Post #28.10, Tues. January 25, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Brittany was forest

         Snow fell silently all night and now it heaps across the entrance to this cave so morning light is just a dim glow through the snow. Guldilyn is calling, “Ezra.” I hear people right outside this cave looking for me. They aren’t even aware this cave is here. I didn’t really mean to hide from them but now I am.

         My long night here in sweet darkness was the holy blessing I needed for prayers and to listen back to dreams and thoughts all to knit together as my clarity of mind. I need to journey on alone now, but I also need direction to that place they saw the Irish father.

         Now I hear a rumor that I had been washed away in the river last night as I was on my way to the women’s cave with my fleece. Guildilyn knows I can swim, but she allows them to assume I drown. She probably believes I ran away and left no trace. Among the voices there seems a sense of loss, but it is like a possession lost, like the loss felt when a slave has runaway. It’s not grief. They mean to get an early start and decide not to waste any more time with this.

           It’s been a while since I’ve heard any voices, so I push the snow away and venture down the rocks to the abandoned campsite.

         Not only do they leave me behind, they also leave an unkempt campsite. The fire can still be rekindled and here in the icy water I find fresh fish still on a line with a fine iron hook. So now I have fish and a hook and a line.  I know this story, when the plan the followers had to fast with grief is interrupted by a feast of fish. [John 21] Thank you God.

         A whole tribe moving through fresh snow makes no secret of the travel direction. It will be easy to follow their tracks but I plan to let one day elapse between us. They seem to be moving away from the river we followed yesterday. And since they hadn’t climbed over the rocks by the river when they went on their way no one knew of the cave I found. Tomorrow I will follow them.

(Continues tomorrow) 

Post #28.9, Thurs., January 20, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Brittany was forest

         Now I understand. I’m not really here to help with the hunt while these two men guide me on a comfortably furnished journey to find the Christians in the wilderness. The only thing that concerns them is the continuation of their own tribe. Guldilyn mentioned the insatiable appetite for personal power that drives men. And she did say this was about men. I listened to her then as though she was a woman and of secondary power; so for her, I thought, the lust for power was a gender thing. But that was not what she was saying. Now I know I should have been alert to what her words really meant. It is not about empowering one man, but about the survival of the tribe.

         Like a wounded animal with priority on survival, there is nothing a tribe won’t do to assure its continuation. Individual wants and needs are irrelevant. The tribe (or political party like the Sadducees or the Pharisees, or a national autocracy, like Rome) is more valued than any individual life. That’s how wars are made. Half truths, lies, trickery, and particularly ravaging the enemy would, of course be expected in the face of a threat from another tribe; but when the threat is from within, from its own shrinking numbers, it becomes simply a matter of finding more distant men or maidens for procreation. Of course this makes sense.

         I can see why Thole with his fiery soft hair would be preferable, and two of us more valuable than one. But I really don’t know what to do with this epiphany. I start back toward the caves, though my most pressing need right now is for a prayer in solitude. I climb the rocks by the river coated in ice along side the winter torrents cascading into falls. And there, before me, thank you God, is a third cave, tucked back into the rock. It’s solitude and maybe even shelter — a place for a day’s end rest as the shadows of night overtake all the sky darkening now, even the opening in the tree tops where the river below breaks through the wood.  Here is fresh water and shelter just large enough for one man with a fleece. I needn’t return until I have the spiritual clarity to know what to do.

         Dear God, thank you for this time and shelter, please guide my choices in your way of warless compassion. I await your guidance. Amen.

(Continues Tuesday, January 25, 2022)

Post #28.8, Weds., January 19, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Brittany was forest

         It turns out when the boulders are rolled from the two caves this tribe’s stash of skins and weapons is revealed. Here is an abundance of deerskins and fleeces. I already have the fleece that was given me by Druid Largin, but it’s obvious I have no deer skin shelter or bow or quiver of arrows, and there seems to be no way for me to provide these essentials for myself. The tribe of hunters likely hid their things here so not to have to share with the Largin’s tribe; and of course there is no reason to share with me.

