Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  “As do I.” He smiled at her. “I am sorry. I have distracted you from your effigy of John Barleycorn. Pray continue.” He peered at the dough she had been shaping on the floured table. “Please ask if you need help.”

  “Are you saying I cannot do this?”

  “I’m not saying anything of the sort. There are few things you cannot do extremely well. But unless the esteemed spirit of the grain harvest bore the likeness of a pig, I’m afraid this is one of those things.”

  “If you think you could do better, please amuse yourself.” She stood back, gesturing at the dough.

  “Not at all. Maybe Lyrelie could do it?”

  “She won’t be here until later; she’s helping Chalette with the caraway breads for the farmhands.”

  “Maybe you could model it on me?”

  “Where do you think I got my inspiration?”

  He frowned. “Do I really have such enormous eyebrows? I thought they were ears. And my nose is definitely not round. It’s nose-shaped.”

  He heckled her with silly suggestions until the bread resembled something approaching a human face, then chased her upstairs while it baked.

  The ceremony to celebrate Lughnasadh, the grain harvest, took many parts. Unlike some Sabbats, which focussed on the eve, this one began at noon. Virtually the entire village turned out to join in the procession which started at the northerly entrances to the henge.

  The menfolk, wearing stalks of grain in their hats, followed the Michael line through to the moon circle. There they met with a female, usually their wife or a family member, wearing a circlet of woven stalks, who had followed the Mary line.

  They continued through to the sun circle, then out of the southernmost part of the henge, where they followed the Mary line, singing the famous verses about all the awful atrocities John Barleycorn had to suffer. Many mimed the actions as the poor wretch was cut, tied, cudgelled, hanged and drowned. Everyone laughed as the tale progressed and “the very marrow of his bones was burnt and crushed ’twixt the miller’s stones.”

  The couples sang and danced all the way to the bottom of Silbury Hill. Picking up a beaker as they passed the long tables, they encircled the hill, singing the last verses where “his hero blood was drunk and enjoyed by all, forgetting their woes as their courage rose.” Finally, the mystery of the man’s identity was solved as they toasted with the ale resulting from all this mistreatment of the heroic barley.

  At the top of the hill sat a large straw figure, next to a bonfire. Each of the thirteen farmers brought along the first cut of their grain harvest, and five stalks from each one were tucked into the hat and pockets of the effigy. Then it was hoisted atop the bonfire to preside over the games. All the youngsters took part in the sprint to the top of the hill, followed by hoop spinning and three-legged races.

  Then it was time for the Goddess O’Plenty, and Dagda stood tall and proud as she twirled the mini-maypole while the little ones leapt and cavorted around her, each trying to grab one of the ribbons. Each ribbon represented either a prize or forfeit. A bucket of cold water was tipped over the head of the winner of the blue ribbon, the yellow won a sheaf of corn with gold coins attached, and the pink ribbon winner got a kiss from the Goddess.

  The Archdruid called everyone to share in the double handfasting of the two young couples, which moved along at a pace. This delighted those in the crowd making noises about being hungry.

  Senna stood next to Cora, the pair of them crying tears of joy as their menfolk escorted the two girls to the small dais set up for the day, decorated with garlands of flowers, leaves and stalks of straw.

  The two couples exchanged their vows, both choosing simple three-knot cordings and, in no time, the entire village were sitting down to share the best of the season. The tables had been decorated with corn dollies and many different bread faces accompanied the juicy ham, sweet, golden corn and tubs of steaming colcannon.

  Every family contributed several dishes of food and, when the main meal finished, Bernadine supervised the distribution of platters brimming with every type of berry. Dagda’s final duty was to sprinkle each platter with cinnamon, as she reminded people to save a few of the seeds from the meal to plant for a blessed crop next year.

  ~*~

  Cal scanned the faces at the table, committing this moment to memory. After the dreadful happenings since Yule, he wanted to remember everything about this glorious day. The sun smiled down on them and he could not believe the perfect balance – his best friend wedding his wife’s best friend on the same day.

