The horse flies bit and the dragon flies hovered over the calm grey waters of the wide river. The sun burned bright in the blue sky where larks soared and eagles hunted. It was Beltane, and the fires were being prepared by the people of the village. In the air the scent of flowers hung, sweet and heady. Women and children laughed and danced, men piled wood upon the fires and spread glad tidings and hope amongst the people. Old rivalries were forgotten, old feuds suspended whilst the festival took place. Despite the merry making and celebrations, a dark shadow hung over Britain. For rumours spread by scared men told of an invading horde of men who enslave and destroy with swords and spear. A horde of men from across the sea who wish to dominate, destroy, and vanquish the old gods who bless the land.
The fires burned, the druids chanted. Dancing and feasting, prayers and love. The golden sparks curled into the dark sky, and for a while peace made its home within the village by the river. For the village was a place of justice and lore, a place where all respected the highest of all druids, Meddryn. Meddryn the one who knew the elements and could summon the ancestors and cast spells. Meddryn the master of magic, the bringer of truth and grace. But, all was not well with the merry-making. For, one man, a bronze smith called Calagryn had his soul ripped to tatters, the night his youngest daughter was taken to a stranger’s bed and violated.
“Tell me child,” Meddryn began. The summer sun filtered through the trees, and Meddryn felt pity for the girl who was with child.
“He offended my ancestors and gods.” She sniffed. “He raped me and stole bronze from my father.”
“What became of your father?” Everybody in the village knew Calagryn; they knew him to be a kind, talented man who mated tin and copper to produce bright things of great value. Meddryn himself possessed a small cauldron and cup that Calagryn had given him in exchange for blessings on his daughter’s birth.
“He is in the other world. He was slain by the man.”
Meddryn sighed.
“Where is this murderer? This defiler of virgins?”
“I do not know lord Meddryn,” she shook her head. “I saw nothing of him. After it happened I swam in the river to purify myself. I called for my father and he came, but he was killed, I was powerless to intervene.”
“What can I do for you?” The druid asked kindly.
“I seek that which was denied me; I seek justice.”
“Justice,” Meddryn sighed and toyed with his staff. “With the blessings of the gods, you shall have it.”
“Thank you lord,” she said, and kissed the hem of his robe.
The mist hung over the river. The sky, a grey, damp mess, the air moist and heavy. They stood, Meddryn and Selwyn on the river bank, their heads bowed.
“I will make you a ghost wall against the ancestors of your father’s murderer. And,” he held in his hands a small bronze cauldron and cup. “Within these vessels I have placed blood. The cauldron contains blood from the fugitive that was slick on your father’s dagger, and the cup contains blood from your father’s wounds. The blood contains part of the spirit of the men. I will cast the objects into the bosom of the great river where they shall remain. Your enemy will never reach his ancestors, he will forever be trapped in the void of his black heart. And your father – part of him will guard his enemy, lest one day he escapes his prison and tries to do harm.”
“Is my father with the ancestors?”
“Yes child, he is. Only a tiny part of him lingers, the part of him that is anger and vengeance.”
He muttered words of power, and incantations of force. He tapped the bronze objects with his staff and cast them far into the great river where they disappeared beneath the grey waters.
“Thank you lord Meddryn,” Selwyn said, wiping a tear from her eye.
“Let us hope the gods and ancestors grant you the justice you both deserve.” He breathed, and walked away.
In a few short generations the Romans came in force. They came with sword and shield, spear and spite. they enslaved the people and slew the warriors. With foreign words and strange ways they burned the old shrines and desecrated the ancient places. But in secret, in quiet secluded groves the druids met. They talked, they planned, they dreamed, and the warriors spears grew hungry for Roman blood. Blood that would one day waken the old gods and bless the land. Blood that the ageless druid Meddryn remembered well, for he had seen it flow in many an ancient battle; battles that made giants of men, and myths of tales. Battles that marked the forging of a new land.