          Heinrique and Auldouff are pitching a tent made of a large hide of a buck that is the perfect size for two men, not three.

         I ask, “Will there be a sheltered place that I may lay my fleece?”

         They answer only with a chuckle between them.

         I mention, “I will also need a bow and a quiver of arrows if I am going to become useful to you on the hunt. Might you be kind enough to guide me in finding a proper wood, and then if you teach me your craft I may cut and clean such a branch so I can become useful to you.”

         Heinrique lays his monstrous arm across my shoulders. It feels like a fallen tree limb on my neck, and he guides me out of Auldouff’s earshot.

         “Ezra, boy, obviously we don’t need a third hunter to rustle in the leaves and frighten our prey.  Our sayer, Guldilyn, chose you for one purpose and one purpose only, which is to give babies to our sisters and cousins.  You may start now making your bed among the women in the caves.”

         “Have the women a choice in that?” I ask, knowing that I may not.

         “We all have our duty. When we feel starvation, we all starve or hunt. When an enemy comes down on us, we all die or fight. When our tribe is threatened to simply wane away, everyone must do what they can to save it.  We already have maidens, but they’re our sisters; now our leaders found us only one man. We thought the other tribe would have more, and when we learned of their plight they have no one at all who is young and fertile, so we thought the two extra young men should be ours. And now we have only one.”

         “I understand your disappointment but …”

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #28.7, Tues. January 18, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Brittany was forest

         It was a long night and day and night again of celebrating this vague hope that generations may come and this tribe by the Loire may go on.

         On this new morning I am following the pagan tribe of hunters, though I’ve set my own sights on finding this Christian, Columbanus. I’ve been told he is living with his followers in the Vosges Mountains. The hunters of this tribe work in small groups of two’s and three’s, probably because, while thirty-some bowmen are useful for warfare against humankind, the deer hunt is more intimate.

         Guldilyn takes me to the two who were hunting in the mountains when they came upon these Christians living in the ruin of Annegray.

         “They are Heinrique and Auldouff. They hunt the distant places you want to visit and they will teach you the bow.”

         So Guldilyn has assigned mentors and I believe, from their expressions, I’m something of an unwelcome intrusion – a sprouting upstart with no possible good sense. At least my tonsure is nearly hidden now under the rough pattern of unkempt curls, and my unshorn beard doesn’t reek of Christian monk.

         This entire tribe is on a slow trek north and east, mostly men, but the few women among us are at the front of the pack with their Druid, Balfour.  Maybe that is so we will keep a woman’s pace, or possibly women have a place of leadership among these people. I follow behind Heinrique and Auldouff who are walking side-by-side talking to one another and make no glance or gesture at all to include me. They seem to have a lot to talk about but are speaking only in their tribal language leaving the Roman edges of the common tongue understood but not spoken. For a moment their shared story has humor. They both laugh, but then they glance back at me and I can guess I am the punch line.

         This wilderness is hardly a journey of new discovery for these two.  They seem to know this path well. Even the rest sites have been set here on an earlier journey. There is no wonder in it. We walk most of the day at a good pace so this evening we are in a place where the river we’ve been following cascades over winter ice. Amid the rocky ledges protruding in the woodlands are several caves and here we have our camp.

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #28.6, Thurs., January 13, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Brittany was forest

         Great peaks of flames roll, each tongue rising higher, snapping and hissing then dissolving silently into the hot center of it all. As each finger of flame points deeper into the dark a spew of sparks escapes to eternity with the winter stars. Across the fire I see Thole rolling a log to a perfect spot upwind of the smoke. He carefully arranges a fleece and now he is gone again.

         No sooner does Druid Largin begin the ritual than Thole emerges again, this time he comes with a woman bundled in his cloak as though she were his most precious treasure. They sit on the fleece so close to one another they seem one thing. A bellow of smoke rides a wind shift obscuring my curious gaze. But I’ve seen it.