  A shiver of something closer to pleasure than fear caused him to wriggle his shoulders as it shuddered down his back. It reminded him of how differently it could have turned out; he owed most of his happiness to a number of people who had exceeded their duty, to their own detriment.

  “Everything all right, my love? I thought I saw you shiver. You cannot be cold.”

  “I believe someone is walking over my grave.”

  She smiled. “My father, no doubt. Wanting to remind you that if any harm comes to me he will haunt you forever.”

  “More than he already does? I haven’t heard him for a while, but I have no doubt the first time we have an argument …”

  She leaned closer and kissed him. “Don’t even think that word. I intend always to see your point of view as I vowed. If I can do that, why would we ever argue?”

  He kissed her back. “In that case, I vow it, too. We shall grow old without ever having shared a cross word.”

  Lyrelie giggled. “I didn’t promise there would be no cross words. That’s an entirely different matter altogether. No, I simply mean I will see your point of view, then give you mine, no doubt with a cross word or two. Then we shall agree to a compromise where we both win and neither loses any respect or love for the other. That is how Mother and Jarl do it.”

  Cal laughed aloud, hugging his wife. He thought how good that word sounded. Despite the best efforts of so many people, including themselves, to keep them apart, they had finally fulfilled what he believed was his destiny the first day he saw her.

  ~*~

  Jarl glanced over at the young farmer, thinking, not for the first time, how perfect the lad would be for Lyrelie. He knew Senna had done everything within her power to strengthen the bond between the two youngsters, and he was certain his cousin had played more than his part in the match.

  It could not have worked out better with Cal’s best friend taking on a similar level of responsibility at the same time. Despite Verat’s determination to play the motley fool, Jarl warmed to him, the more he got to know him. He was certain that, together, the four of them would stand a much better chance of facing whatever their futures had in store for them.

  7 – Herfest

  Eanje sat between Jarl and the woman she thought of as an older sister, secure in their protection as she watched the festivities. Shayla’s talents in disguise were surprising. She had used skilful application of powders and balms to alter the shape of Eanje’s face, dyeing her hair and styling it so she was virtually unrecognisable. Gone was the famous eye-flashing allure, in its place a plain severity typical of a devout, God-fearing Christian.

  But the biggest change came from her clothes and demeanour. Shayla was enthusiastic about Eanje’s ability to assume the ways of a demure noblewoman, introducing her as, “My niece, Gwendolyn.” Hiding behind an ornate fan, Eanje’s downcast gaze and gentle manners fooled people into thinking they had never met her.

  After the way she’d been scorned and reviled by so many villagers, it was interesting to observe the difference in attitude as they spoke with deference and something akin to pity. She was sure Senna and Jarl only recognised her because she arrived with Shayla and her husband, Quinn.

  Magister Ranly had walked straight past without even noticing her, making no comment until Shayla introduced them. He barely touched her hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I must confess I have met few of Quinn’s relatives. Where do you live?” His roam
ing gaze said he had scarcely paid her any attention, a testament to Shayla’s skill. He had flirted openly with Eanje on many occasions.

  She could not resist the tease. “Until recently, here in Avebury.”

  “I see.” A pause. “Really?” His slight recoil suggested his brain had reasoned it out.

  She chuckled as he peered at her, then glanced around, working hard to stop her name from escaping his lips.

  “I’m sure I would have noticed someone as beautiful as you.” Taking her hand, he bent gallantly, whispering in her ear. “Masterful, my dear. I truly did not recognise you.”

  “You are too kind, Magister …”

  “Ranly. At your service.”

  He, too, had hovered close by after that, and she could tell he would speak with her, but felt it was in both their best interests if she did not give him the opportunity to discuss the matter which obviously occupied his brain.

