BENDING THE BOYNE: A novel of ancient Ireland (33 page)

“Our journey to The Storied Hills is a long walk for a boy of nine suns,” Boann said.

He touched her cloak. “You travel some distance from the Boyne to see me at Bri Leith.” Throughout their long walk, Aengus did not complain.

They climbed to the highest point in the grouping of three summits. From there Aengus could see all the way to the mountains in the southeast, and to distant blue slopes to the north. Rivers and streams shimmered below them through lush valleys, for great rivers flowed from this place including the Boyne. The three settled onto fur mats on a warm granite platform overlooking the valley and
Bru na Boinne
. They could even see Teamair beyond in the south.

The Dagda spoke clearly for an old man. “This is your first lesson with me in our knowledge from the skies. The dome above us contains many mysteries. Our people have unraveled some of these mysteries by being patient and watching the skies for generations beyond memory. If you listen well, Aengus, then we shall have another lesson. In time you may follow Starwatcher ways.”

Aengus nodded, spellbound at the Dagda’s deep voice.

The Dagda began. “The ancients learned when to plant and when to harvest, from watching the skies. You know that there are many upright stones at high places in the lands around Midh.”

Aengus nodded again with a serious countenance. The Dagda was older than any person he had seen, and said to know the sky like the back of his hand. A thrill closed his throat to have this special time with the Dagda and his mother.

“Griane set the first marker stone. Over generations, the tall stone showed our people that there were four equal seasons in the sun’s journey along the horizon, from north to south and then back to the north. When I say equal, I mean that within each season the sun rises the same number of times. But you know yourself, Aengus, that during the winter lunates the sun travels very slowly along the horizon. Our people saw that the sun pauses during the winter season, it almost stops in its movement along the horizon for around ten risings of the sun. This standstill marks the longest darkness between winter sunrises. That is when you were given to us, Aengus! Then the sun accelerates day by day along the horizon as it travels toward the spring. From sunrise to sunrise, the light becomes longer and longer until daylight is equal to darkness. We celebrate this time at our spring equinox ceremony. This is the time to plant the fields. Your mother will show you what to look for in the night sky to verify the planting time.

“Are you with me so far? The sun continues rising toward the north and graciously gives us more light from sunrise to sunrise, until the sunrise on the longest light of the year. We call those days, Bright Sun. Again the sun has slowed and reached its most northern point on the horizon, at summer solstice. The sun picks up speed again after this summer solstice, the time of longest light from sunrise to sunrise. Soon it races toward the south in its risings and settings along the horizon. The light is leaving with the sun to the south. Soon the sun’s light is equal again with the dark. This shows the time for harvest. Your mother will show you what to look for in the night sky at this harvest equinox as well.

“Then as the sun moves even farther south, the longer darkness begins. When it stops at its most southern point of sunrise and sunset, we are back to when you were born. That is when the light slowly returns. This journey of the sun along the horizon from south to north and back completes what we call a solar cycle, with two solstices and two equinoxes. Each solar cycle has a set number of days, and each of its four seasons.” The Dagda stood, leaning on Boann’s arm, and invited Aengus to stand up also. They all walked to wooden pegs that she had set into the ground: a tall peg at the center with four shorter pegs set to the west of it.

“Aengus, this is one of the mysteries. It is the mystery of the seasons shown clearly to us in the sky. We have learned to mark all four seasons of the light. At sunrise, that tall marker casts its shadow to the west. Those four smaller markers each represent one of the seasons. Remember that each season has the same number of sunrises. To capture the shadow from the tall marker stone, the four season markers stand at unequal distances from each other. This is so even though there are an equal number of sunrises in each season. This understanding is a gift to us. It is our calendar from the sky. But we had to learn to be patient and truly see before we understood the gift. From what you hear today, you can construct this calendar of light anywhere. The sun will tell you what is the season.”

Aengus felt the earth beneath his bones and the movements in the skies above and his bond with both earth and sky, a sense of complete belonging. He wanted more moments like this.

The Dagda paused. “We do not fully understand why this is so. It is our astronomers’ task to watch the skies patiently and record the movements accurately. We do not question the mysteries. We follow the logic of what we see, for otherwise the hunger would be on us—or we would be lost in darkness.” He watched the boy’s face and, satisfied that Aengus understood, the Dagda turned to Boann. “It is proper for your mother to tell you about the directions given to us from the sun to find our way.”

Boann walked to the central marker peg. “Each of us contains a shadow that shows itself during the light of day. All shadows act in the same way as the sun moves through the sky. By observing the shadow and the sun, you need never be lost.”

