Dragon of the Island (27 page)

Waves of shame washed over Aurora. She had
to know if Maelgwn hated her so much that he preferred a woman like
that to her. She had to find out.

Aurora tried to cover up the mess she had
made, scuffing up the dust with her sandal. She hurried from the
bakehouse and ran to the small daub-and-wattle house. Gwenaseth
greeted her with a surprised smile. “Aurora, I didn’t think you
would be up so soon.” She looked closely at Aurora’s white,
strained face, and her smile disappeared. “Is something wrong? Are
you ill?”

“Gwenaseth, I have to know the truth.”

The desperation in Aurora’s voice frightened
Gwenaseth, “Know? Know what?”

“I must know if Maelgwn... if he went to a
whore in the village last night.”

“Who told you that?”

“Esylt. She said Maelgwn shares the bed of a
common woman in the village and he went to her last night.”

“I’m sure she just said those things to hurt
you,” Gwenaseth soothed. “You must pay her no mind.”

“Gwenaseth, I have to know! I order you to
tell me if these things are true.”

Gwenaseth looked doubtful. “Morganna is not
exactly a whore. In a way, you could say that she and Maelgwn are
old friends.”

“Morganna,” Aurora hissed. “Who is she?”

“She’s the wife of one of Maelgwn’s men who
was killed in battle several years ago.” Gwenaseth’s eyes were
wary. “It’s true Maelgwn shares her company sometimes, but I don’t
believe it’s what you think.”

Aurora exhaled a long, shaky breath. “How
could he? How could he shame me so?”

“You do not know if it’s true,” Gwenaseth
protested. “Esylt could easily be lying.”

Aurora shook her head miserably. “I don’t
think so. She knew... and she enjoyed telling me so much.”

“Remember, Aurora, don’t let your pride
allow Esylt to win.”

“It doesn’t matter. I am tired of being
hurt. Perhaps she is right. Perhaps I should go back to
Viroconium!”

“No!” Gwenaseth said sharply. “It could mean
war. How would you feel if your father were killed trying to avenge
you against Maelgwn?” Gwenaseth grabbed Aurora’s arm and looked her
fiercely in the eye. “How would you feel if Maelgwn were
killed?”

Aurora’s face was stubborn and hard. “Tell
me what this Morganna is like,” she asked coldly.

Gwenaseth released her grip on Aurora. “She
is older than you, perhaps Maelgwn’s age. Her hair is the color of
oak leaves in the fall, her eyes dark. Her skin is dark too, almost
darker than Rhys.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“No, not what most men would call by that
name. She has had a hard life and it shows in her face, but her
body is plump and pleasing.”

“Why?” Aurora asked bitterly. “Why would
Maelgwn go to her?”

“I think at first he went to her because he
felt sorry for her. She loved her dead husband a great deal. And
now...” Gwenaseth paused, troubled. “It could be that he feels
comfortable with her, safe.”

“How unfair he is. He threatens me lest I
let any other man touch me, yet he leaves his marriage bed for a
common whore!”

“Perhaps Maelgwn is running away from his
feelings for you,” Gwenaseth suggested.

“He has shown me naught but cruelty and
arrogance!”

“Aye, he has hid his love for you very well,
even from himself.”

“Love!” Aurora’s voice was mocking. “Don’t
try to soothe me with that foolishness! Maelgwn loves grain and
gold—the dowry of wealth and power I brought him. He cares nothing
for
me
!”

Gwenaseth shook her head. “You are wrong,
Aurora. Maelgwn does care. I’ve never seen the Dragon run before.
He is afraid—afraid of his feelings for you.”

Aurora lay back and tried to sleep, but her
thoughts tormented her. It was well enough to say that she hated
Maelgwn, but that did not change how difficult it had been to be
crowded next to him in the priory chapel for Gwenaseth and Elwyn’s
wedding ceremony. She had hardly heard the prior’s droning
words—her every sense was concentrated on Maelgwn’s distressing
presence. She could still smell the odor of the soap he had used to
wash with, and she was painfully aware that he had cut his hair and
been freshly shaved. Who was he trying to look nice for, she
wondered? Was it for her or for his common slut in the village?