  Watching the joy of the two young couples, she wondered at the choices she had made in her life which had led her to this point. Most of which were not choices at all, but the only way for her to prevail when the fates determined she should suffer yet another tribulation in her turbulent journey through life.

  Eanje’s upbringing was close to the background story Uncle worked out when he hired her. Her only memories of her mother involved laughter and hazy scenes of a beautiful garden with fountains and a pond. Her grandfather’s house, a sombre place, was replaced by an austere convent when her father insisted she have an education.

  At nine years old, she discovered an aptitude for many of the liberal arts, including grammar, rhetoric and geometry. The tranquil lifestyle was jeopardised when her father was lost at sea and her grandfather refused to maintain the fees. Delighted by her progress in so many areas of the curriculum, the Abbess kept Eanje on after her fourteenth birthday to teach the younger girls.

  When the old Abbess died, the incumbent offered Eanje’s services to a noble family. In theory, she was hired as a governess to three spoiled children; in reality, she was sold for her purity. Thus began a series of harrowing adventures which ended with her being thrown in a stinking prison, accused of vagrancy.

  The fates had not deserted her completely. On the day of her initial hearing, Uncle was impressed by her bearing and obvious education. After cleaning her up, he returned to the court and got the charges dropped.

  Uncle’s idea of payment had cost her dearly, but what she had endured with Domenyk was no worse than any other part of her life. Without those formative experiences, she could never have achieved what was needed to weed out the poison infecting the council in his beloved village. They worked out a plan, engaging a mummer to enact the part of her father. As he raised a glass, she wished she had met Uncle many years ago. Her life might have followed an entirely different course if she had.

  As she glanced around the table, it seemed to her all the worthy men were taken. Taron, Jarl and even young Cal, had restored her faith in the idea men could be honourable. With a sigh, she savoured the good wine in her goblet, letting Jarl refill it in time for the next toast.

  “Are you feeling well, my dear? You seem a little out of sorts.” Jarl’s velvety tones spurred unwelcome tears to gather behind her eyes, seeking sympathy.

  Willing them back whence they came, she smothered the sorrow in her tone with gaiety. “Did no one ever tell you? ’Tis obligatory for a woman to shed water when her sister weds.”

  “Senna did warn me to ensure an excess of kerchiefs for all the weeping ones. I must confess I had not thought to include you in their number.”

  “Because I am a cold, heartless wretch?”

  “Because your level of self-control is far superior than most of the men I know. Including all the soldiers.”

  She smiled in spite of herself. “Away with your blandish; save it for Senna.”

  “I would, but she will have none of it, either. And she is no longer in need of cheering up now everything has worked out for us and MD will never bother us again.”

  Eanje frowned. How could he know?

  He lowered his voice even further. “Every man, woman and child in this village owes you a debt of gratitude. Never again will you want for anything.”

  “Apart from a good man.” She gestured around the table. “Every single one is spoken for.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Oh, I don’t know. I can think of at least two who are desperate for the dancing to begin so they may woo you properly.” He gestured to where Tol and Ran sat, eyeing her like an eager puppy and solemn Spaniel.

  As they waved at her eagerly, she hissed at him. “I’m calling on that debt. You will provide me with a partner for every dance so those two do not have the opportunity to approach. Even if you have to bring Domenyk back, I care not. At least the man could dance.”

  Stifling a laugh, he nodded solemnly. “As you wish, milady. If I see either of them within five paces of your person, I shall make it my mission to rescue you.”

  “I mean it. You would not jest if you had seen poor Lyrelie’s toes at the Yule ball. Any of them not blackened by Tol’s enthusiasm became so stiff with boredom at Ran’s relentless drivel, they threatened to drop off.”

  “Ouch. Your tongue is so sharp it’s a wonder you …”

  “Don’t cut myself? How disappointing. The Abbess used to have a wager with herself about how long it would take any man to say that to her.”

  “Only men?”

  “Inevitably. Few of them had brains as quick as hers.”