“You learned today that the ancient one rises at different points on the horizon through the four seasons of light. Its path overhead also changes during its cycle. The overhead path varies according to the season. We will explore this more in the coming lessons. For now, I think you already know that every day there is a period when the great sun is directly over your head and you cast very little shadow onto the earth.”

Aengus nodded, apparently glad to hear there would be more lessons. The Dagda suppressed a smile, obviously proud of Aengus’ attentiveness despite having spent so long among strangers here in Midh. He was not even fidgeting.

“Our people verified in different ways that between sunrise and sunset, there is a place where the sun is ‘highest’ above the horizon in the dome of the sky. This happens at midsun, and that place is south, no matter where you are. When the sun is at south, then you will see the shortest shadow. This place does not change no matter what is the season of the sun. The place in the sky called ‘north’ also does not change. The sun marker will also show you north when it is the shortest shadow in the day. North is opposite to south on a straight line from the sun through the shadow of the marker. Because the Sun fixed the directions of south and north in the sky, this gives us two halves of the sky dome, south and north. We can choose other directions to show us the way. Long ago our people decided that it is best to divide the sky dome into four equal parts.

“How were we to do this? The answer was again to be found in the sky. Twice in each solar cycle the sunrise and sunset show us the directions of east and west. As the sun travels along the horizon, it shows us the line running straight from east to west that divides the sky dome exactly halfway between north and south. This line happens at sunrise and at sunset on the equinoxes. The equinox from the sun fixes east and west no matter where you are on this island. The sun again helps us to measure and understand our world, south to north and east to west, as it completes the cycle of light. This is the second gift from the sun.”

Boann wondered, shall we tell Aengus that he must not discuss these things with Invaders? But that caution could wait until their journey home, she decided.

She finished, seeing that young Aengus had heard enough for his first formal lesson with the Dagda. “One of the chambers here at Loughcrew has an old carved backstone that receives a shaped beam of light at the equinoxes, spring and fall, and later you and I shall explore that chamber and read its symbols. Our people also use certain star patterns in the dark sky of night to verify these things told to us by the sun. I will show you the secrets from the moon and the stars later, with the Dagda. For now, remember that at the equinoxes you will see the time to plant and the time to harvest. And that is also when true east and true west are fixed for us by the sky.

“Now, the Seafarers use the night stars to find their way across the great waters. Can you think why this is so?”

Aengus answered instantly, “Because on a boat the Seafarers do not have fixed stone markers to help them!”

Boann and the Dagda beamed now at his absorption and understanding. “Yes, exactly. The Seafarers also learned through their generations that the best time for making sea travel begins and ends at the spring and fall equinoxes and which stars rise and set with equinox.”

She fell silent, thinking with a wrench of Cliodhna, and Cian, and the rolling ocean. And the smith Creidhne, gone without a trace. Her fingers laced tight around her astronomer’s cord, clenching the smooth beads.

“Mother! Are you all right?” Aengus came to her side, his hazel eyes searching her face.

She smiled at him. “Yes, I’m fine.” She stroked his shining head of hair. As long as her lessons with Aengus could continue, then she would hold onto that even as the sky shifted above them.

Many seasons of the sun might pass before she learned of Cian’s fate.

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

Song of Wandering Aengus
, W.B. Yeats

A Fire in the Head

C
IAN AND
E
NYA
waited for a propitious season to travel to the Boyne from the Loire, while his true passion absorbed him: the sky disk.

Cian had never forgotten his dream, his vision while staying with Gebann on the Seafarer peninsula, a disk divided into four quadrants like the sacred directions under the sky’s dome. His disk would be portable. It could alter starwatching forever.

He had several small disks produced by his Loire smith, trying various metals, dimensions, and finishes to give a surface like the sky. His trade prospered and Cian could afford to have the disk prototypes cast in bronze as well as copper, if not solid gold. Bronze held symbols etched upon it better than did copper. Bronze, the stronger metal, proved superior for his purposes.

A local sage having astronomy skills helped experiment with various configurations on the disk. Cian wanted a design that would be accurate for sightings no matter where one used the sky disk. His helper took a disk here and there, far inland and along the coasts, and reported back that over any great distance the markings proved inaccurate. To perfect a universal disk Cian needed an expert astronomer from his people, but he lacked access to one. He persevered, trying various designs using what he learned of sun and stars in his youth.

Taranis, despite his self-absorption, appreciated knowledge and said he enjoyed seeing the disk take shape. He entered Cian’s workshop one muggy midsun for a chat about their trading. There his son-in-law and a smith tinkered with a bronze disk.

“I always know where to find you, Starwatcher.” Taranis held his nose. “What is that awful smell?”

“Rotten eggs. We smear the disk’s surface with them and it changes to deep blue like the night sky,” Cian answered.