* * * *
The river flows white over black rocks. Ferns and willows grow on the bank, silver sparkles, silver ripples. It was a beautiful day, a rare day of heat and bright sunlight, the sky a deep and radiant blue. She swam, her hot body cooled by the cold water. Chin deep she stood, her feet touching the sandy bottom, pebbles occasionally brushing her ankles. Her boyfriend sat on the sandy bank, his designer glean-clad backside plonked on a blanket, a can of beer seemingly glued to his lips.
“Come in!” she shouted, a girl called Ruth. Her boyfriend, a student who took himself far too seriously shook his head mournfully. “Come on, it’s wonderful,” she urged. Still he resisted the water and his bikini-clad girlfriend who looked sleek and healthy, the water glistening on her smooth skin. “You’re not scared are you?” she said as she did a hand-stand, toes pointed, legs clear of the water. When her head reappeared he shook his head.
“Come and have something to eat,” Owen urged, tapping the cool box. Ruth was hungry, and the sandwiches were appealing.
They lay beneath the perfect sky, the sound of the river in their ears. They had found a calm, deep stretch of water, screamed from the meadow by trees. They lay an gazed at the sky, Ruth’s body drying, Owen’s body covered by designer labels that seemed out of place.
“Beautiful day,” Ruth breathed.
“Perfect.”
“Why don’t you come for a swim?”
“I prefer to watch you. Besides, I brought a book.” Ruth’s eyes rolled.
“Come on, just for a while, you’ll love it. You can swim can’t you?” Ruth teased.
“Course I can. I just don’t feel like it at the moment.
““There’s nothing to be scared of Owen, the current’s weak, just stay in this stretch and you’ll be fine.”
“I’m not scared.” Owen said, kissing her.
“I’ve read,” Owen began, sipping his beer and nibbling a Scotch egg. “That around this area,” he waved his hand in a vague circle, “There may have been a Roman settlement.”
“Great,” Ruth sighed.
“Yes, and last year a fisherman found a bronze cup in the river, it might have been a votive offering.”
“Excuse me if I don’t flick my bean.” Kirsty said sarcastically. Owen, used to such comments, continued manfully.
“It wasn’t Roman, it was British, could have been from a druid.”
“Speculation,” Ruth said airily.
“History is full of speculation, logical thought processes. We can’t rely on the ground yielding neat, catalogued and dated artefacts for us. Sometimes we have to put two and two together.”
“That’s why I study law and you study art. Why didn’t you read history anyway?” she fixed him with her hazel eyes and he tried hard not to notice her hard nipples beneath the thin fabric of her bikini.
“Because it’s stuffy. Because it’s written by the victor – it’s too main stream.”
“So, point one,” she raised a finger. “How do you know about the Roman settlement?”
“I was told.”
“Told by whom?”
“A good source, Dr. Jane Cromwell from the university.”
“Right, never heard of her..”
“Trust me, she knows her stuff, she doesn’t just lecture she still does field work.”
“I see, she still digs holes. And this bronze cup, how do you know it’s British?”
“Its design.”
“Was it dated?”
“Yep.”
“Ok. The third and final thing.” She raised three fingers. “Why do you then assume it was a votive offering given by druids?”
“Well,” Owen paused. “I don’t know for sure, it could have been a local, rich member of the community.”
“If I was to profile a druid, would he be the type who has enough money to buy a bronze cup and chuck it into the river?”
“He would have probably had it given to him by a chieftain or warrior. And yes, he may have offered it to the river.”
“Fine” Ruth sighed. She was bored, idling picking grass and threading it into a bracelet. “How come you’re wearing those clothes anyway?” she referred to Owen’s designer jeans and T-shirt. He blushed. “What’s wrong with your slouchy, surfy gear?”
“Umm, I wore this because I know you’re into it.”
“How sweet!” she exclaimed and kissed him on the cheek. “But I prefer your hippy stuff.”
“I don’t wear hippy stuff!”
“You know what I mean, your shitty tie-dye, just got out of your tent look.”
“I’ll bare that in mind.” Owen said, shrugging off his T-shirt.