  “I bet she met her match with you. I was actually going to say something different, but I guess the inference was the same. You are a formidable woman, Eanje, one any man would be privileged to wed.” He kissed her cheek. “Do not give up. He’s out there somewhere.”

  She was glad Senna chose that moment to call on his attention; the wretched tears refused to be blinked back.

  “Here. Use mine.” Shayla offered a kerchief.

  Opening it, Eanje realised it was unused and looked at the red-rimmed eyes, trying to solve the conundrum.

  “A spare. I knew I would need it. Do you wish for a stroll? I have need to move before all this good food renders my legs incapable of supporting my body.”

  As they walked along the path back to the village, Shayla linked her arm. “Please forgive me. I did not intentionally eavesdrop, but I heard some of what you said to Jarl. It is a topic which has concerned Quinn and I for these past few weeks. Are you absolutely sure you want to tie yourself to a life of travelling the length and breadth of the country? And dealing with men who will waste half the time questioning your suitability to poke into their business dealings?”

  “Your business dealings. They are already used to your diligence and scrutiny, so my gender should make no difference. I have one or two tricks to help uncover the source of corruption at Swindon, and I can always stay here as you did. I have plenty of friends.”

  “I cannot tell you what a relief it is. Now I can concentrate on growing this wee one inside me.” She cradled her belly. “I still cannot believe this has happened to me after all these years. Is it even possible for a woman to give birth at the grand old age of thirty-four?”

  Eanje smiled, reluctant to remind the woman how many times she’d asked that question. After the first time, she had researched and found the oldest recorded birth was to a woman in her mid-forties. Senna assured her that memory loss was a frequent symptom of pregnancy, so now Eanje merely nodded and smiled. Of all the women she’d ever met, Shayla was the closest to her Abbess. Although she called herself a replacement aunt, her young outlook and free spirit meant cousin was nearer the mark.

  ~*~

  Lyrelie watched as Shayla shepherded Eanje away, thinking, not for the first time, how much the two women shared in common. She even spotted similarities in the way they walked. Anyone who’d never met them might think them sisters, especially now their hair colouring was so similar. Having heard her mother expressing such sentiments, she saw it even more
clearly. Giving thanks that Eanje no longer had to deal with the monster, she wondered how she would have coped if faced with the horrible things the girl had to do.

  An unexpected image popped into her head and Lyrelie relived the sensation of the allure she had felt when Zane tried to charm her. Although only the tiniest fraction of the overwhelming pull she felt toward Cal, she realised it was a direct result of her thinking he had rescued her from the snowstorm. Combined with her vulnerability because she imagined Cal to be attracted to Eanje. Feeling quite disloyal at the turn her thoughts had taken, she realised it was her mind’s way of helping her understand how Eanje coped with the things she had to do.

  Cal raised her hand to his lips. “No one should look so pensive on their wedding day. Are you not happy?”

  She smiled at his caring nature, knowing she could not have been more fortunate in her choice of partner. “Not as happy as I will be when the dancing starts.” And nothing like as happy as I will be when we finally share a cot.

  His widening eyes confirmed he had understood her thought, but the hurried glance around suggested he had heard it. Were they really going to be able to hear each other’s thoughts the way they could Lyran’s? That would be remarkable.

  “Your wish is my command.” As he stood, offering her his hand, they heard the sounds of a fiddle and drum; it seemed many had come to the same idea at once.

  ~*~

  The weeks following her daughter’s handfasting seemed to fly past, and Senna was kept busy with a large influx of people as the village busied itself with the normal autumnal activities. Several farmers reported exceptional crops, attributing them to the Imbolc ceremonies. The only fields not doing so well were those done by the Archdruid, and he confessed to having felt a little under the weather on the day of the first ploughing ritual, succumbing to a malady the following day.

  Several of the others pledged to cover the tithes of the unlucky ones, resulting in a consensus to share out the bounty evenly at the Herfest ceremony.