Taranis waved his arm, expansive. “Your invention shall be the toast in great halls from the Cymru coast all the way south to the river Tagus, and as far east as the snowy mountains. What shall you charge a buyer for your disk?”

Cian glowed at the praise, but didn’t have a ready answer.

“You must demand an amount for your sky disk that is, shall we say, astronomical.” He wagged his forefinger. “Meanwhile, see to it that you and Enya produce an heir.”

Cian took part of this advice to heart. To his surprise, the first disk fetched him a good-sized bag of gold from its eager buyer.

He increased the disk’s size and varied its purpose. A sky disk could show the sun’s seasonal journey between solstice or equinox positions, or align with particular constellations. He shared what he was doing with Enya whenever she ventured into his work area.

“Your sky disk has both beauty and function, and word of it spreads among those elite who know astronomy. But what of those who would misuse the starwatching disk, frighten others with it or pretend it has some magic?” she asked him in private. They had just witnessed most of a midsummer spectacle, put on by Taranis for his people, that included dancers and a juggler. The two left before the bear-baiting that would end with putting the animal to death and displaying its bloody entrails, head, and claws. Now they sat on a bench among her fragrant flowers.

“Your question is wise, as always. That danger concerns me greatly. I hope that sharing this tool with those who seek understanding will overcome those who would use it to spread ignorance or do evil,” he answered. “I would rather not restrict the sky disk to any self-proclaimed elite. But I cannot be sure who will lay hands on one.”

Cian’s workshop went on to deliver custom sky disks, brought to the buyer’s location and finished there. For those journeys, he usually sent his astronomer with an itinerant smith to finish the disk rather than traveling himself, as he preferred to keep his staid routine.

He prayed with sun and stars, ate sparingly of plain foods, and worked on the sky disk. He took ritual baths, exercised, cropped his dark hair, and wore simple clothing. In the marketplace, strangers misjudged the quiet and modest big fellow to be someone slow-witted rather than Taranis’ partner.

Season after season passed while Cian busied himself with refining the sky disk, and overseeing the gold trading along with Taranis. They also sent prospectors after more tin to increase the supply of bronze.

Better weather, warmer and stable, resumed along the Continent. Enya devoted herself to gardening and enlarged the gardens at the hall of Taranis, sheltering them with lines of tall yews. The yews embraced into a thick defense against storms, just as Cian and Enya remained the best of friends. They spoke of the return voyage to Eire. Cian knew his disk was ready, but a favorable time for him to embark on that trip did not arrive. The tenuous peace held at the Boyne, and Boann and Aengus were safe; or so Sreng assured him in messages.

Given my situation, he told himself, it’s better that Boann know nothing of me.

He ignored his fear of the ocean swells when he took short voyages on behalf of Taranis or with the sky disk. Cian heard of Creidhne’s disappearance, and had long resigned himself that Cliodhna had been lost to the waves. There had been countless others drowned when shipments to and from Eire sank. Rather than leave it to shamans he presided over each departing vessel, praying with his hands aloft for the stars to guide the craft safely. He grieved for lost mariners and ensured their families were provided for and their memories honored at cairns along the coast.

Nevertheless his gold trading continued. His gold artisan in Eire, formerly an apprentice to Creidhne, trained another artisan, then another. Starwatcher goldsmiths embellished their gold jewelry, etching very fine parallel lines, solid or composed of minute dots, onto the sheet-gold neck lunulae and other jewelry pieces. Eire’s intricately tooled jewelry became the rage in all the northern islands and coasts. The Starwatcher smiths elaborated on the early styles. As gold became more plentiful from the mining they made heavier items. The goldsmiths began to make curved lengths of hollow gold tubes into stunning torcs and bracelets and large fasteners for fabric. Their fabulous jewelry reached the Continent’s central plains and into its far corners and set the fashion wherever those items traded.

The tin source he found long ago had held up, some seasons more of it available than in others, but it enabled the Loire to produce costly bronze. Cian prospered mightily with Taranis, beyond their wildest dreams when they made their first bargain. He now lived a hundred times better than that rascal Bolg whom he met long ago. He gave Taranis loyalty in all their dealings. Nevertheless, Taranis complained from time to time, “Why haven’t you and Enya given me an heir?”

Then Cian’s thoughts, his desires, invariably strayed north with his impossible dream of returning to Eire. Elcmar would kill for gold, Sreng and Lir warned him.

Matters came to a head when news of troubles reached the hall of Taranis. A messenger in salt-stained leather arrived in dark and rain and asked for an immediate audience. “Elcmar confiscated an entire gold shipment! His warriors hold your ship and most of the men captive. Lir got word and sent me on to you; he waits at the northwest to cross the Channel on your instructions.”

