovelier than ever; her skin was pale but her cheeks were as rosy as apples.
“You see, there is always one romantic in the crowd,” Sigurd yelled to Uald who waved dismissively, shaking her head. “Of course, My Lady, as you wish” he told Gwendelofar.
I grinned at them.
“Come,” Epona called. She led everyone to the benches around the fire and soon Brant and Bergen were playing a tune. Aridmis and Druanne, who wouldn’t meet my eye, joined us. Aridmis began pouring ale and honey mead for our guests. The sounds of the lute and harp chimed through the forest in harmony.
I headed to the stables to help Uald.
“Lend you a hand?” I called.
“Well, that sliced one will be no good for a day or so, but I’ll take the other,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve just filled the water trough. Mind leading them over?”
Taking the reins of the bards’ horses, I led the motley crew to the water. They drank quickly while they whinnied back and forth with the mares in the pen. Kelpie was not pleased about the competition. He neighed loudly and kicked at the fence in outrage. After all, he’d just become king of his little herd.
Uald laughed. “Bunch of horny lads, just like those men over there. They are good men, Corb—Cerridwen, but they are men all the same,” she said as she came to stand beside me, watching the horses drink. Uald leaned against the barn wall, gazed at the bards, then leaned in close to me. “Epona won’t say a word, but Elaine would probably curse me if I didn’t remind you that your maidenhead comes with a price…set by the King. Here we are free, but I know it’s not the same for you as it wasn’t with Elaine. But your life is your own. Choose your own path.”
I nodded. I knew her words were true. I had to enter whatever bridal contract was drawn up for me as a maiden. When the Great Mother had ruled the land, women had ruled their wombs, but today this was not so. I felt indignant. If I chanced upon a man I wanted, I would let no such rules stop me.
“You know, I saw you once when you were just a little girl,” Uald continued. “Elaine met me at the brook to show you to me. What a darling thing you were, pretty raven-headed child. She loved you so much. You were wicked though. You damned near drowned just trying to splash her. Boite’s daughter. A wild little pixie.” She paused and looked at me. “Ah, what the hell, come on, let’s go get drunk,” she said with a laugh. Taking me by the arm, Uald led me across the yard and filled us tankards of ale. We sat down by the fire and drank.
Soon Aridmis joined the men in song. They began to recite the tale of Emer and Cú Chulainn. I cast a glance around the circle. Emer. It had been my mother’s name. How odd she would find me there.
I knew the story well. In my mind, it had become one with the tale of my own father and mother:
In the land of Ulster across the sea
The Lady Emer possessed great beauty
Adored by the hero Cú Chulainn
Emer would wife this man of legend
Forgall sent brave Cú Chulainn to Alba
To Skye and the lady of Shadows
Mighty Cú Chulainn would prove his prowess
If he would win the fair Emer
Sword, shield, and axe did the Lady teach
But still Forgall denied Cú Chulainn’s reach
So brave Cú Chulainn wrung Emer from her father’s side
To wed her and bed her and make her a bride
Fair Emer, whose love never faltered
And Cú Chulainn whose love never died
Forever they live in the land of the young
In bliss
Aridmis’ voice was sweet and rung like a bell. Her words echoed across the hills. The legend of Emer soaked into the land, and I wondered, not for the first time, about my family across the sea. To my Irish family, I was nothing more than a bastard. But whose bastard was I? On what throne on the Isle of the Mighty did my maternal grandfather sit? Whose Irish blood ran in my veins? All my life I was told, and I knew from my father, that I was the kin of Kenneth MacAlpin, the great hero of Alba, the man who had quelled the Picts, united the clans, a High King of Scotland. I was a MacAlpin. But to what other family did I belong? Why did no one ever speak of it? Maybe, my mother and father both gone, no one knew anymore. The thought saddened me.
Between playing songs, the men talked of their travels and gave us news of the outside world. Through them I learned that King Malcolm was busy fighting King Magnus of Norway from his shores and was at odds with Lord Thorfinn over the ownership of the northern-most provinces of Scotland. To the south, English King Cnut was fighting amongst his own people and lesser lords who had risen against him. Unsurprisingly, the affairs of men were the same as always.
Bride poured ale for the men and laughed as they flirted teasingly with her.
“You lads would be surprised,” she told them. “I am, after all, named Bride. Why do you think they gave the name of the loveliest maidens to me? When I was their age,” she said, motioning to Gwendelofar and me, “you would have lined up to woo me.”
“I’ll still form a line!” Brant exclaimed.
“Can you even see your cock over that belly?” Bride asked, causing everyone to burst out laughing, Bergen spitting his ale out his nose.
The day wore on and by the time the second party of men arrived, everyone was quite drunk, myself included.
“One of the last bands of Druids,” Aridmis said when Epona went to greet them.
I raised an eyebrow at her. “One of?”
“There are more…small, secret groups. Their order is all but done, but when they can, they still guide kings…and queens,” she said, casting a glance at me.
I watched them dismount, my eyes resting on the youngest of them, a man maybe five years older than myself. He was tall, nicely built, and his brownish-red hair shimmered in the light of the fire. Moments later I found myself on my feet, joining Epona to meet them. I felt almost like some force had snared me and pulled me—to him.
“Ah, Cerridwen, this is Balor. He is an Arch Druid,” Epona introduced. Balor was a thin, bald-headed man who wore long gray robes. His eyes matched their stormy color.
Balor looked closely at me. “My Lady,” he said with sincerity.
I understood then that he knew who I was, who I really was, but I knew my secret would be safe with such a man. I had never been in the presence of an Arch Druid before. The enormity of his title struck me deeply. “An honor,” I said.