         I prayed that Thole would have empathy, so this moment is my heavenly flaunting.

         I suppose it’s only I who hear God speaking, “Lazarus, you don’t need to tell me how to distribute empathy or any of the other windows to love. I’ve already set it all out for humankind and yet you trip yourselves into it anyway, hardly noticing all the varieties of love until it tumbles you.”

         Thank you God. I will take care.

         The remarks of the Druid are of course, not spoken as heavenly blessings, rather as blessings from earth. He is both the father of the bride and the priest and this is clearly the nuptial. A long night and day again of celebration is toasted with a keg of ale. There is no coy secret of the phallus. The druid brings out a sacred white snake, as was gathered from the nearby grasses. This white snake is dancing and twisting as it is held up for all of us to see just how a snake moves. The imagery is clearly something that taunts woman, until the bride here chooses to make it her pet.

         It is the universal chant with pagan lyric, and the same tempo for dancing the world already knows.  The heartbeat of the Celts is no different than the Hora of the ancients.

         And now I see Thole’s bride has one fine dancing foot, and another that keeps the beat anyway. And they dance and dance.

         Thank you God, for all the tripings into love you’ve laid out in Creation. May I not loose sight of it. Amen.

(Continues Tuesday, January 18, 2022)

Post #28.5, Weds., January 12, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Brittany was forest

         The leftovers of a huge feast with visitors and long nights of parties is old food, empty barrels, and contentious divisions between the tribes. The withering greens are set outside. The ashes are swept from the hearthstones and new wood is stacked. Ordinary tidiness is the best anyone can hope for, that, and the longer hours of daylight though any warmth from sun seems far in the future.

         Guldilyn speaks to Druid Balfour the priest of their tribe regarding the news that Thole won’t be joining them. She doesn’t even use the possible off-set of good news that I will be going with them. He is livid. He takes Druid Largin away to a distance out of earshot, but we can all see it is an animated discussion.  I try to ease the situation mentioning to Guldilyn that I don’t think Thole is a good hunter, and I know he doesn’t know how to swim.

         Guldilyn is serious and I’m making light of Thole’s flaws.

         “Swimming, why would you measure a man by swimming?”

         “I’m just thinking he was nearly lost to the river which would make this whole problem moot. And your priest might want to know that I happen to be a very fine swimmer.  So it’s not all a loss for your tribe, you know.”

         “Swimming has nothing to do with it.”

         “Well, maybe not, at least until the river rises; I mean, I happen to be a useful human being also. It’s not like your tribe is getting nothing.”

         “This is not about you. This is between our priests. It’s a tribal power thing. Lust for power is mindless. If there was ever any sense to a man’s need for personal power no one would ever have to die in a war. We would all just settle things like wise women chanting and dancing in the firelight.”

         They seem to have reached an agreement here with no blows between them. 

         I help prepare as the tribe that I will travel with readies for the journey.

         Druid Largin gives me a gift of one of the fleeces Thole and I had borrowed when we were camping. And he offers his gratitude for rescuing the woman from plague. I assure him it wasn’t plague but that goes unheard. 

         Tonight the Celtic blessings for our journey will be chanted at a bonfire with both tribes together in a parting peace.

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #28.4, Tuesday, January 11, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Brittany was forest

         The Druid is going to make sense of his mention of a folk myth in which a fair maiden kisses a frog. It has to do with Thole being missing. Even though these people know the Celtic lore of “shape changing,” could anyone really believe they’ve made Thole into a frog? I await the explanation.

         The Druid speaks.

         “Twenty-one years ago I looked over my people and realized a terrible fate awaited us. Younger then, I realized with no new babies born to us our tribe would just disappear from this earth above. We had a few old men, and the only two women who were still of an age to bear children were without mates. So I myself planted my seed, and one of the two women had a child. She was one that would be set out to the wolves. But neither I, nor her mother could bear that thought. For some reason, the poor infant with the clubfoot, my nose, and the chin I hide with beard seemed to us a beautiful person.