“You have a nice chest,” Ruth observed. “Do you workout?”
“Me? Nah. I just walk and I climb and surf when I can.”
“Told you you were a hippy!” she punched him playfully.
“I prefer to call myself a free spirit,” Owen countered, pushing his glasses further up his sweating nose. “Why study law anyway?”
“Money. And I like to argue, like to be right. I like to talk, like to get the bit between my teeth. Anyway, I’m going for a swim. Coming?”
“Later.”
“Whatever.” She got up and ran into the water, gasping as the cold bit into her.
So where was this cup found?” Ruth called, waist deep in water. A light aircraft buzzed overhead and the bank holiday traffic was a distant drone.
“In a deep part of the river, a hole in the riverbed so wide,” Owen spread his arms.
“I see.” Ruth said thoughtfully, a grin spreading across her face. With slow deliberation she removed her bikini top, and then her bottoms. She threw them at Owen and they plopped on to the blanket. He gazed open-mouthed at her, tongue protruding slightly like an over-awed, totally smitten boy. “Now will you come in?” Kirsty asked, lowering her shoulders into the water.
“I.. I didn’t bring my bathers, they’re in the car.”
“So?”
“I..”
“You don’t need them silly, see?” he saw, his eyes drank in every inch of her. Hurriedly he undressed and gingerly stepped into the frigid water.
They splashed and played, swam and laugh, the water like diamond chips in the sunlight, the day perfect. They kissed, Owen clumsy and enthusiastic, Ruth experienced and deliciously cool. He felt her body press against him, and he thought it wonderful. For Owen, this was his first “proper” relationship. At first he was a little taken aback as to why such a sexy, gorgeous woman would approach him in the student union and ask him out. For, despite his hobbies, intellect and personality, few women ever approached him. But now, standing in a river, hard nipples brushing against his chest, he thought himself to be the luckiest man in the world.
He watched her swim backstroke, far more confident in the water than he. She barely made a ripple when she dived under and resurfaced, laughing next to him, her hands touching him, exciting him.
“Shall we fuck?” she asked casually.
“We’ve only been going out for two weeks,” Owen offered.
“I know, sorry I’ve taken my time, but.. you know. We could do it on the blanket.” Owen looked shy and coy. “You have done it before haven’t you?” Sheepishly, Owen shook his head. “Don’t worry,” she held him. “I’ll be gentle, it’s quite sexy really, quite a turn on, the thought of you losing it to me.” Owen’s mouth went dry and he felt dizzy, all the blood rushing to one place.
“It’s too soon,” Owen whispered. “I, I don’t know if I love you yet.”
“Love me?” she broke away. “It doesn’t matter about that!” she giggled.
“I always wanted my first time to be with somebody I loved.”
“Well, if you do it with me, just think how much better you’ll be when you screw the love of your life!”
“I think I’m falling in love with you, but…”
“Shut up, just go with it.”
“I..” her head disappeared under the water and he jumped as he felt her mouth engulf him.
“We have to..” she said, water streaming off her, hair plastered to her back.
“What? “
“We have to do it today.”
“Why? We’ve got ages, forever.”
“No.” she shook her head and looked sad. “I have to show them the evidence, the condom.”
“Who?” he paled.
“Louise, the chair of the fresher’s fuck a first timer society.”
“What are you talking about?” Owen felt sick.
“It’s a bet, a game. Anyone who finds a virgin and, you know.” She made a suggestive hand gesture. “Gets free drinks for a year. I could be the first.”
“So I was just part of a game, a bet?” she nodded her head.
“I do like you, I want to go out with you, really I do.”
“How did you know I was a virgin?”
“Just a hunch.”
“I must be a laughing stock. Jesus! And I thought you were going out with me for the right reasons.” He waded towards the bank.
“Look, I’m really sorry, but would it be so bad? I mean most guys would jump at the chance.”
“I’m not most guys, I’ve got dignity. And how could you show them the condom? You must be so messed up. Can’t you just sleep with anyone and say it was me?” she shook her head.
