Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [34]
And it was at Uisnech also, each May Day, that the druids held the great assembly of Bealtaine.
Of all the festivals of the Celtic year, the two most magical were surely Samhain, the original Hallowe’en, and the May Day festival called Bealtaine. If the year was split into two halves—winter and summer, darkness and light—then these two festivals marked the junctions. At Samhain, winter began; at Bealtaine, winter ended and summer took over. The eve of each of these two festivals was an especially eerie time. For during that night the calendar entered a kind of limbo, when it was neither winter nor summer. Winter, season of death, met summer, season of life; the world below met the world above. Spirits walked abroad; the dead came to mingle with the living. They were nights of strange presences and fleeting shadows—frightening at Samhain, since they were leading you to death; but at Bealtaine, less fearsome. For the spirit world in summer was only mischievous, and sexual.
Goibniu liked Bealtaine. He might have only one eye, but he was complete in every other way, and his sexual prowess was well known. As he watched the people gathering, he felt a keen sense of anticipation. How long before he had a woman? Not long, he thought. After all, this was Bealtaine.
By evening, there were thousands gathered in the rosy light, waiting for the ascent. There was a faint, warm breeze. The sound of a piper wound its way round the base of the hill. Expectancy was in the air.
Deirdre glanced at her little family. Both her brothers were carrying sprays of green leaves. She should have been doing the same: it was the custom at Bealtaine. But she wasn’t in the mood. Her brothers were grinning foolishly. While they were getting their green sprays, an old woman had asked them if they were going to find themselves girls that night. Deirdre had said nothing. Small chance, in her view. Such things happened of course. By the end of the following night, when everyone had been dancing and drinking, there would be all kinds of illicit couplings in the shadows. Young lovers, wives who had slipped away from their husbands, men who had deserted their wives. It was always like that in the May season. Not that she would ever have done such a thing. As the unmarried daughter of a chief, she had her reputation to think of. She couldn’t behave like the farmhands or the slave girls. But what about her father? She glanced at him curiously. Since she was, she supposed, about to be leaving home to be married, her father would no longer have a housekeeper. Would he use the festival of Bealtaine to find himself a woman? There was no reason why he shouldn’t, though he had given no indication that such a thing might be in his mind. She wondered how she would feel about it.
Without her wishing it, her gaze wandered amongst the crowd. Conall was there somewhere. She hadn’t yet seen him; but she knew he must be there. He had not come to look for her. She had seen that the High King was there with a large retinue; but she had not gone to see if Conall was there. If he wanted to find her, let him do so. If not … She could wait no longer. Her bridegroom was coming, and he could not be denied.
Perhaps Conall wanted her, but only in the May Day fashion and nothing more than that. Would he approach her, offer her a night of love, and then leave her to her fate? No. He was too fine for that. But what if he did come to her, up on the hill, in the night? What if, like a phantom, he appeared at her side? Touched her? Asked her, in the dark, with his eyes? What if Conall … Would she go with