Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [37]
It was the same all across the world. From the druids of Ireland to the shamans of Siberia, from the Persian temples of Mithras to the medicine men of North America, at the time of sacred rituals, those who communed with the gods in trances put on cloaks of feathers. For the plumage of birds was nature’s richest array, and contained more than a hint, no doubt, that holy men could fly.
At the ceremonies of Bealtaine, the druids of Uisnech wore huge, brightly coloured cloaks with high bird’s-head crests that made them seem almost half as tall again. As each beast was led between the purifying fires, they splashed it with water. This was the May Day ritual that should ensure the health of the all-important livestock in the coming year.
Larine was standing beside an older druid. His attention should have been on the line of cattle. There were only fifty to go. It was hot work at the fire, and with so many cattle, the druids had taken turns. His turn had finished some time ago and he had taken off the heavy cloak of feathers. But now, while the older druid continued to watch the fires, his own eyes strayed to the plain around the hill.
For Larine had things on his mind. The first, and surely the least important, was a rumour—hardly even a rumour, really, more a whisper on the horizon. He had heard it the month before.
It concerned the Christians.
He knew that there had been Christians on the western island for a generation now. They were small communities—a chapel here, a farmstead there, a scattering of missionary priests ministering to the Christian slaves in the area and, if they were lucky, to some of their masters. As a well-informed druid, Larine had made it his business to know something about them. He had even made the acquaintance of a Christian priest down in south Leinster, with whom he had discussed the Christian doctrine in some detail. And it was the priest who had told him, the previous month, about the rumour.
“They say that the bishops in Gaul are planning to send a new mission to the island to enlarge the community, perhaps make an approach to the High King himself.” The priest had been uncertain of the details. Even the names of the missionaries to be sent were unclear. “But they say the Holy Father himself has sanctioned the mission.”
The mighty Roman Empire had adopted Christianity as its state religion a century ago. For several generations, therefore, the druids of the western island had been aware that they were the last, isolated stronghold of the old gods beside the vast territories of the Christian Roman Empire. But there were several factors which had given them comfort. The Christianity of the empire was by no means complete: there had still been important pagan temples in Britain, and within living memory the emperor Julian had actually tried to reverse the process and return the empire to its proper pagan tradition. In any case, the western island was protected by the sea. And with the withdrawal of Roman garrisons from Britain and Gaul, there seemed no chance at all that Rome could trouble the realm of the High King now. Without Roman troops, what could the Christian priests do? The little communities in the south of the island were tolerated because they gave no trouble. If any Christian missionary came to trouble the High King, the druids would soon deal with him.
He had said as much to the priest, and perhaps he had said it too bluntly; for the priest had become irritated, muttered words to the effect that it wasn’t so long since the druids had performed human sacrifices, and told Larine that he should remember how the prophet Elijah had vanquished the pagan priests of Baal. “He came to their festival,” the priest declared, “and built a great fire which burst into flame when he prayed to the Lord, while the priests of Baal could not get theirs to light at all. So take care,” he had added severely,