Aurora tossed restlessly, trying to find a
comfortable position on the bed. Her head still ached from the
wine, and sleep eluded her. The fortress was mostly quiet as
everyone prepared for Lughnasa, but the older children had gathered
outside for games and races to pass the time, and their shouts and
cheers always seemed to wake Aurora just as she began to drift
toward sleep. She realized she was hungry, and she thought with
regret of the rich stews and fresh fish she had passed up at the
feast the night before. Today, there would be no evening meal at
all. Gwenaseth had told Aurora that all the Lughnasa participants
had to fast for several hours before the ceremony.

A cramp of fear squeezed Aurora’s empty
stomach. Tonight she was going to participate in what many people
in Viroconium considered an evil, disgusting ritual. Just being
there was no doubt a sin. Yet she had to admit that she was
intrigued. Would the old gods walk the earth tonight? Were they out
there now—waiting in the still mountain air?

Aurora finally dozed, and when she awoke it
was almost time to leave for the ceremony. She dressed hastily,
selecting a new gown of rose-colored silk that had come from
Llanfaglan. She then turned her attentions to her hair, combing it
out so it flowed in a mass of dark curls around her shoulders.
Aurora looked around the room uneasily, wondering what she had
forgotten. She felt naked without her jewelry, but Gwenaseth had
warned that no metal was to be worn to the ceremony. It might
interfere with supplications to the gods.

Aurora ran down the tower stairs and into
the courtyard. It was getting late and many people had already left
the fortress. She didn’t bother looking for Gwenaseth and Elwyn;
they had gone to prepare hours ago. Out of force of habit, she
glanced around for Maelgwn. He was nowhere to be seen, and Aurora
chided herself for thinking of him at all. Perhaps he already
planned to go with one of the other women tonight, she thought
angrily. Good. Then she would not have to worry about him.

The sun was rapidly sliding into the hills
when Aurora joined the last stragglers leaving Caer Eryri. The
ceremony would be held on the hilltop behind the fortress, and as
they neared the open space, Aurora saw that many bonfires had been
lit to form a large circle in the grass. The ring of fire glowed
brilliantly in the fading light. As they approached, the flames
seemed to gain brightness, as if stealing strength from the orange
sun that floated in the sky of lavender and silver.

The mood of the people around her was quiet
and solemn, very different from the atmosphere of fun and joviality
that usually surrounded the Cymru. Aurora’s tension grew; her
throat felt dry and her body cold and rigid. She could almost feel
the spirits watching them from the violet hills. As they neared the
fires, Aurora heard the pounding of a drum, echoing the beating of
her own heart.

Once she was within the circle, Aurora saw
that there was a large fire in the very center. A group of people
formed a ring around it, their hands clasped together, standing
very still. The people were naked, and their bodies were painted
with strange dark designs—as if serpents were slithering over their
skin. As the pounding of the drum quickened, they began to chant
and dance around the fire. Gwenaseth had explained that circling
the fire in the same direction as the sun moved through the sky,
invoked Lugh’s protection and helped to bring his spirit among
them. The movements of the dancers were lithe and graceful, and
Aurora was reminded of salmon, spawning in an invisible river.

The drum stopped and the chanting ended. The
people in the center turned to face the rest of the crowd gathered
around, and Aurora was surprised to see that Gwenaseth and Elwyn
were among the participants. She also recognized the long beard and
plain robe of the bard Torawc as he walked around the circle,
chanting in a strange, melodious voice. Aurora struggled to listen,
but the sounds seemed to blur together. In the back of her mind she
seemed to know what Torawc was saying, but when she tried to
remember, her thoughts eluded her, swimming away into the humming
darkness. The bard began to scatter something on the dancers, and
in his light robe he looked like a flame moving in and out among
the naked painted people.

The people in the center gradually paired
off as couples, and Torawc approached each of them. He took a small
curved knife and carefully cut the wrist of each person. As the
blood began to flow, the couples pressed their wrists together,
mingling their blood. Aurora watched in awe. So, this was what it
was like to be married before the old gods. As your blood was
joined with your partner’s, an unbreakable bond was formed between
you. Gwenaseth had told her the bond was eternal—even death could
not break it.