Taranis’ expression darkened. Sporadic “taxes” on the gold by Elcmar’s agents had been merely annoying. Elcmar’s sudden levy of a whole shipment, and taking of hostages, caught his full attention. Before dawn he dispatched men with the messenger, who voyaged north with Lir all the way to the Boyne estuary with his demand for swift return of the ship, men, and gold. Elcmar ignored that demand. Over the following season of the sun, his silence infuriated Taranis.

A pacing Taranis summoned Cian to his chamber. “We don’t want to see Sreng’s men and our own mariners discouraged by being potential hostages of Elcmar. The covert mining and the sea travel have perils enough. Men trained in these arts are few and far between,” Taranis growled, his voice gravelly and face lined under his groomed curls. “We need to send Elcmar and his Invaders a message they understand. I’m not so old that I couldn’t visit your island, Starwatcher, and show your man there what’s what.”

Cian proposed sending weapons, enough metal weapons to let the Starwatchers reclaim Eire and their gold. Taranis squelched that idea; arming the locals could only endanger his trade network, his own supremacy. Soon the chief brought up the missing shipment again during an evening meal though he disliked unpleasant topics while he ate.

He looked down the table, at Cian sitting beside Enya, and his own sons who offered little conversation, their consorts bedecked and coiffed in the latest high style. On this evening the family enjoyed a first course of toasted thin meal cakes rolled up with pureed chestnuts and chives. Taranis licked a finger and finished, a slave waiting at his elbow to whisk away crumbs.

This delicacy graced his table from the Basque who stayed on as his inventive chef. While Taranis waited, a slave carried in a steaming roast suckling pig marinated in fermented cider, its crisp skin studded with herbs, on a bronze platter. Bronze skewers of roasted roots and apples, their skins likewise bronzed, completed its glory. He inhaled deeply over the platter and signaled to the slave, who commenced carving and serving onto polished wooden plates. No one speared hunks or gnawed bones at Taranis’ table. His manner of dining gained favor among the coasts’ very elite like the gold lunulae they avidly sought from him. His source of gold, his prestige, must remain secure. Taranis turned back to Enya and Cian, who looked to be holding hands under the table.

“Well?” he rapped on the tabletop, scowling. “Our missing gold?” He regarded the couple fondly across piled fruits and nuts on the honey-hued oak planks.

“Perhaps it is time to send weapons to our men in Eire?” Cian suggested again. He realized how dangerous Elcmar would be if cornered, like a wild beast that had only ever known fighting for survival.

Enya’s brothers volunteered to take their warriors over the waters to Eire but Taranis waved away their offer. “No need to spill blood to bring one man in line over trading. That would set a bad precedent.”

Enya nodded at Cian, who spoke again. “As you say, Elcmar’s actions pose a grave threat that must be countered. I cannot myself return to the Starwatcher island, or I would have done so. That
ard ri
bears me great enmity as it is; I wouldn’t be the person to persuade him.

“With your blessing, Enya and a party of armed guards of your choosing shall journey there. We can call her guards diplomats and call this a goodwill mission to further the gold trade—from the Starwatchers. Let Elcmar levy his taxes but in a reasonable amount. Enya will negotiate that amount with him once and for all, and have Elcmar return this gold. Your ship must of course be returned in sound condition, and all the hostages.”

“Enya to go, alone!” Taranis turned to his daughter. She had borne no children and he despaired of ever seeing a grandson from their union. But he had sons who gave him heirs, and who chafed at Cian’s prominence. At the risk of losing Enya to the ocean, he well knew that if she wanted to go on this journey it was pointless to tell her otherwise. Even now, her posture indicated her firm decision in accord with Cian. She was certainly capable of reining in Elcmar and having him release the captured gold, the ship, and hostages. Taranis had great faith in his newest strong plank boat for her safe journey to Eire and back.

“I give you my blessing in this, Enya. Ten strong guards, and gifts to the
ard ri
, shall accompany you there. But we had better not send sails edged in gold.”

They toasted the decision with copas, rare footed cups in shiny black pottery from a far southern coast. The diners ate in lingering bites and made plans for her journey to Eire. At the end of their dinner the family dabbed themselves with scented water from burlwood bowls and wiped their hands using linen woven fine as mist in a hot land they had never seen.

Enya’s necklace of variscite and antler beads caught the light from oil lamps as she rose from the table, and reminded Cian of a particular constellation. He watched, appreciating her graceful exit from the hall. Knowing Taranis expected him to retire with her, Cian excused himself from the table.

He went to stand under the stars. Enya had insisted, despite the difficult journey. The voyage fell during good weather, but if she did not return, Taranis would blame him for her death and her brothers would gladly kill him. Neither could he persuade her to stay behind at the Loire while he contended with Elcmar. He trusted her abilities, and so agreed to her plan.