Greener Shore A Novel of the Druids of Hibernia

Chapter I The sun is the symbol of the great fire of life, created by the Source of All Being. I remind myself of this whenever the glare of the sun makes me squint. I, Ainvar, salute the Source of All Being. The Source of All Troubles is Caesar the Reprehensible. I should have recognized that from the beginning. I keep going over and over events as if by tumbling them in my hands like pebbles I can change their shape. I cannot. Even a chief druid cannot redraw the Pattern. But I can see it. Oh yes. Looking back, I can see it so clearly. At some crucial point the tribes of Gaul must have disrupted the harmony of the Pattern, thus precipitating catastrophe. Which means that at some crucial point the druids failed. I failed. At first the Gauls had welcomed traders from the tribes of Latium as they had welcomed the Hellenes before them. The Latin language was not beautiful to the Celtic ear, being hard and abrupt rather than musical, but we shared the vocabulary of trade: a nod, a grunt, a slap of hands. In this manner arrangements were concluded and goods exchanged. Gaul offered salt and iron and grain; the speakers of Latin brought wine and olive oil and luxury goods from the Mid-Earth Sea. Traders from each side were able to provide enough to satisfy the other side. Everyone benefited. For a while. Then one tribe, the Romans, proved they did not understand the concept of Enough; they wanted More. Their traders brought warriors to stand at their shoulders while they made unreasonable demands. The Gauls swatted the more importunate traders away as one swats a fly. The Romans kept coming. Tendrils of a poisonous weed, they extended their reach until at last we realized their true and deadly intent. Led by someone called Gaius Julius Caesara figure of walking excrement that needs three names to make it feel like a manthe Romans meant to steal everything from us, even the land on which we lived. Our sacred Mother Earth. If I close my eyes I can still see the glorious victories we won; the desperate battles we lost. And then the final battle. And the subsequent destruction of all we held dear. The destruction of the Great Grove of the Carnutes blew us away like chaff on the wind. I chew on my memories as if they were food, but receive no nourishment from them. When I dream, I dream of the lost skies of Gaul. Free Gaul, which bled to death to fatten Caesar's purse. my wives refuse to talk about the past. following briga's lead, the other two keep their faces turned to the west and their eyes on the future. Onuava is a tall, strong woman, with a lion's mane of fair hair. Her first husband was Vercingetorix, chief of the Arverni. His name meant "King of the World." Such a man is not born once in ten generations. The tribes of Gaul made him their leader when they needed him most, and lost him to merciless Caesar when they needed him even more. Onuava was carrying his first son in her womb when they dragged Vercingetorix away. After Keryth the prognosticator foresaw the death of Vercingetorix at the hands of his captors, I made Onuava my third wife. Although we were as different as fire and water, Rix and I were, are, and always shall be, soul friends. I was obligated to offer my fullest protection to his family. Since then I have even learned to love Onuava, at least as much as her proud and prickly nature will allow. My second wife is Onuava's opposite. Lakutu is small and dark, docile by nature and Egyptian by birth. She was already past her prime when I first saw her. Lakutu is old now, yet from time to time a mischievous child peeks out of her black eyes. There are intriguing rumors concerning certain mysterious rites practiced in her homeland. Although Lakutu has leLlywelyn, Morgan is the author of 'Greener Shore A Novel of the Druids of Hibernia', published 2006 under ISBN 9780345477668 and ISBN 0345477669.