The handfasting over, the couples took turns
leaping over the large fire in the center of the circle so that the
smoke would purify them and make them fertile. Aurora wondered if
she would ever have the nerve to jump through the glowing flames,
even if Maelgwn were beside her.

The drums began again, and the wedding
participants gradually moved back toward the rest of the group
ringing the fire. Torawc stayed in the center, moving around the
fire and chanting. Slowly, very slowly, he lifted up his arms to
the sky, as if beseeching the gods. Aurora felt a chill, like that
of a cloud passing overhead on a sunny day. Torawc shouted up to
the heavens, and Aurora jumped with fright.

At the same time, a dark figure leaped
forward. At first Aurora thought it was a stag who had somehow
stumbled into the circle, but then she realized it was a man
wearing a headdress of antlers. He was naked except for a leather
breechcloth, gloves on his hands and a mask that covered his face.
The stag man seemed huge, taller than Maelgwn even, and his body
was sleek and well-muscled. Aurora felt a stirring of desire
mingling with her fear.

The drum began to play a stirring rhythm,
gradually growing faster and faster, and the stag man danced,
twirling and leaping within the center of the circle with
tremendous grace. Aurora held her breath; it seemed that she could
see the stag being chased by the hunters, his huge rack of antlers
flashing through the trees as the dancer veered into the crowd and
then whirled back dangerously close to the fire.

Gradually Aurora realized the people around
her were joining the ritual. In the firelight she saw the flash of
wild eyes and bright teeth. She was surrounded by strangers with
savage, exultant faces. They had became the hunters—greedy
carnivores, eager for their prey’s blood. She moved backwards, away
from the fire, away from the people crowding forward to join the
chase. The stag still veered wildly within the circle of watchers,
and sometimes he came so close that Aurora could smell his acrid
sweat, the piercing metallic odor of fear.

The hunters chased the stag man faster and
faster as he sought to escape from the circle of people crowding
around. Closer and closer they came, until they could reach out and
touch him. They grabbed him, clawed at him, tearing his skin until
the stag man’s smooth flesh ran with streaks of dark blood. He
seemed to be tiring, and Aurora felt his panic with a deep despair.
He was beautiful, spectacular, and Aurora did not want him to die,
did not want the hunters to kill him. She closed her eyes to the
escape the horror of it. She knew what would happen next. The stag
man would be killed and his blood would stain the grass black.

When she opened her eyes, the stag man had
fallen. The hunters crowded around, covering him. A cry went out
from the watchers as the stag disappeared, and Aurora was surprised
to find that her own voice joined the eerie lament. Tears streamed
down her face as she watched the hunters carefully, almost
tenderly, lift up the stag man’s bleeding form and bear him away
triumphantly.

As the procession moved out through the
circle of fires, Aurora found the emptiness within her being
replaced with a strange sense of peace. As if prompted by an inner
voice, she suddenly understood the purpose of the ancient ceremony
she’d witnessed. The stag man died, but the rest of the people
lived. In dying he had somehow saved them, for his death ensured
prosperity and fertility for another year. A deep feeling of
gratitude filled her heart, and she thought immediately of the
Christian teachings she had grown up with. Perhaps Christ was like
the stag—for he, too, had died to save his people. Perhaps all gods
were one and the same.

Aurora was moved, and she wanted to share
what she felt with someone. But the people around her were
beginning to pair off or move to the center of the circle to dance.
Some of them began to chant; their voices made a low rumbling sound
like the beating of birds’ wings, filling Aurora’s ears with a
confusing hum.

The fire in the center of the circle seemed
to grow bigger. The flames leaped and crackled fiercely, and Aurora
could smell the dizzying sweet odor of cherry wood. As she stared
into the flames, it seemed as though the licking orange tongues
were reaching out into the darkness, seeking to devour her. The
pounding of the drums intensified, and Aurora’s fear deepened. She
didn’t want to be left by herself in the circle of fire. What if
the gods weren’t satisfied with the sacrifice of the stag man? What
if they wanted more?

She was sweating, and the silk of her gown
stuck tightly to her skin. She could feel herself begin to tremble
with fear, and she backed away, trying to find an opening in the
ring of people and fire.