         “We hid her in the cloaks of an elder as first she was an elfin size, now she is the size of a small woman and she has become beloved among the whole tribe even though she is gnarled. She has a cheerful and gentle nature.

         “In that way our own fair maiden is the frog in the legend. And your boy Thole is the fair maiden.”

         I laugh.

         Guldilyn snarls,  “A fairy changeling.[Footnote] You had a responsibility to put it out to the wolves when it was still a babe. What will become of your people with such a mother for the new generation?”

         “She was no changeling.” The druid argues. “She was our own child. She is loved.”

         My quiet prayer, Dear God thank you for keeping Thole safe and for giving him imagination to see beauty. May they both discover they are drenched in blessings of your love who are the Creator of all creation and the all-loving parent. Amen.

         Guldilyn argues, “But we get to keep this dark-haired one. He may yet learn to hunt.”

         I speak for myself, “Guldilyn, if I follow your tribe it will be my choice and the only reason would be so your hunters can lead me to the Christian you mentioned, Columbanus.”

[Footnote] Sugg, Richard, “Fairies: A Dangerous History” (2018 Reakton Books) pp. 97-108 documents instances in recent centuries of belief in supernatural abductions and replacement of young children by fairies, exchanging healthy babies for children with various abnormal developmental conditions. The author discusses possible genetic conditions identified by modern science that may have been associated with this superstition and he also discusses the parent’s need this meets to explain their dismay. The fiction of this blog is an atypical example.

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #28.3, Thurs., January 6, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Gaul was forest

         I know Christianity runs on rumor too often, but this rumor of pagan human sacrifice has some credence. There have been findings. I ask the druid what is their intention.

         He answers after an uncomfortably long pause for shared grins with Guldilyn.

         “My boy Ezra, our gods would be repulsed if we fed them Christians.”

         Guldilyn intrudes, “What burns on our altars are the gifts of our labors. Our tribe hunts the beasts of the forests, and Druid Largin makes ale. But both of our peoples are suffering from need for more people. Christians take from us. We can take from them. And apparently you owe Druid Largin a maiden. What use he may have for a young man, I have no idea.  He can’t breed humans with one fertile male when he has no young maidens. I think he just took your friend Thole to spite us. He says it is justice. I think he is looking for trouble.”

         “Is Thole well?” I ask Druid Largin.

         Again, he draws his lips to make a grin or a scowl and takes a seething moment to answer, “He is fine. He is just fine. Indeed, he is very, very fine.”

         “May I speak to him?”

         “I doubt it.”

         Guldilyn asks it of the druid, “What have you done with that flaming haired lad?”

         Largin answers, “Let me tell the storytellers a story, though you may have heard it. It comes as legend from the forest beyond the Vosges.

         “Once there was a fair maiden. She had a wide imagination for beauty, and one day she met a frog. In her mind he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She kissed the frog, and immediately everyone saw that he was indeed a handsome man and a most beloved creature.”

         I have no idea how that story explains Thole, but it does have a Christian theme flowing deep beneath it, the theme of accepting the outcast.

         Guldilyn asks, “Whatever does that have to do with the young man, Thole? You have no maidens, and he is hardly a frog.”

         The longer he stalls for time the more anxious I am for Thole’s safety.

         The druid speaks, “So let me offer you a clear and straight forward explanation.”

         “Please do.”

         “About twenty-one years ago to the day, I looked over these people and thought…”

(Continues Tuesday, January 11, 2022)

Post #28.2, Weds., January 5, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Brittany was forest

         The pagan storyteller and I are discussing the differences of our mythologies, when Druid Largin intrudes to mention what had already crossed my mind.

         “You won’t see your friend Thole again.”

