Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [69]
In the presence of this strange woman from the western islands, the chief felt his spirits slowly returning. The pallor left his face; his eyes grew clearer, but above all, a small hope, like an inner warmth, deep within his body, began to grow again.
“I had lost faith in the gods,” he confided to the High Priest on the third day of his recovery. “It was as though, after my sons . . . Krona had begun to die.”
Dluc nodded.
“When Krona dies, Sarum also dies,” he said. “But now?”
“I am still weak,” the chief confessed. “But I begin to live again.”
Indeed, his recovery was remarkable. Raka and Ina were constantly at his side. The girl said little. She seemed to be self-sufficient. But each day she would look into Krona’s eyes and tell him: “You will soon be well,” in a voice that made it seem like a statement of fact rather than a hope. And from this Krona continued to draw strength and comfort.
“She knows I shall be well,” he told the priest. “She is the one sent by the gods. This time I am sure of it.”
On the fifth day Dluc said: “It is time to set a marriage day.”
To which Krona replied: “Let it be the eve of Winter Day, in three days’ time. No day in the calendar is more lucky.”
The ceremony took place as night was falling, in the main room of Krona’s house. All the tapers were lit, and twenty of Sarum’s most important families crowded into the room.
“Let the couple come forward,” Dluc called, and Krona stepped forward with Raka. He looked younger and stronger than he had for many months, and the priest rejoiced to see the great chief he had loved restored to something like his former self. Then, following the time-honoured custom on Winter’s Eve, Dluc said loudly:
“Let the corn maiden enter.”
Old Ina and her serving woman brought in that strange and wonderful figure which, even then, brought a flush of excitement into Krona’s heart: two cubits long, made of braided cornstalks cunningly woven together to form a female figure with huge breasts and legs spread wide apart, the corn maiden was the image of fertility. The women laid her carefully on a bench in the centre of the room. Next Dluc called out:
“Sun, bless this fair maiden and let her be fruitful.” And all those present cried: “See she is fruitful!”
As soon as these words had been said, Ina and her women slowly danced around the corn maiden three times, pausing to bow as they completed each circle.
As Dluc performed the next part of the ceremony he thought of Krona. He took a heavy oak club, black with age, and laid it between the maiden’s open legs.
“We have ploughed and sown,” the men all cried. “See that we reap!”
For the second time, Ina and her women went three times round the corn maiden, and this time they clapped their hands and made provocative signs to indicate to the corn maiden that she must be fruitful.
The ceremony of the corn maiden was complete; she would lie there, the club between her legs, until sunset the following day. Then Dluc led Krona and the girl forward.
“Greatest of all gods, sun,” he cried, “giver of life: bless the marriage of this man and woman and let her, too, be fruitful.”
All the men and women in the room clapped their hands. Then he placed a circle of gold upon the girl’s head.
“Raka,” the priest said earnestly, “you are chosen by the gods.”
And as Chief Krona looked at the corn maiden, that wonderful, pregnant symbol of the fields that reminded him so vividly of his childhood; as he gazed fondly at his faithful old wife and stared in wonder at the strange girl by his side; as he went through the time honoured ritual of this most magical day of the year – when even the implacable sun god slept – he felt a glow of happiness and excitement in his body that he had not felt for many years. It was like a great warmth. It seemed to him that on this day