“Nope, there needs to be a photo.”
“You’re sick! And to think I was falling for you.” Ruth waded after him, and then they both disappeared, the riverbed vanishing from underneath them, the water closing in over their heads,.
“That must be the hole!” Ruth gasped. Owen nodded. “I wonder if there’s anything down there?”
“Doubt it. When the cup was found the river was really low, I have no idea how deep it is now.”
“I’m going to take a look.”
“Be careful.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, taking a deep breath and diving under.
“Anything?” Owen asked hopefully.
“I don’t know…” Ruth gasped, shaking her head. “I think I saw something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw something shining but it was deep. I’ll try again in a minute.”
“I didn’t think you were bothered about this sort of thing.”
“I’m not, but I feel guilty.”
“About what?”
“You know, stuff. I want to do something for you.”
“That’s sweet, but don’t bother.” His expression was cold and Ruth felt sad and nervous. She watched as he waded to shore and slumped down on the blanket. With a deep breath she submerged, groping her way down through the dark water until her fingers touched something smooth.
“My god!” Owen gasped. They sat on the blanket, a T-shirt covering Kirsty’s modesty. Between them a small bronze cauldron stood. Carefully Owen scraped away the mud and silt and revealed the intricate pattern that was etched on to the gleaming metal. “Thanks,” he whispered, smiling at Kirsty. She nodded and watched with interest as Owen used the blade of his knife to lever up the lid. There was a hiss, a gust of escaping, fetid air, and liquid mud, sticky and slick erupted from the cauldron and splashed on their faces. Despite herself, despite the warmth and beauty of the surroundings, Ruth felt as if somebody was walking over her grave. She shivered nervously and drew her knees up to her chin and stared at the small cauldron, it’s interior slick and dark.
“You,” Owen whispered.
“Me what?” Ruth asked.
“You did it. You…” he broke off. A cheerful whistling invaded his ears and a fisherman strolled towards them.
“Lovely day for a dip,” the man said, rod and tackle box in suntanned hands. Ruth and Owen nodded. “Oh, oh I say.” The man fastened his gaze on the cauldron. “I found a cup,” he said, clearing his throat. “That little thing hasn’t brought with it any trouble has it?” Owen shook his head. “Because that cup nearly sent me round the bend; couldn’t concentrate for weeks, kept on remembering stuff, seeing things.” He stood motionless and stared at Owen and Ruth.”I gave it away of course, thought it would send me mad!”
“I…” Ruth began, “Feel sick.”
“You,” Owen whispered, “It was you.”
“He’s right,” the man whose name was Mark Goldsmith said, “It was you.”
“You,” Kirsty pointed at Owen, “I,” her hand passed over her face. “You were the Beltane virgin.” Owen nodded his head.
“You,” Mark whispered. “Raped her and killed me.” Kirsty blinked. She felt dizzy and light-headed.
“No,” she shook her head. “No, it’s just the sun, it’s too hot, it’s getting to you.”
When Owen Reed staggered into the police station, bleeding and crying, the officers tried their best to understand what had happened. At first all the young man kept on repeating was the word “cauldron.” With much patience and attention Owen at last calmed down enough to relate to them the chain of events that brought him to the station. The officers listened incredulously, almost certain that Owen Reed was sick or insane.
“So,” the officer began. “You are telling us that Ruth Mayor struck Mark Goldsmith with a bronze cauldron, thus fracturing his skull. You then fought with her and drowned her. Is that correct Mr Reed?” Owen nodded. “Why did you drown her?”
“Because she dishonoured me.” The officers looked at each other, unsure what to do. None of them with ever understand the strands of memory, the fragments of soul that had lay dormant in the river for millennia. None of them would ever comprehend the crippling intangible fate that was bound up with magic; a magic that made death a lie and justice a truth. For, at last a young woman’s soul could be made whole, and despite the severity of his situation, Owen felt better now Ruth was dead, floating in the river, Mark watching her and silently rejoicing.