         “I noticed he was gone; what happened to him?”

         “Oh, we know where he is, Ezra. He’s paying the price owed for the missing girl Daniel failed to return after her apprenticeship.”

          I’m pretty certain Thole won’t fill their need for a practitioner of healing, so I can only imagine a worse use they might have for him. Dear God give me wisdom to negotiate his release. Stay close.

         Guldilyn overhears Largin’s taunt and argues, “What have you done Largin? These two young men were supposed to be ours!”

         The druid makes his deal with Guldilyn who speaks for the visiting tribe, “You take one, we’ll take one. You can have this one.  It’s fair.”

         “Thole and I can speak for ourselves. We aren’t slabs of venison that can parceled out. We are Christians. We belong only to God.”

         Both the druid and the storyteller look past me to each other to insure I have no say.

         First Guldilyn says, with a jeer, “So you belong to the invisible, untouchable god? That’s nothing.”

         Largin argues, “You belong to a count and a king and an abbot – by your haircut, I see – also a bishop, and a pope, and Thole said he wants none of that. He told us himself he wants a place among us.”

         “I know. Thole was looking for that, but what place might he find here if he wasn’t born to this tribe? From the rumors among Christians it is said that pagans make ritual sacrifices of humans, and surely he had no intention of offering himself to appease a sacred well or fertilize a tree.”

         The druid is nearly playful in his accusation. “So you’ve been a Christian all your days, and now you are saying it’s us who sacrifice young men on a tree? It’s you who worship the dead Jesus hanging on that beam. And it is your saints who cut down our sacred trees while they are still living and strong. You come up with these strange notions of religious rites and then lay them on others as though all the world but Christian was shackled to archaic ways of old.”

         “So” I have to ask straight out, “What have you done with Thole?”

         My question is answered with more knowing glances between Largin and Guldilyn.

(Continues tomorrow)


Post #28.1, Tuesday, January 4, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Gaul was forest

         “So doesn’t that big old Christian story book have any tales of a wild hunt?” Guldilyn, the storyteller, asks.

         It’s only the two of us here because any who would be waiting to hear another tale have simply wandered off. 

         “I think it was the pale ending where, after the birth of God’s own son, Rachel was left weeping for her children. I probably ended it too soon.”

         “Probably.” Guldilyn reminds me, “we all expect Christian stories to be dulled with easy magical miracles; yet in that story there wasn’t fantastic magic, only a simple miracle of love and beauty. Everyone – our tribe, Largin’s tribe, Christians, sinners and monks alike — all of us get love and beauty I suppose, and children, and deaths, and griefs. And everyone knows in the end comes the weeping.”

         The elder storyteller awaits my defense. She stares from her ageless grey eyes at the empty places around the fire circle and I know her expectation was for a popular story.

         I answer, “Maybe the Christian bible does have a story of the Wild Hunt.”

         I’m thinking maybe I could gather up the ancient Hebrew monsters and myths and recite the longing tale of the end times. “There is a big roaring, hissing horror all pieced together from myth with proper acountings of extra eyes and heads and wings measured in magical numbers like sevens to tell the secrets of God if only we could decode it all. And even more popular The Revelation speaks of judgment to rout out sinners.”

         She suggests, “I knew Christians would have a good story.”
         And I’m not so sure either, if the popularity of her pagan story is in the random harrowing, so much as all the noise and destruction it tells.

          I answer Guldilyn aloud, “Do you think people are looking for stories from religion where human behavior empowers the judgments of God or in your case, gods?”

         “Do you mean where human cunning determines the outcome? No, people don’t want that.  They want superheroes.” She consoles,  “Don’t take it so hard young fellow. It was a first attempt. Surely Christians must have something that’s popular. We’ve heard there is a band of Christians with lots of followers. Find out what stories Father Columbanus has to tell. Even though he means to be hidden away in the Vosges wilderness he’s very popular.”

(Continues tomorrow)